Gallstones hurt like little death rays when provoked. As the Year From Hell Tour continues unabated, Your Humble Correspondent is slowly recovering from emergency gall bladder removal.

I woke up at 3 a.m. several days ago with a searing pain below my breastbone that lasted so long it couldn’t be heartburn. I drove myself to the hospital, as it didn’t feel heart-y and so 911 seemed excessive. After a CT and ultrasound, I was admitted for emergency removal–the gall bladder was inflamed, infected, and filled with gravel and sludge. Being newly widowed–and yes, it still sucks horribly, thank you–dear friends offered to put me up at their place for feeding and pampering till I got back on my feet. Glad I accepted, because post-surgical recovery from “Laparoscopic Cholecystectomy”–the formal name for gall bladder surgery–are seven of the rings of hell. But today, finally I am pain-free and off the narcotic painkillers. Homeward bound! More on all this next week when I’ve caught up with paperwork, but thanks for reading and your well-wishes over on Facebook.


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