Holy Crap, It’s Wednesday…

… yeah.  That snuck up on me.

Its not like I’m doing anything.  I mean, hell, yesterday I wandered around Ballston Mall for an hour.  FYI, that mall is pretty boring.  And slightly sketchy.  The only thing it’s got going for it are the restaurants.

So, I have an official date for my gallbladder-ectomy.  I’m getting sliced on the 6th of Jan at 11am.  We might be having a snowpocalypse around that time frame… so hopefully that doesn’t interfere with my reservation.  I’d hate to have to push it to frickin March.

Why March?

Because I’m going to Fort effing Leavenworth, again.

I’m a sucker for punishment.

But no, really, this time around I can participate alot more, I wont be going alone, and I know better than to stay in that epic rat’s nest of a hotel.  I really liked the work I did, and didnt mind the overtime and travel comp time that I got to partake in.  It also looks really good on my end of year accomplishments.

But anyway.  If I dont get this thing removed from me, my open time to recover from surgery before hopping on a plane to a state far far away slides to, well, none.  Some training and conferences sprinkled in there for good measure.  My next available time frame isnt until March.  So, yeah.

And let us not forget the reason behind all this gallbladder-ectomy nonsense… all glory to the hypnotoad.  Or whatever.

I wont be back at work until the 13th.  A nice little vacation with absolutely no driving allowed, the inability to lift anything with weight, and tons of pain pills.  I’m probably going to need to enlist the help of my father, again.  M cant take off too much time from work, so I’ll need help with the baby.

In the meantime… I’m eating all the shit that I probably wont be able to eat after I get the organ that processes fats removed from my body.  Which, really, is dumb, since eating all that shit is what caused my goddamn problem in the first place.  For example, this morning I had bacon.  BACON.  My surgeon would flip his fucking lid if he knew I just ate bacon.  He’d probably reach down my throat and yank out my gallbladder without anesthesia if he knew what I ate the day after my last attack (ham, mac and cheese, cake, fried turkey, popeyes chicken, and mashed potatoes… in my defense, it was a holiday party).  You’ll notice that I’m not dead from the pain after eating all that crap because I DONT GET ATTACKS FROM EATING FATTY FOODS… which is kinda fucking unheard of, in the gallstone community.  But whatever.  If I do get an attack between now and Jan. 6th, I have a bucket of percocet to take the edge off.  Whew!

So yeah.  That’s what going on in my world.  Thank you for playing along.

I wanna be a butterfly... they dont have gallbladders. Right?


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