The monkey gave me stones, and after I had her, I had to get the whole organ removed. It was pretty blingy. And by the time I finally sucked it up and got the surgery, I was having gallstone attacks if I even thought about eating. We’re talking two percs every 6 hours for a week. After surgery, I was up to 3 percs a hit during the recovery… yay tolerance. To say that life was hazy is an understatement. Thankfully, my bosslady was awesome about my lack of mental capacity.
So, when they took it out, I knew that my body was not going to be able to handle processing fats as well as it might have been before. My biggest issues since it’s removal has been involving shit that I knew I shouldnt put in my body. Why, a giant plate of cheese and stuffed mushrooms and olive oil and fat fat fat fat fat? YES PLZ! Let’s just say that I had never had anything leave my body that could be clocked on a speedometer, before.
I also knew that there was a chance that my body would never get used to not having a storage system for the bile that breaks down fats.
It’s been a year since my surgery.
My body has now decided that it is sick of the charade, and will no longer be processing fat.
That was a bit of a surprise, lemme tell you!
Every day this week, no matter what I ingest, I get cramps and evil.
I’m already down 40lbs from where I was before I got pregnant with the Bean… this isn’t gonna help me get back to my normal plumpitude. In fact, today when I weighed myself, I realized that I havent weighed this much since I was getting ready for my wedding. Kinda mindblowing.
And as far as I can tell from Dr. Google… this doesnt have a cure. This is my new normal. This is me for the rest of my life.
Because, ya know, adjusting to having two under two wasn’t crazy enough, now I have to fucking reconfigure everything I think about regarding food. And I like food! I really really like food. I bake cakes with a stick of extra butter. I cook eggs in bacon grease. I make a lasagna called Death by Cheese.
First world problems?