Better Than Joe Wicks

On my mum's birthday, three days after Christmas, my gallbladder finally had enough of DEALING with my SHIT. Dealing with CHEESE, and MILK, and CHOCOLATE. In fact, it had probably had enough several days before since I'd been feeling sick and off food since Christmas Eve. I remember saying to Tom that I hoped I wasn't coming down with a sick bug because I would hate to not be able to eat at Christmas. OH. OH THE NAIVETE.

I spent that night in screaming, doubled up agony, with absolutely no idea what was wrong. At first, I thought I had trapped wind. Ha. No. I developed rigors, which is a Bad Sign, but didn't even recognise them. I couldn't wake Tom up. I had to keep putting Alex back to bed when he followed me to the toilet when I was being sick, and at one point felt something rip in my back. At no point did it occur to me to ring an ambulance, because it turns out I am only good at diagnosing other people. I googled. I worked out it was my gallbladder. I figured it probably wouldn't kill me (turns out I was wrong, it can kill you quite easily). At about 6am, I woke Tom up enough to get me some ibuprofen and then managed to sleep for a bit. I managed to sort myself out enough to ring the doctors and then rang 111 to see if I wouldn't be better off just going to hospital. They sent a paramedic out. The paramedic decided I didn't need admitting because I was in far less pain than before. The doctor put me on antibiotics. Another doctor put me on more antibiotics a week later. A week after that, I went to A+E and finally had a blood test to check there were no stones in my liver since I was still jaundiced. This showed the infection had cleared. I went for a scan a few days later, more than three weeks since I first got ill, which showed my gallbladder was absolutely fucking RAMMED with stones. So much so that the sono was surprised my gallbladder was still intact. So, at least I knew what was wrong. It also showed I have a fatty liver, which is not great in someone my age. I managed to get a surgical referral four weeks and three days after my initial diagnosis. 

Just a note here. The NICE guideline for acute cholecystitis, which is the proper name for a gallbladder infection, is bloods, scan, admission, IV antibiotics and a cholecystectomy within a week. This is because of the risk of chronic infection, sepsis and death (woo). I am still kinda fucking salty that this did not happen for me, because my temperature was 0.4 degrees under admission criteria when the paramedic came out. 

My first hospital appointment got cancelled because a water main burst under the hospital and they had to close the hospital down, so I didn't see a surgeon until eleven weeks after diagnosis. His happy news was that my surgery will be in the next twelve weeks. He gave me a diet sheet to force my liver to burn up its fat store before surgery. It reads like a diet of kings... two eggs for dinner? In what universe?

Now, some people get gallstones and they get the odd twinge if they eat the wrong thing. My dad is one of these lucky bastards - he's had a couple of biliary colic episodes ever (biliary colic is all the pain, no infection). Other people get gallstones and suddenly find they have zero tolerance for fat. Your gallbladder is a little organ that hangs out by your liver, injecting bile and helping digest fat. It spasms to release bile when you eat fatty food. Stones aren't always a problem, but if they get caught in the opening of the gallbladder, these spasms are CHRONIC FUCKING AWFUL AGONY. I mean it. I have had three huge-headed sons without painkillers, and gallbladder pain is worse than that. You can't get away from it, it's like a massive belt around the bottom of your ribs, squeezing and making you feel sick and wrong and breathless. I most commonly get pain on the opposite side of my rib cage and diaphragm, and in my back, because it rebounds all round your ribcage. My diaphragm always hurts and is distended. Breathing is a real issue when it's bad, as is the accompanying nausea.

via http://theawkwardyeti.com/

Unusually, I had no pain from my gallbladder until it got infected. Since then, constant fucking pain. I can't tolerate saturated fat at all. At. All. The first week or so was terrible, I thought I would die of hunger. It was the first time since childhood where I can honestly say I was properly hungry. I went ketotic for ages, and I know that's some sort of bizarre holy grail for dieting, but fuck me it's horrible. Your pee reeks of sugar, your mouth tastes constantly sweet, you feel achey and wrong and tired and sort of gluey in the limbs. But it passed, and now I'm used to it, and it's OK. Boring as fuck, but OK. 

I cry when I have to do the shopping because I can't eat what the kids have. Cooking for the kids is an endless nightmare - a few days back, they had jacket potatoes so I picked at the grated cheese. It hurt for hours. And I can't watch food programmes because I start to imagine the joys of food and then my gallbladder hurts because FOOD IS A THOUGHT CRIME. In terms of funsies, I've missed Christmas food, New Year booze, pancake day, Mother's Day, Jim's birthday cake (which I've just sobbingly made, without licking the bowl), and I will miss Easter and my birthday as well. 

I'm listed for surgery now. I can't wait. I cannot wait. I literally cannot wait. If I could spare six grand, I would have had it out privately weeks ago, but...lol, no. This is the most miserable illness I've ever had, and doubly cruel to take my cheese away. I know the recovery can be a bit rough, but I really don't care. 

But I have lost 20kg in less than three months. So there is a tiny silver lining. If you would like to experience this weightloss for yourself, but inconveniently lack gallstones, here's how*:

- Eat twice a day - muesli and Skyr for lunch with some jam for calories, and then something fatless and dense in lentils and other veg for tea. Shellfish are good. So is rice. Plain chicken is your only real meaty option. Jelly and fruit pastilles are allowed, Haribo isn't. If you haven't been in pain all day, you  might risk a stick of kikat as a snack in the evening. Otherwise, fast for eighteen hours out of twenty four.

- Should you eat eggs, chocolate, cake, pastry, pie, red meat, cheese, oily fish, butter, yoghurt or full fat milk by accident, don't panic. Fetch a metal kebab skewer and stick it in, nice and deep, under your ribs. Oh sure, it'll bleed and hurt, and you might end up with an infection or rupture, but it will remind you why you don't eat these things anymore.

- Drink plenty because you will be dehydrated as hell, and it's a useful way of getting calories in. Enjoy your single cup of tea a day (unless you can drink black tea), and remember, no alcohol. If you forget and have a glass of wine, ask someone to punch you in the upper abdomen or mid-back. You won't do it again.

- Take supplements. No, really, you will die otherwise.

- Now and then, regardless of how obedient you've been with your diet, stab yourself again with that skewer. Just in case you get complacent.

- Carry this diet on for a minimum of three months, and then wonder at your weight loss, strawlike hair, fragile skin, reduced concentration, poor mood, exhaustion and decimated social life!


*NB: Don't do any of this. I mean it.