The anatomy of a gallstone

It's 2:00 a.m.  Perfect!  Why do these things always happen at 2 in the morning?  Okay, in all fairness, it started yesterday morning, but I thought I had strained my back.  Oh ya, I guess I should explain.  I am smack dab in the middle of an attack of gallstones.  This would not be so unusual, except for the fact that I have been minus a gallbladder (galbadder ?  one l or two?  Oh, who cares.) since I was 20 years old.  Imagine my shock some 20 years later to discover that one can continue to grow gallstones in the tube that used to connect  the faulty organ to the infrastructure of my anatomy even after it has been removed.  Seriously!?  I know, you're asking, "then what's the point of having it removed?"  At times such as these when I am writhing (yes, I am actually writhing, like a slimy serpent) in pain, I am screaming the same question.  My sister, Sally, can unfortunately attest to this phenomenon as she suffers from the same malady.  By the end of my tale, your hearts will ache for her because she suffers (I like using that word "suffers" because emphasizing the severity of this pain somehow makes me feel better) from it far more frequently than I do.  In fact, this is probably only the 5th time in the last six years for me.  She has probably had it six times in the last six months.  You might be wondering how it's possible for me to be blogging about it if I am in so much pain.  Well, because it's better than pacing my living room, moaning like Myrtle.  (If you are not a Harry Potter fan you won't get that reference.  Just know it's not pretty.)  Please allow me to describe the particulars of this condition.  As I described earlier, it starts slowly, a nagging ache in the upper right quadrant of your back so you are confused about what it might actually be, a pulled muscle maybe?  Old age?  Then WHAM! Always in the middle of the night, it hits you like a moving truck.  This particular night I felt uncomfortable.  I tossed back and forth trying to inch away from the growing ache in my back, without success.  Finally, I try to get up and it hits.  Imagine sitting on the edge of your bed and having someone with a 10 inch knife with a serrated blade on both edges sit behind you and very, very slowly push the blade into your back.  Once it has been inserted to its full length into your flesh, then they proceed to withdraw the blade, also very, very slowly, but now they are slowly twisting it back and forth just for effect.  Once they have completely withdrawn the blade, they begin the process all over again and this continues for around 24 hours.  So, as the little invisible demon delightfully tenderizes my living tissue, I begin to try to pace the floor.  It doesn't help.  Now, I am moaning....loudly...scaring the animals.  The last time this happened, Jay was here.  He is a genius at knowing how to stop my variety of unusual pains, and he massaged my back strenuously with a vibrating massager and it decreased the length and severity of the episode by several hours.  But, Jay was not here.  However, it was 8 a.m. in Africa and so I called him.  After he managed to discover the source of my angst through the moaning and sobbing, he asked if I had any pain killers.  I had 1/2 of a hydrocodone, but I knew it wouldn't help.  Usually, it requires a very large dose of morphine to even take the edge off.  He suggested I go to the emergency room.  Ha!  I might be in pain, but I'm not insane!  That would cost a fortune, even with insurance, and besides there's no way I could drive a car in this condition and I would NEVER call someone in  the middle of the night to take me to the hospital.  (I don't want to hear it.....my kids know me too well....I do not ask for help.)  He had to come up with something better.  Yes, I know he's on the other side of the world, I don't care!  Just tell me what to do!  He really is a genius, level headed, wonderful.  He suggested I get in a really hot shower and turn the massaging shower head to the beater black and blue setting and let it beat against my back.  This sounded like a good idea.  So, that is what I did and it helped tremendously.  Obviously, because I am now able to form intelligent thoughts enough to entertain you all with this vivid description.  I will now sit in my chair, with a pillow and a heating pad set to the surface of the sun setting, at 3 a.m. and grit my teeth until it passes.  I am thrilled.  I can't wait to see what is on TV at 3 a.m.  Wish me luck.

Who said boring was bad.

One would think that the life of an older, unemployed grandmother, living by herself would be pretty quiet and relatively boring. I suppose if I were a normal older grandmother living alone, that might be the case. But, no, after last night I'm pretty much thinking that boring wouldn't be a bad thing. First of all, I'm not really alone. I may not enjoy the pleasure of a soft shoulder to fall asleep on at night, but I have a house full of life. Last night is a perfect example. Let me elaborate. First, that nice soft shoulder that I used to fall asleep on has taught me to practice a powerful sense of self preservation. This explains the elaborate security system of cameras and alarms that monitors my home at all times. Once it's armed, I don't think a well trained Navy Seal could get past it. Heck, I've been known to set it off myself by accident a time or two and I know it's there. So, I'm set for the night. I'm snuggled in bed sandwiched in with a dog on each side and a cat at my feet. I've just drifted off to sleep when my active Mom subconscience (you all know what I'm talking about) hears a beep from the alarm, the kind it makes when I first come in from the garage and it signals me that I have 10 seconds to enter the disarm code or suffer the consequences. Now I'm awake and my heart is racing way too fast for someone my age. I'm slipping my legs over the side of the bed, one hand on the shotgun I keep next to my headboard. (What? My nickname is Calamity Jane, you expected anything less?) I start to walk towards the bedroom door when I come fully awake and realize that when I'm alone in the house, I set the alarm with a no delay entry. If someone had opened the door, that mother would be screaming like a whore in church. About the time I realize there's probably not someone in the house, my phone beeps and says there's a voicemail. It didn't even ring, that's weird. It's 1:30 in the morning. The only person that might call me at 1:30 in the morning is Jay. Now my recently slowed heart rate accelerates to dangerous speed again. What could be wrong? The voicemail was not from Jay, whew! It was my security monitoring company. They were informing me that there was a non emergency signal from my security system. Really? Thanks for informing me of the obvious. Now I realize that the nice, comforting warming light I have installed in my hen house to ensure the little darlings are warm and cozy (never mind they haven't layed an egg in two weeks) has probably tripped the gfci receptacle in the garage and cut power to the security system. (Don't you love it when I use electrical speak?) Now, I'm padding about in the garage at 1:30 in the morning in my bare feet around the cars and to the gfci receptacle and I push the little reset button. Pop! As quick as I push it, the stinking light trips it again. So I pad my way back around the cars to where the cord to the light is plugged in and pull it from the receptacle. The chickens were going to have to snuggle if they wanted to be warm. (Snuggle with each other, not me and the dogs and cat.) Then I padded back around the cars and pushed the little button, and voila` it held. I pad my way back around the cars and into the house where I re-arm the now functioning security system. It's now 2:30 in the morning. I find my way back to the bedroom where three pairs of eyes gaze at me sleepily as I try to wriggle my way back into the animal sandwich. Once I'm settled, I sigh, take a deep breath and then stare helplessly at the ceiling and wait for sleep to come, without success. Now I'm wide awake. My legs are jumping and my mind is racing. I look at the clock and now it's 3:30 in the morning. Lucky for me I finally fall asleep....30 minutes before my alarm goes off. Of course this would be the one day I had to get up early. Am I a little grumpy? To say the least! I am so glad I live the quiet, boring life of an unemployed grandmother who lives "alone".

Not really a prayer, but sort of

I have lost my muse.  That’s what I call it when my faith becomes weak and I can’t find the courage to go on.  I have learned over these many years that writing is my drug of choice.  I have a gift with words, the ability to take emotions, thoughts and feelings and express them on the written page.  Lately I have lost my faith and when it left, so did my desire to write anything.  I used to write down my prayers because it seemed to focus them better then trying to form them in my head.  Seeing the words on paper gave them true substance and in giving them substance, I felt it gave them power.  I used to enjoy “socializing” with my friends on facebook.  I used to think they were interested in my escapades and little thoughts.  I used to have fun taking part in their conversations.  I used to be able to express ideas or images in such amazing detail that another person could read those words and see and feel exactly what I was seeing and feeling.  But one day, in one moment, in one tragic event, in one circumstance, my faith was destroyed.  That faith that held it all together like glue.  That faith that helped me continue to fight for what seemed like a hopeless cause.  That faith that helped me to say the right thing at the right time to help someone else who might feel their own faith slipping away.  Like an explosion, this single event blasted all my faith and my hope into a pile of ash that then blew away with the slightest of breezes.  Now, here I sit feeling empty and lost and wondering how, or even if, there is any way to regain that faith and if not, how I will fill this hole that I have inside.
So, if this were a prayer, and I’m not sure what that even means any more, but if this were a prayer, here is what I would say.

"Please hold me close until I find my way.  Please show me the path to follow to the well where I can fill this empty place inside my soul.   Please heal my heart and the hearts of those who I have injured that they may once again feel safe inside my circle."  Amen