Michael Gravel Edmonton Writer

Under the Knife ... Again

For the past 2 years or so, I’ve had this lingering issue with my stomach (at least my docs and I thought it was a stomach issue). Whenever I eat overly greasy foods, which isn’t that often these days, I get a crippling pain below my ribs. The sensation is somewhere between a meathook drub and that “swallowed a paint can” feeling after a night at the bottom of a bottle. In severe cases I get nauseated (vomiting, etc) and can’t function for two days. My doc’s first diagnosis was acid reflux, a common ailment of the stomach for which he put me on meds. As well, I had to completely cut out all those old comfort foods – burgers, fries, pizza, fatty sweets, and anything else with an artery-blocking level of saturated fat. I’d been curbing my diet against those foods anyways (and lost 40 pounds in the process), so it wasn’t really a big leap. In my past life, those foods were standard fare. It pains me to admit this, seeing as how I’ve come so far, but three years ago my average meal was two cheeseburgers, two super-sized fries, and a jug of iced tea. Horrible snacking between meals was normal. I never cooked for myself. Never. My diet was an atrocity, and I estimate that I took in well over 4000 calories on a daily basis (over twice what is required), almost all of that in super fatty foods. To be so utterly disconnected from and ignorant of one’s source of power and energy is deadly in the long run (and the short run).

Turns out my doc’s acid reflux diagnosis was wrong, or at least partially wrong. I had an abdominal ultrasound a month ago and the results were unambiguous: Gall stones. That explained my violent episodes. Very soon, I go under the knife to have the fucker removed. This will be my second surgery in two years, although on the scale of surgical procedures a gall bladder removal (Cholecystectomy) is nowhere near what I went through in December 2007. It’s a day surgery followed by a week of recovery at home. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I don’t have to spend a night in the joint.

My abdomen is gonna look like mottled ass. In addition to the 12” twizzler from my open heart surgery, I have three scars from tubes that look like they were made by a 9mm, and I have a 10” gash on my side from a childhood kidney surgery. Add to that the four incisions made in this little procedure, and I’ve got a pretty good assortment of scars. And I’m well aware that scars and damage have a shelf life. Scars themselves are not medals. The expectation of the human spirit is that wounds will heal and the wounded will live to forget and fight again. So says Springsteen:

Finding your identity in your wounds, the places you’ve been beat up, is a very dangerous thing to do. We all wear the things we’ve survived with some honour. But the honour is in wearing those things, and also transcending them.

Here here. I guess I’m still trying to live up to that. Maybe that’s the lifework of everyone.

I’ll let you know how the procedure goes. I’m going to try and get my gall bladder preserved in a jar…keep it on my mantle like some sort of demented trophy. Either that, or feed it to the dogs.

Entry #107 · June 11, 2009 in