That Ativan didn’t do a blooming thing. After a lot of discussion with the tech and full-on panic on my part, we resorted to taking out both pillows so that I could tilt my head back in a very unnatural position and see the opening above my head. That went on for half an hour.
Doc A called several hours later. “I’m so shocked. You do not have stones in your bile duct or your gallbladder.” He showed his disbelief by repeating himself at least three times and explained that he had even made the pathologist run the test several times.
Me? I’m thinking to myself, “Of course not. This is Marie de Haan you’re talking about. She can’t do anything the normal way.”
Both Doc A and Doc C think I should have my gallbladder removed anyway, admitting it might not take care of my episodic pain which lasts for 4-12 hours.
So I’m right back to square one with an elevated bilirubin to boot.
Doc A also mentioned “mild pancreatitis.”
Doc B (the doctor who got me through cancer) measured in—when I called and asked her opinion—and said that some people have their gallbladders removed and end up with a lifetime of diarrhea.
In the meantime, while I’m lying here in my hospital bed at one in the morning—pondering all my options—I’m going to admire these pretty flowers from my friend and look forward to sunnier days ahead.
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