Glug goes my gallbladder: pack your bags.

Closing in on another month chocked full of gallbaby fun.

I saw my surgeon last week. He was the same doctor who was assigned to me when I spent many a moon at the hospital with my popped lung back in March. Naturally, he laughed when he walked into the room and saw me sitting there. His wife was the thoracic surgeon who actually performed my lung surgery.

Needless to say, I'm giving their family one HELL of a Christmas this year. You. Are. Welcome. (Santa goes by the name of Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield this year)

He drew me a really great picture showing how your gallbladder works in the grand scheme of things, and where he'd cut me open, and how they pull it out through your belly button. He tossed the disc of ultrasounds and HIDA scan images into his computer and said there actually were gallstones, contrary to what my family doctor tried to tell me.

He said there wasn't much more to discuss, that we could either remove it now, or wait. And I told him I missed eggs and bacon dearly, and am tired of puking my guts out, and he said "alright, let's get you on the books for September 23rd. Let your work know you'll be out for the week". And I did. And hell, it's starting to look like I may even get luckier and get bumped up to the 16th now but lets not get our hopes up.

Dear gallbaby, it's almost time for you to get yanked out. I can't say I'll miss you. You've been a royal pain in my ass, but thanks for making me so well acquainted with every toilet in the tri-county area. Adios mothatrucka.

Also, don't ever do a Google image search for gallstones. Just don't.