So, obviously, they didn't kill me.
And tomorrow it is time to climb back onto that horse and start another week.
But my plan for a restful weekend went south when constant vomiting and nausea set in. Lucky for me, my husband was able to get ahold of the surgeon and go get me some pharmaceuticals to curb the constant need to puke. Somehow I traded my dreams of peanut m&m's for jello- but at least I survived.
And- by the way- the pain is a bit more than I was bargaining for. Yeah, pretty sore.
I'm thankful my husband resisted the urge to kill me. Turns out that the pain killers they gave me make me a 'little cranky'. I've been less than joyful, let's leave it at that.
The really really sucky part???? They wouldn't give ME MY gallstones. I didn't really want them, but Ally did. And although they are mine, I wasn't allowed to have them. By the way, the surgeon said there were 4 or 5 pea sized stones. 4 or 5? What the heck, was he not there, can he not count to 4 or 5? I think he made it all up just to get me into the operating room.
Whatever. At least it's over.