Okay, so I saw the surgeon today. I sat for over an hour in the waiting room and yes, I was a leeetle pissy about that. I may have posted a slightly nasty Twitter about that way. Yet minutes later, I was back in the exam room with the surgeon, all was forgiven.
I am officially declaring my love for Dr. Gallbladder.
She had already read my records and looked at my ultrasound (okay, this may not seem like a big deal to you, but realize that I am accustomed to the military health care system and...well, let's just say that, while there are some really great doctors, there are some truly, ridiculously clueless and horrible "physicians" who walk into the room and say "Hey how's it going?" Yes, I'm serious.) and came in prepared to to talk with me about my options. Which, pretty much "suck it up and deal with it" or "get that sucker outa there!"
She reviewed the function (and MALfuction) of the gallbladder and then went over the surgery veeerrry thoroughly. She actually answered the only question I had (after my over-researching it with Dr Google) and she left me feeling very confident and secure about this.
She asked when I was wanting to have it out. I told her the sooner the better. So? It looks like it should be Thursday. Yes, THIS Thursday. My own little Independence Day! Woo hoo!! (assuming the hospital and insurance all agree) (which is a HUGE assumption)
So, listen up you crappy malfunctioning little organ in there: Your days are numbered! Two to be exact. Say your good-byes because it's the end of the line for you, you pain causing jerk!!
(You realize I have totally jinxed myself and now this won't be out until sometime in November, right?)