Last week, Thursday night, I was doing everything in my power to try to force myself into going for my 3rd day of C25k. I want to do roller derby this year and I need to get in shape. I got dressed, added power songs to my playlist and laced up my shoes. I just didn't feel right. It started to rain and I used it as the reason I wasn't going. I went to bed at 9:00.
I woke at 12:30, noting angrily that Mr. T had fallen asleep on the couch. I went and got him, annoyed that every light was on in the house. I crawled back in bed next to him and realized I wasn't angry, I was in terrible pain. Excruciating pain that Alleve and changing position would not relieve. Pain that had me wake him at 2:00 am in tears and ask to be taken to the ER.
Several hours later, I was given a diagnosis of gallbladder attack due to gall stones. And the lady doctor who delivers the news, a really sassy lady who reminded me of that one neighbor on 227, she tells me I can't eat anything "that tastes good." No spice. No fat. No coffee. That is, until I have surgery to have the blasted thing removed. A terrible way to live, especially the coffee!
This is a good thing. It explains a lot of how I have been feeling for the past year or so. It can be treated and I will be fine. I know this could be a lot worse.
I can't help but hate the feeling of being sidelined from things I want to do, though.