Surgical precision

I'm not usually one to call attention to myself. I prefer to remain in the shadows. That's just the way I'm wired.

Unless, of course, I have five laparoscopic holes in my belly. Then I'll lift my shirt in a heartbeat to show you my new mini incisions.

Don't ask me why. I guess it's just the way I'm wired. I am, after all, telling you about it in a blog.

Let me back up a bit.

I had laparoscopic surgery on Wednesday at Wake Forest Baptist Health to remove the remaining nub of my gall bladder that was left behind from the original gall bladder surgery I had three years ago. It was left behind because of how involved it was with the nearby liver, pancreas and bile duct. I've been told its not unusual to leave surgical remnants behind. And for three years, I had no issues.

Then, suddenly, what was left of the gall bladder decided it was time to throw more stones at me. It can do that. Apparently, I'm among the five percent or so who experience a rejuvenated gall bladder attack after initial removal. So a specialist was consulted, and on Wednesday, we took care of it. I had the surgery at around noon, and I was back home watching television by 7 p.m. that day. Amazing.

That's the thing about laparoscopic surgery: less pain than an open incision, little to no hospital stay for recovery, maybe even a shorter recovery time at home.

I tell you this not to solicit sympathy, or free food, or extra attention. During my recent hospital visits I saw many people walking the hallways with far more serious issues then mine: cancer, amputations, heart conditions, respiratory ailments, renal conditions. A friend of mine recently had a kidney transplant after years of dialysis and anxiety. Another friend is recovering from a spinal infection. What I had was a nuisance by comparison. Know that I know that.

The funny thing is that this gall stone issue popped up in the middle of my regularly scheduled slate of medical appointments. I have a dermatology appointment this week. Then there's my annual eye exam next week, followed by a follow-up with my gall bladder surgeon the week after. Then we wrap things up with a visit to my dentist near the end of the month to fill a cavity. All of these appointments are in March alone. I have no more body functions for annual examination.

I do have post-it notes lining my kitchen door frame to remind me of where I'm supposed to be next. I have more appointments now in retirement than I ever did when I was a working stiff.

Anyway, I'm in the recovery process now. I'm not supposed to lift anything more than 15 pounds for the next four to six weeks, which means I have to watch the weeds take over my lawn as spring approaches. No 20-pound bags of weed and feed; no 30-pound bags of grass seed in my immediate future. Oh, and no gym time.

I also get to drive my wife nuts. It's the only driving I'm allowed to do while I'm taking Hydrocodone.

So I guess I'm limited to reading, watching TV and showing people my laparoscopic holes. I humor myself by telling people I've been shot five times because the incisions look like bullet holes. A friend of mine said I should embellish the story and tell them I was shot five times saving a baby during a drive-by shooting. Or maybe a kitten. Yeah, that's it. I was shot five times saving a kitten.

After all, why should I bring attention to myself?