Gall Bladders and Birthday Wishes

Last week we celebrated the second birthday of my first son. He's amazing. Everything I'd want in a special little fella, and a bit more.

In reflecting on him and his time with us, I thought about his birth. It was funny... the night before I'd had horrendous pain in my gut. I'd vomit. I'd crap. I'd sweat. I'd have the chills... Just terrible. I remember standing in the shower, wishing this non-location-specific pain would subside. That I could get comfortable. But it didn't. It just stayed with me, like a bad penny. Finally I passed out, only to be woken by a phone call from my wife. Her amniotic fluid was critically-low, and the doctors would not let her leave. They were going to perform a c-section that day. My boy was on his way!

Fast forward a couple years, and I still find I'm having that pain every so often. One night in late May or early June it hits me. It was a Friday night. We were planning on dinner with the in-laws, and perhaps some games after. Of course, my wife was 9+ months pregnant with our second son, so this was NOT the time for me to get ill.

After a couple hours of agony on the couch/bed, I give up. I go to the emergency ward to get looked at. Long story short, I have gall stones, and the surgeons agree that I should have my gall bladder removed.

Wow.

This is a problem for old people and fat people, not a young guy like me! I couldn't believe it. Sometimes I still can't, but for the three perforations along the top of the rib line and the large purple scar over my belly button. I have one fewer gall bladders than I came into this world with, bringing the grand total to none.

My obesity is starting to take a real toll on my body.

Merry we go 'round.

This morning I rose from bed at 6:00am. The alarm had gone off at 5:45, but I snoozed my way to six in Samsung-approved five minute increments. My wife had already gone downstairs thirty minutes prior, feeding the baby so he wouldn't starve at daycare, and the toddler moaned his displeasure at the early morning through the baby monitor located 30 inches from my face.

Oh goody.

I'm in bad shape. Phsyically. Emotionally. Mentally.

I look at this blog and see my last post was 11 months ago. My weight then matches my weight now. Another year, wasted.

Today I went to the gym for the first time in forever. My wife insisted. I complied. I'm glad she did. It sucked, and I never want to get up this early again, and yet I am secretly looking forward to going again on Friday.

I just did the eliptical on a low setting for 20 minutes. But I got up, I made it to the gym, and I moved my body for the first time in a year. Rust is getting shook.

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