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The one where I thought I was dying

Fat Mum Slim /

It all happened one night when Hubby was on night shift. All the things seem to happen when he’s on night shift, the kids turn feral, the power goes out… it’s all just to test me, I’m sure.

This one night I went to bed and suddenly got pains, right in my heart. I’m a bit stubborn when it comes to sickness, so I sat in bed for a while and endured the pain and then decided to move to the lounge room to endure it some more there, in comfort. It felt like I was dying. It was massive pains in my chest. Everything hurt. I tossed up between getting an ambulance or begging Hubby to come home. Because I had no one to look after the kids, I called Hubby.

Hubby works in the police force and was a Surf Life Saver for years, so he knows his life-saving stuff, but he also has this beautiful ability to create calm among chaos. It felt like forever for him to come home, but when he did… he checked me over and said it didn’t look like a heart attack. OH BOY DID IT FEEL LIKE ONE. I started vomiting, and eventually the pain subsided.

In those moments when the pain was at it’s worse, I thought of all the things I hadn’t done, the life I wanted to live and sadly {SO pathetically!} that if I died, I wouldn’t have been able to write one last blog post. Oh dear…

The next day I went to the doctors, and had an ECG, and my heart was fine. It was just a freak thing, probably indigestion. Bloody Thai food.

A month later it happened again, and thankfully that time Hubby was home. I just rode it out, and then it passed.

But then it happened again last week, and it was bad. Everyone, except me, was playing in the pool and I started to get pains. My neighbour, who is totally old school, had told me that the next time it happens that I should drink Apple Cider Vinegar straight away. Holy smokes, drinking vinegar is not fun. But I gave it a go, and then I went to see her because I needed the distraction to get through the pain.

She suggested I drink more vinegar {yay!} and then I sat down and set up her new computer for her, as well as a few programs. Eventually the pain got too much and I went home and lay in bed. I couldn’t stand to be wearing clothes. Everything hurt, like the last time but worse. Instead of lasting an hour, it went on for twelve hours.

There was a point, around four hours in, when Hubby demanded that I get my clothes on and let him take me to hospital. But stubborn me said no.

The next day at the doctors I said, “I didn’t want to be the idiot at the hospital with indigestion” and I got the stern reply, “Well, do you want to be the idiot who ends up dead?”


I went for an ultrasound {those sonographers will not give anything away, will they?} as well as some blood tests and then went and saw my regular doctor. I had already diagnosed myself during those 12 hours of pain. I woke, writhing and decided that I had to know and started Googling uncomfortably at 1am. Gallstones. I was sure of it.

I was right. Big ones and lots of them.

Apparently I’m the prime candidate for them. My doctor explained that I was the four F’s. After I asked her to, “Please explain” she did. “Well, you’re a little bit fat.”

I loved that she held back a little, like she didn’t want to shock me in case I hadn’t seen a mirror in the past 20 years. “And you’re fair, and fertile and you’re forty.”

I wasn’t mad about the fat talk, but I wasn’t having this forty business. So I told her, “I’m not offended by the fat thing, but you’ve totally crossed the line with this forty talk. I’m 35. NOT EVEN CLOSE TO FORTY.”

She laughed, awkwardly.

And then I told her, “You just need to give me the medication that breaks those bad boys down, because I’m never having surgery in my life. Ever.”

“That’s not actually how it works,” she told me.

So surgery it is. I’m not upset about the surgery, although I’d rather not. I’m upset that I let my body down somehow. But perhaps this is a little speed hump in life. A little wake-up call for my health.

And as I said to my mum, “Oh gosh, it could be so much worse”.