Like many people I have been having gastrointestinal problems for years. These include but are not limited to: GERD, diverticulitis and cholecystitis. I've had various procedures, drugs and tests over the years but nothing has really SOLVED these problems until I had my gall bladder removed. I was lucky to have a good surgeon and the laparoscopic procedure went smoothly and successfully. I quickly recovered and now feel a bit sharper than before, but there was one side effect as detailed in the poem...
There's been gremlins in my guts, no ifs, nor ands nor buts,
Which showed no sign of playing by the rules.
They forced my guts to bloat, sent reflux up my throat,
And burnt my arse with frequent narrow stools.
I consulted with GPs, about my damn disease,
And to specialists, they sent me to and fro,
"It's only GERD." one said, "The problem's in your head".
Another simply said: "We just don't know."
But then it struck in main, with fever and great pain,
And landed me inside intensive care.
And there just sent to spite us, they found diverticulitis,
A trap of which I ever must beware.
I've had cameras in my tum and others up my bum,
Tried everything and yet it just got worse.
And after years of trying, I might have felt like crying,
But the night came when at last I found the curse.
It was 4am one morning when on sudden, without warning,
I was woken with a burning gastric ache.
It felt like indigestion but far worse, and beyond question
The pain of it was more than I could take.
So I jumped into the car and drove along the tar,
Until I reached the casualty door.
And I did beg and pray: "Please take the pain away."
Until at last the morphine did the chore.
An ultrasonic scan then revealed the master plan,
For it turned out my gall bladder was inflamed,
And filled with stones and sludge, and if science was the judge,
To remedy: Remove the organ blamed.
So a few months down the track, at the hospice I was back,
All prepped and ready for my cholecystectomy.
With cutter and trocar and a laparoscopic bar,
The surgeon did a job that seemed perfect to me.
So now I'm feeling fine, I eat pizza and drink wine,
And perhaps I am a tad less corpulënt.
But when I over-eat, at home or down the street,
I turn alas, surpassing flatulënt.
Warren Mars - June 2015