GLADYS
She was trouble. I didn’t even know how much trouble that gall was. I never suspected that she was behind the things that were going down for years. But then she made her presence known: well known. Put me in the hospital. At least then I knew who I was dealing with. Yet it wasn’t ’til I met a doctor named Pearlstein that I had someone who could take her out. And I mean permanently. She was horrible, he said, horrible horrible and ten more times horrible. But she wouldn’t be coming back the doctor assured me with grim satisfaction. Goodbye Gladys. I don’t think I’ll miss you.
Apologies to Linda Darnell, but she was the first noir star to come to mind when I thought about Gladys, as I had come to call my gallbladder. Like many I didn’t know much about gall bladders but as things turned out I must have been having gallstones for a few years now. They just got worse and worse. One landed me in the emergency room, but was mistaken for something else. Probably ‘some kind of gastric distress’ they told me and left it at that. I foolishly considered that meant it was a one-off, unlikely to trouble me again.
I was wrong and ended up in the hospital in Dundee with a pretty widespread inflammation. Fortunately I responded well to antibiotics (well, my body started to get better though I managed to vomit like Monty Python’s Mr Creosote the first night in the hospital). I was feeling good enough to read and Mark brought me fresh books. They said I should have troublesome thing removed. As I was about due to return to NY I set the wheels in motion here and earlier this month it was accomplished.
Dr Pearlstein explained the procedure and what it would be like if it went smoothly — out of the hospital the same day once I was awake and alert. He also spelled out all the possible complications. We both hoped for the best.
Gladys, alas, had other plans.
My surgeon did actually say that when I woke up: horrible, horrible, ten times more horrible. An uncommon variant of the stone-prone gallbladder with extra extras. More difficult to remove and led apparently to a lot of swearing. So more hospital time than expected which is less than fun. Fortunately I found the newagey music television channel with nature footage and kept that on so I didn’t get new roommates coming in and turning it to blaring F*x ‘News’ or the dreadful daytime chat shows.
Eventually I was sprung to recover back at Belle Ombre, well tended by Bertie and his excellent cooking. At my follow up appointment the doc said, ‘Wow, did you bruise!’ For sure. The incisions have become itchy so that’s healing. My Noirvember has been a little short on actual films noir but you can get plenty of recommendations from Criterion’s Letterboxd list if you need ideas. I did get around to a couple of interesting new-to-me films like David Lean’s Madeleine (1950), based on the same story in Glasgow that fascinated Marie Belloc Lowndes. Read about it on my Letterboxd profile.
And I must end with a cheery get-well gift from the fabulous QoE Stephanie: a much nicer and cuter replacement gallbladder!
