No, I didn't die. The little Drama Queen inside of me wants to add that, had I been born in another place and age, maybe I would have.

See, I underwent a surgical procedure. I'm no longer an O.R. virgin. My previously unmarked and white skin now sustains a long and rather provokative slash.

I don't know if I'll be able to tell everything now. I'm still rather uncomfortable, you know. My right hand is totally numb because that's where the I.V. needle was, and it's horribly swollen. Plus, this chair is anything but comfortable. But I'll try.

It all began on Thursday morning. Upon waking I noticed I was feeling the same pain I always did, right below my ribs and on the right side. A deep, burning, growing pain and an incipient nausea. Oh boy, I thought, here we go again. I tried not to say anything because I thought everybody, myself included , was ultimately sick of hearing about my ailments, and that maybe this time it would pass soon. Anyway, the pain was very bad, as well as the nausea, and Belendor noticed and asked me about it. I told him I didn't feel very well but that I didn't want to stay home because I have missed so many workdays lately. Velis already had spoken with me about it, remember. Besides, although the pain was really bad, I was in denial; I hadn't felt bad for two or three weeks, since I had started treatment with the new doctor, and I had kind of made up my mind that I wouldn't be ill anymore, so I was very frustrated when I felt so bad that morning. So I told Belendor I felt mostly OK and we both went to work.

By noon, I was feeling so bad that I had to ask permission to leave the office. Besides the pain, which was great, the nausea was becoming more and more pressing, and as I knew how my vomiting crises developed I didn't want to be at the office when this one started. So I took a cab and came home and sure enough, I started to throw up the very minute I stepped into the house. I don't want to gross you out, but I'll tell you this much: I was throwing up every ten minutes from about midday until midnight, and mostly only yellow bile, so you can picture how horrible it was. I tried to reach my doctor but he was nowhere to be found. Actually, I found out later that his asshole receptionists wouldn't put him on the phone because they "didn't think it was an emergency".

By the time Belendor got home, at about 5 o'clock, I was feeling terrible and crying stoplessly. To top things with, my period started just then. Priceless and with perfect timing, just as usual. This wasn't the first time I had an episode like this, but I felt additional frustration about this one because I really thought all that was behind me now, that I was cured, and this crisis was so vicious I was very scared. Plus, I still couldn't get a hold on my doctor. So yes, I was semi-hysterical by then.

He, of course, was very worried. He tried contacting the doctor, but it wasn't until he screamed to the girl on the phone that it was a fucking emergency, to put the doctor on the stupid phone that we could speak to him. The doctor immediately told Belendor to take me to the hospital, that he would join us later.

We took a cab and went to the hospital. I was in such state that I couldn't feel my hands and my feet anymore. The pain was terrible, but the nausea was the worst. I couldn't breathe, so I was gasping for air, I hyperventilated and that was why my limbs went numb. When we got to the admissions desk the doctor hadn't arrived yet, so the motherfucking receptionists said that they couldn't admit me until the doctor arrived, so I had to lay semi-unconscious on their couch in the waiting area and getting up three or four times to vomit until he arrived. Then they kindly agreed to let me have a bed and a room where no one could see me puking my guts out. Gosh, I hated them. I could have died there and they wouldn't have cared.

Dr. Svach was very kind. He has a soft touch. He said the first thing we must do was to calm me down, so he gave me enough Xanax to knock down an elephant and scheduled tests for the morning. I slept very well, to tell the truth, but when I awoke the pain was still intense, although the nausea had subsided. An ultrasound was performed first thing in the morning, and it revealed at least one big gallstone in --you guessed it-- my gallbladder. Fortunately, he scheduled the operation in another hospital because, although the nurses had been nice enough once I was admitted, I still felt they had treated me like a leper.

The operation was performed on Friday night. They took the gallbladder out just before it burst, they told my Mom. I had to enormous stones inside, about the size of peachpits. They are really ugly. I almost don't remember anything of it, because I was heavily sedated --of course. My first clear memories are of waking up on Saturday morning, needing to pee. I could feel the pain on my side from the cut, and I could feel my legs wet because of the blood of my menstruation. It was rather disgusting. And I couldn't move at all; it was as if I were paralyzed.

Saturday and Sunday were pretty disgusting. I didn't feel very bad, I mean, I wasn't screaming, but I was impaired enough to be unable to do anything without help. Fortunately, my Mom was there. Belendor had to go on tour all weekend, so he had left just after they brought me back from the O.R. He didn't want to go, but my Mom talked him into it. We do need the money, after all. But I felt better that he wasn't the one that had to cope with my bloody pads and my goings to the bathroom. I know he would have done it gladly, as I would have done the same for him, but I wouldn't have been comfortable at all. I wasn't that comfortable with my mom, you know, but it was much better.

I was discharged from the hospital yesterday morning. We came home and I couldn't be happier. Saturday felt eternal at the hospital. Now I feel much better and plus, I'm in my house. I'm just sitting on the couch doing nothing but to start to reread all those old books that I hadn't had near me in such a long time. I can move by myself now and can go to the bathroom alone and all. I just need help to change the bandages, that's all.

It was quite an adventure, and now I'm on one of my patented mental handjobs (I don't know if that expression exists in English but it's very popular in Spanish). I'm not complete anymore; my body has been tampered with. Had I been born in another place, in another time, I may very well have died. I would probably have died. Had I not gone into a hysterical fit, maybe I would have overseen my crisis and my gallbladder would have burst, I would have gottern a perithonitis and died. I know it wasn't such a big deal, I mean, it wasn't a heart transplant or anything like that, people have their gallbladders extracted every day, but I still feel that I could have died last week. I'm not too downhearted, though. In fact, I'm really happy, and very well. Now I'm finally healthy, and I won't be ill anymore. No more pain for me, thank you very much.