Gally me, that's quite a stone!

If I was a top trump card, I think I would be the one people get and sigh.

Oh great, I got Miss. Sicky. You might as well just take her really.
*defeatedly hands over card* 

That being said, I'm not yet dead, so I'd have some pretty narly strength/deathproofability scores.
(Yes, I said narly, and I so pulled it off).

Anyway, several tests later and they have discovered a stowaway in my gallbladder in the form of a gallstone, which is taking up 25% of the space. Talk about greedy!

First it comes along uninvited and then has the nerve to take up a whole heap o' space without any permission at all. The rudeness of it!

So you know what they suggested to get even with the fucker? Remove it you say? No no. That would be tame. We want revenge damn it.

Instead, let's get the bailiffs in and take back it's stolen home by storm. I have termed it 'Operation retrieve gallbladder'. And by retrieve, I mean rip out and throw away. That'll teach the pesky stone once and for all.

Us against it.

And by us, I mean the surgeons who will be hacking me open like a dead animal operating on me in a few weeks time. I won't really have much participation in the whole ordeal other than lying there unconscious. Call me lazy.  

Am I scared? AS IF. I'm pumped to be sliced and diced, and wear that fetching hospital gown again. Blood tests?! GIVE ME TWO. Or not...

Actually, can someone please hold my hand?...

Well, it does keep me busy I suppose? There is also a 70-80% chance of no more excruciating pain after the op. Major plus!

And anyway, I always thought my body:organ ratio was just a tad unbalanced.

Note to self: wear sensible underwear.

Yesterday, I learnt how to make chicken curry, and how to make apple sauce (Not for the same dish I should point out).

After having a lie down to recover from all that excitement, I came to a realisation. Croydon is boring.

There, I said it.

Uni is over, and I'm home. Home, where there's nothing to do. Super duper.

Having ended a relationship with a guy who in all honestly was too good for me, I've realised there really isn't much back home for me. Growing up loving my small sleepy town, it turns out, as a Uni graduate, that really isn't too appealing. Whodaknown ey?

Well, I say nothing, that's a lie. Next week holds a heap of excitement for me. Hospital visits galore and tests a plenty. Welcome home to me...

I figured, go big or go home. From blood tests, to MRI's to ultrasounds, to some weird enzyme test, 'gimme the lot!' I said.

That's a lie. The doctor said 'give her the lot!', I whimpered and mentally broke down. Not that I'm not super excited. Bring on the tests!

Just one thing to remember: hospital gowns are backless... [see post title].