After two days of clutching his side and cursing his condition, D. decided to consult a professional in hopes of tracing the origins of his mysterious pain. I wrote in this post about how D. and I put the scientific method through all sorts of rigorous trials to try to figure out the cause of his discomfort.

And since a pulled muscle typically doesn’t present (see? I told y’all that I was ON TOP OF THINGS when it comes to medicine…well, actually I’ve just heard EK and Katy use that term when they talk about Medical Things) with sharp, stabbing pains, it seemed wise to let a more “qualified” person analyze the situation. Maybe even a “doctor.”

As it turns out, D.’s gallbladder has gone into slacker mode and is only half as efficient as it should be. He had some tests done on Wednesday, and Thursday we found out that surgery will probably be his best option. I instantly named about 5 or 6 people we know who have had the surgery (when will you believe me? My mind is a STEEL TRAP filled with statistics, procedures, warning signs, and worst case scenarios). After doing a little bit of his own research, D. realized that it’s actually a pretty safe procedure that is also incredibly common.

But here is why I love my husband. The thought of someone slicing open his stomach, inserting a tube, slicing open his stomach in another place, inserting a light, and then using the tube to PULL OUT HIS GALLBLADDER doesn’t bother him. Not the least little bit (keep in mind that this is the same person who watched my c-section as if it were the 1999 Egg Bowl. While I was in the recovery room, D. went all play-by-play on me, basically re-hashing how the doctors pulled out various innards and organs, laid them on a table, and then “they just shoved it all back in there!” Which did not inspire any confidence at all that I would ever be normal again).

No, what bothers him is the list of foods he’ll no longer be able to eat.

The list goes something like this: no more cold foods, white flour, white sugar, acidic foods, fried foods, or caffeine.

D. looked at me after reading the list and said, “WHAT ELSE IS THERE?”

“Well,” I replied, “there’s grilled meat, whole wheat flour, Splenda, caffeine free diet Pepsi – there will be stuff that you can eat.”

“Mmmmm…a cake made with WHOLE WHEAT FLOUR and SPLENDA – doesn’t that sound DELICIOUS?”

When he had his initial doctor’s appointment, the nurse asked him if he had been following a low-cholesterol diet.

“Not exactly,” he replied.

When she tried to dig a little deeper about his eating habits, he finally confessed, “I like things like country fried steak and rice with a pan of homemade gravy.”

But no more.

Until the surgery, it’ll be broth and Jello for all! And after the surgery it will be foods that aren’t cold, sugared, caffeinated, floured or fried.

With a pan of gravy on the side, of course.

Your child would look like this, too, if you left the house this morning with the new box of diapers in the back of your car (the box of diapers that should have been in the house because the previous box is, you know, empty), and your husband, who has upper rib fat cancer and is in a great deal of pain and has no intention, no intention at all of leaving the house, finds something, anything to take the place of a diaper.

I’m actually very relieved that D. found the Swimmers. I had visions of him having to take a towel and secure it around A.’s waist with rope or something. Like ye olden days.

A. has no clothes on because the first Swimmer had a bit of a leaking problem, and D., due to pain from upper rib fat cancer, just didn’t have it in him to dress the child one more time.

Apparently, however, a life with no clothes and a faux diaper suits the young lad…he actually fell asleep on the couch in the middle of the day.

And he had a brand new box of diapers waiting on him when he got up from his nap.

Clothes, too.

‘Cause we’re fancy like that.

A. loves the little girl next door. Her name is Sarah, and she’s 4, and A. thinks she’s the greatest.

Tonight Sarah came over while D. helped her daddy with some computer stuff. And when they walked in the front door, A. screamed, “OH, SARAH” like someone had just handed him buckets of chocolate and gold.

He ran up to her, gave her a big hug, and then the next thing caught me way off guard.

He stood back, gave her the once-over with his little blue eyes and said, “OH, Sarah – you’re SO cute.”

Help me.

Yesterday D. was in all manner of pain.

There was the clinching of the side. The wincing with the motion. The sighing with the sitting. He was uncomfortable at every turn.

When we were on the way home from church, he mentioned that his pain was getting worse, and of course Nurse Nancy here said, “Do you need to go to the doctor? Do you think it’s your appendix or something?”

“No,” he said. “I think it’ll be okay. But if it’s not better tomorrow, I’ll go see someone.”

And so the speculation began, because I am nothing if not medically cautious. I personally have diagnosed myself with several major diseases using only the internet and back issues of Ladies’ Home Journal.

One Christmas when D. and I were dating he even gave me a copy of the Merck Medical Encyclopedia. I couldn’t understand a THING because it had all the Latin phrases and extensive protocols for each condition, but boy did I have big fun trying to make sense of it all. HOURS of fun.

When it comes to fatal and chronic conditions, I am ON TOP OF THINGS. And my doctor LOVES to see me coming, as I’m sure you can imagine.

[Side note: one of the more embarrassing instances of this habit of mine was when we first moved here and I had a throbbing pain in my right hip that sort of radiated down my leg and around my side. When I met the doctor – for the FIRST TIME, I might add – he said, “What’s going on today?”

I said – and this is not an exaggeration for effect, this is the truth and nothing but the truth – “Doctor, I’m eat up with bladder cancer” (in my family, you can’t just have a little cancer…you must in fact be “eat up” with it).

He fell out laughing, so I immediately liked him. Then he examined me and diagnosed me with an inflamed sciatic nerve.

So I’m not what you would call ACCURATE with my armchair medical practice. But I get an “E” for Effort.]

Anyhoo. Back to D.’s mystery pain. We ran through the following line of questioning. If it wasn’t his appendix, was it

1) a heart attack? Did his arm tingle?
2) a cracked rib? Had he run into anything? (However, as a general rule, in this family, if someone is going to run into something or fall down something, 9 times out of 10 it will be me, graceful swan that I am.)
3) a pulled muscle? Had he lifted A. at some point? 38 lb. toddlers do take a toll on the muscles, after all.
4) some form of indigestion?
5) bursitis? I don’t know what bursitis is, but my mama mentioned it as a possible medical malady EVERY SINGLE TIME she had any sort of muscle discomfort.
6) arthritis? See explanation for #5, only include the words “flared up” – because for Mama, arthritis is always described as “flared up.”

We did this routine all day long. Finally, around 7 last night, D. looked at me with a pained expression on his face, and said, “I think I know what it is.”

“What? A pulled muscle?”

“No. It’s upper rib fat cancer.”

I nearly wet my pants. He beat me at my own game.

And y’all will be happy to know that the upper rib fat cancer *cough* pulled muscle *cough* is much better today.