I’m dealing with sludge in my gallbladder. Basically, my bile has thickened. Some of it has likely turned to gallstones. These gallstones have apparently blocked some of my bile ducts. This results in my gallbladder spasming when it tries to deliver bile upon demand from the intestines. That spasm causes more pain than I felt from my kidney stones a few years back. The short-term solution is to avoid red meat and dairy fats, foods and substances that need more bile to break down for digestion. Long-term, they want to remove my gallbladder.
Last night I dreamed that I was with a young white woman. She wore a white toga clipped over one shoulder. I never got a name and didn’t look much at her.
My attention was focused on the scene before me. It seemed like a large model of organs. “What is this?”
She replied, “That’s your gallbladder and liver. See, there is your bile.”
Leaning over to examine it more closely, I took in the many pebbles in the sludge that was my bile. “You made a model of my gallbladder and liver and filled it with sludge?” I was amazed and amused.
“No, these are your actual parts.”
As I digested that with surprise, she said, “Now watch.”
Hand flat and open, palm down, she swept it slowly around my organs. As she did, all the pebbles just vanished. My bile turned from sludge into something more fluid.
I’ve been hearing a little voice in my head. Well, there are actually a few. I live by a committee of voices in my head. Some are writing advisors, editors, and muses. Others are DIY budgeteers. Several more very vocal citizens and progressives are in there, often spitting mad with exasperation and disgust as the Trump wrecking ball obliterates democracy, decency, and morality in the United States. Besides them and voices of memory who like to bring up things I have done and enjoyed, I also have a couple health consultant voices, a few therapists and exercise coaches, and relationship advisors. On the whole, they’re mostly civilized, respecting the other voices, only speaking up when the others are quiet.
One thing I’ve learned from all of these is not to ignore them. As time has threaded past, I’ve repeatedly been re-educated that the little voices often know a lot more than me about what’s going on and what I should do. When I ignore them, things will go bad, as they predict. Naturally, they then say, “I told you so. You should’ve listened.”
So I’m vowing to them again, “Okay, I’m listening.”
Like many things I post, it’s both me celebrating myself and my minor victories, but it’s also just sharing my experiences because they might help others. In this case, I’m writing about my gallbladder adventures.
Back on July 6, I had extreme abdominal pain. Went to ER. After tests and talking and examinations, turns out my bile was sludge and my gallbladder spasmed. Further testing was done, ruling other things out. I’m set up to see a vascular surgeon a couple months from now.
I researched what to eat and not to eat. Two weeks later, I mindlessly ate two butter mini-croissants and launched another gallbladder adventure. Didn’t hit the ER because the pains and feelings all dupicated what I’d had before. Just downed the anti-nausea stuff they’d given me and half a pain killer, twice.
Learning from that, I went from being ‘watch-your-sodium-and-fat’ casual to being ruthlessly anti-fat and anti-sodium. With further research, I readjusted my anti-fat stance and adjusted it to consume fats in olive oil and avocados, along with a few others. These were good fats, which might help unsludge my bile.
Meanwhile, others in netland had shared their gallbladder experiences and I took away some lessons. Now I swear by Manuka honey and peppermint tea. Both of them subdue my bile and gallbladder when they get cantankerous. That’s happening less and less frequently.
In parallel, I’ve sought additional ways to unsludge my bile. To that end, I’ve been using milk thistle, Arctic Cod Oil, NAD, and Ashwagandha every day. While medical trials and studies haven’t embraced these as helpful, I feel like they have as my symptoms diminish. Of course, I’ve been super diligent about what I eat and drink, too. And, of course, I might have a panacea effect from them.
While doing those things, I increased my hydrating, and found and ate more fibrous foods, like adding flax seed to my morning oatmeal or buckwheat. I’ve eaten some skinless grilled chicken but no other meat. I have increased my salmon intake. I eat less, always abstaining from ‘eating until feeling full’ and eschewing second courses, treats, and desserts. Dairy-based butter is an absolute no-no but plant-based butter products are okay. Full fat cheese is off the menu, and I suppressed eating any cheese, just on principle. I walk away from my plate, ignoring my inner Mom telling me to clean my plate. And, I exercise more. So now, I’ve lost ten pounds.
To deal with itching from the bile salts (they’re not 100% that this is what causes it), I turned to icing myselfly, repeatedly and abundantly. That worked to kill the need to scratch and the itching urges are ratching down in a strong trend.
Is it all working? Seems to be. Could be. Or maybe I’m fooling myself. As with so many things along life’s spectrum, time will tell.
Last night was beautifully clear and cool.The temperature dropped into the 50s. We were rewarded with a coolly comfortable house in the morning, third day in a row. I credit the skunks for some of that. We usually open our windows at night, and our doors for a few evening hours, to naturally cool the house. Skunks, though, were getting busy at eleven at night, releasing their odor and forcing us to shut the windows. The skunks have taken an August recess. Hope they’re not ending it soon.
Today is Satyrda, August 9, 2025. It’s 75 F now, feels 85 F, and is going to reach 91. Tomorrow, we stalk the century zone again. I think about how pleased I am that I used the cool stretch to get outside work accomplished. The flip of that is, while I was doing that work, I discovered — or sometimes, re-discovered — other work to be done at there. I’m bristling about it a little now because today and tomorrow are swamped with calls for other activities, like a memorial service for a friend. There’s too many of those things going on.
We’re going on vacay, too. Detailed planning plagues the days leading up to our planned departure. Food is the subject. We’re sharing a house with two other couples. Those four are a decade plus older than us. We all live under food restrictions. No this and that. I now have my own list. They all want to cook in the rented home. That’s apparently part of their vacation ethos: “Let’s go away and cook.”
Each couple is to provide dinner one night. We’re on our own for breakfast and lunch. My wife and I have a surprise dessert planned, a vegan fondue smorgasbord.
As I sat reading news and sipping my coffee, my wife said from her part of the office, “We don’t need to worry about him. He’s golfing today.”
“Not true,” I answered. “Thanks to modern technology, he can text something or call someone and launch a new round of craziness.”
Although we never said his name, we’re talking about the human wrecking ball named Trump, who is also known as TACO. My wife and I share some laughs over FAFO stories, like the Trump Burger guy who ICE picked up and plans to deport, Roland Mehrez Beainy. Beainy responds to the claims against him, “Ninety percent of the shit they’re saying is not true.” Well, that’s probaby so. This is the TACO regime. They’re addicted to lying, just their leader, TACO himself.
Shifting tones, my wife and I are angry about reports of how big tech is helping the TACO Regime. Apple’s investments, and Tim Cook’s gold offering to Trump sicken us. Amazon Web Services gave Trump a billion dollar discount. Gag, groan. Google slashed cloud services for the TACO Regime. OpenAI is giving Trump’s agencies access for $1 per year. Ordinarily, I’d think, look how great this is, with these companies helping the United States. But they’re not helping the U.S. Nothing Trump does helps the U.S. It’s all about him. And these companies are bribing him to stay on his good side.
Today’s music is “Pride and Joy”. This is a 1983 rock blues offering by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble. My wife and I are both fans of SRV & DT, and we enjoy this song. But I don’t understand any segue that leads from what I dreamed, thought, or observed that led The Neurons to pull this one out and slot it into the morning mental music stream. It’s just one of those brain things, I guess.
Coffee has been sucked up. Its off to the races. Hope grace and peace finds and keeps you. Cheers
I just want to note. Children are dying of starvation around the world, but most especially, most visibly, in Gaza. And the self-described ‘pro-life’ party in power, the ones who hounds every woman seeking an abortion with religious zeal while screaming about the sanctity of life is doing fuck all about the dying children. No, the greedy Republicans like Speaker Johnson and Donald Trump are focused on making money and saving money, and protecting Trump from the Epstein Files fall out and exposure as a pedophile.
As always, actions speak louder than words. The GOP’s actions scream with hypocrisy.
Spent Satyrda & Sun recovering from the gall bladder episode. I’m not a doctor. Don’t even play one anywhere. Not even in my mind. But I was too familiar with the upset gall bladders symptoms for the one previously experienced in July to mistake it for anything else.
So, watched telly on Saytyrda. Pulp Fiction and No Country for Old Men. Unfortunately, it was on Miramax, who are apparently squeamish about any variation of fuck and also disliked some scenes and left them out. Slept off and on Satyrda through that, but itched a lot. After going through a day when even drinking water nauseated me, I ate a bowl of oatmeal about midnight, which was the day’s sustenance.
Much better on Sunda. No abdominal pain at last but wary of eating, I searched the net for safe foods for gall bladder problems and gall stones. I resumed exercising. Had lean grilled chicken for dinner. Now aware that if I start feeling unusually full, as I’d noticed previous to both of the attacks, I reduced my intake and monitored myself.
Now the itching. There’s casual effects between being enormously itchy and gall bladder matters. They’re not sure what causes it, according to my net reading, but they think it might be something called ‘bile salt’. Whatever it is, man, places just suddenly exploded with itchiness. Breasts and chest. Scrotum, ankles, belly, underarms, wrists, palms, soles. It does afflict just one place at a time, like wrists, but it’s both wrists simultaneously, both palms, both soles, etc.
On the bright side, my other medical issues have taken a back seat to the gall bladder thingy. I’d say that’s mighty kind of them.
86 F outside. That’s supposed to be our high in Ashlandia for this Satyrda, July 26, 2025.
I haven’t read much news today. Haven’t been up much and haven’t been inclined. Dreams provided me with “Red, Red Wine” as today’s theme music. Neil Diamond wrote the song and originally recorded it. Much as Neil Diamond has said, I prefer UB40’s lighter, reggae arrangement. That’s what I’m going with today.
I’m sipping on a smoothie. Wild blueberries with banana, water, pear, and spinach, it’s a personal favorite. It is not going down well.
My abdomen aches from the bottom of my sternum to an inch below my belly button. Last night, I had a mini croissant. Freshly baked frozen thing from TJs. Ate it about seven PM. At 3:30, my gall bladder spasmed, telling me it didn’t like what I’d done.
Fortunately, the emergency room had given me meds for this moment when I visited them on July 6, 2025. I did a pain killer and an anti-nausea pill and then rolled with it back in bed for several softly groaning hours. I sometimes dropped into a sketchy, uncomfortable sleep. Deeper sleep came after full sunshine was lighting the yard.
Awakening, my esophagus felt raw and burning. Bile’s taste pushed into my throat. I sipped water. That made it worse. A small spoon of manuka helped ease all of that. Then back to bed, where deeper sleep comforted me for a while.
Finally at one thirty, I got out of bed. My wife and I made the smoothie together. Now I sit, trying to coax it down. Another pain pill might be in order if I’m gonna get any writing done. I’ve been taught a lesson, again: be more mindful about what you eat. I’ve learned it before.
Mom participates in a sleep study once a month. An emphysema sufferer, she wears a mask at night with a machine that helps her breathe.
This study, though, I don’t know. Full disclosure: I’m not a sleep expert. Fuller disclosure: I’m not an expert in anything. But from a point of view that I have lived a bit, I question the quality of the sleep study. They have her turn up three hours before her normal bedtime. Then they require all the participants to sleep in their clothes. This idea is so they can get up and leave faster in the morning.
About the morning. They wake the sleep participants up at 5 AM to scoot them out the door. And, Mom complains that they keep the place freezing cold and don’t provide anyone with enough blankets. Not much sleeping is done, Mom says.
Again, I’m not an expert, but it sounds like this sleep study is in the deep throes of full-on enshittification.
