The Story of When I Thought I Was Dying and Called an Ambulance

Prologue

It was a cold day in February, with a blizzard blowing.

To begin with, for about two months prior, my physical condition had been not just mediocre, but downright poor.
The main symptoms were gastrointestinal. I could eat, but I would get indigestion. Moreover, after eating, my back would hurt. It felt as if I had swallowed a large piece of bread or a steamed bun in a hurry without drinking any water, causing pressure and pain around the back left side of my stomach.

I went to a local clinic, but they couldn't find anything particularly wrong, and the cause remained unknown. It would get better if I rested for a while, so I spent my days just muddling through.

It was a busy time.
Compared to before, my responsibilities at work had become significantly heavier.
I had a very big project, and every day felt like taking three steps forward and two steps back. I would come home exhausted, feed my children store-bought side dishes, and then just collapse on the sofa, and this continued for a while.
Furthermore, just at that time, my parent who lived far away was hospitalized. I forced myself to take time off, packed my PC and all my documents, and flew back and forth. Because I had to force myself to take time off, the cleanup after returning was also difficult, leading to more overtime—that was my daily life.

I was in my 50s at the time, but I was living like I was in my 30s, kicking dirt around like a bulldozer. If I'm honest, I had a twisted sense of pride where I was a bit proud of myself for being that way.
I'll do my job thoroughly, improve performance, do the housework, go to the children's PTA meetings, and take care of my parents.
Like, "I'm working 24 hours a day, you got a problem with that?"
Is this the Showa era? Yes, I was born in the Showa era.

Day 0: Ambulance, Come On!

That day, my husband was away on a business trip.

At the time, the only one home was my son, who was a first-year high school student. I said, "Dad's not here, so let's have omurice for dinner," and I made a huge omurice for us to share. It was a stamina-packed dish for a high schooler, loaded with meat, oil, and plenty of eggs. Delicious.

An hour after eating, a sudden, intense pain struck my solar plexus and back.

Ugh... ah... it... hurts...

I had felt mild pain several times before. That's why I had gone to the local clinic. But the blood tests and other results showed no abnormalities, and they just gave me antacids, assuming it was my stomach or duodenum. That had improved things a little.

However, the pain that day was more intense than anything I had ever experienced.
No matter what position I took, it hurt.
Rather than just pain, it was a crushing sensation, as if a giant, hard rubber ball was inside my solar plexus and was constantly expanding.
It was agonizing. My husband wasn't there, and I couldn't take it anymore, so I crawled desperately to the bathroom and told my son, who was inside, to "call an ambulance."

My son, not knowing what was going on, called 119 while naked. But as soon as the call went through, the pain vanished as if it were a lie.

"Oh, it's gone. I'm sorry, I'm okay. I seem to be okay. I'm sorry."

I hurriedly made my son apologize to the emergency personnel on the other end of the line. At the very least, I have the common sense not to call an ambulance for no reason. But it was also a fact that just a moment ago, I was in so much pain I couldn't even make the call myself.

119 must be busy, but they apparently told him, "Please call us again if you feel unwell."
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
But little did I know I would be relying on those words again immediately after.

Thinking, "Oh, it's cured, thank goodness," I went into the bath myself. However, once again, a bad premonition attacked me.

This is it, it's coming!

I got out of the bath immediately. Since I was naked, I hurriedly put on my pajamas before the pain could get any worse.
I had been washing my hair, so I at least dried my bangs.
But before I could dry the back of my hair, that thing came again.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!!!!

It was a pain like being crushed by a giant rock from above. I couldn't make a sound.
Not only could I not speak, but it was so painful that I couldn't breathe.
For the first time in my life, I thought I might die.
It's painful, I want to breathe, it hurts!

"Please... one more time... call an ambulance..."

How much energy did it take just to say that much?
I couldn't even lose consciousness, and my vision blurred because I couldn't take in air due to the pain.
It's painful, it's painful, it's painful, it hurts, it hurts, help me!!!!

Fortunately, the ambulance crew arrived immediately. I didn't have time to dry the back of my hair, so it was wet and sticky, and I was in my home pajamas.
But I guess you could say I had no choice, or rather, both my back and my stomach hurt!
I couldn't move on my own, so I was put on a stretcher and carried into the ambulance.
Even then, it still hurt, it was painful, it hurt, it was painful...

With nothing else I could do, I was transported to a nearby emergency hospital.
The siren wailing 'woo-woo' felt unreal, and every time the ambulance changed speed, the vibration of the vehicle made the pain worse again, and I screamed in my heart for help. I couldn't make a sound.
My high school freshman son came along, carrying my bag and shoes. No, really, thank you. Having you there really, truly helped me.

Day 1: Until hospitalization was decided

I was taken to the ER (emergency room) at the hospital I arrived at and laid on a bed. Since I was brought in in the middle of the night, the date changed immediately. Perhaps because I felt relieved that the ambulance had come, the pain eased just a little, but it still attacked me intermittently.
It hurts. It's not as bad as before, but it hurts. It hurts enough that I can't walk to the bathroom.
Excuse me, nurse. I want to go to the bathroom, so please take me in a wheelchair.

The silver lining was that I was able to have a blood test while the symptoms were appearing. A young doctor on duty came over and told me,
"Your liver values are bad, so I think it might be gallstones."
I was told.
"It's night, so we can't do it now, but let's have a detailed examination tomorrow morning."
Ah, so that's the cause. I didn't know until now, but that's what it is.
This young doctor on duty looked like a god to me. Although I couldn't see his face well because of his mask.

Gallstones, huh.

Many of my relatives also have problems with their gallbladders. Maybe I have a constitution where stones form easily.
They say the standard for gallstones is pain in the upper right back, but in my case, my upper left back was always hurting. I guess that happens too.

Anyway, I thought while in pain that if I knew the cause, I could manage somehow.
I gave my high school freshman son money to take a taxi home, and since I was given strong painkillers, I think I slept for about three hours. How slowly time passed. The emergency (ER) bed was narrow, and the place where the bed was was also narrow, just enclosed by a curtain. I endured the pain there for a long, long time, waiting for morning.

Since it's an emergency room, patients just kept coming one after another. The staff worked calmly as if it were routine work. The ER is a tough workplace.

Everyone is amazing!
But it hurts...

Eventually, morning came, and the doctors and nurses switched from the night shift to the day shift.
Oh, a new doctor.

Today's doctor is a middle-aged, veteran-looking man. He introduced himself, saying, "I've taken over from the night shift doctor," and since gallstones are suspected, he had me sign a consent form for various tests.

Just do whatever it takes. And find the cause!

I underwent several tests, including a regular CT scan and a CT scan using a contrast agent, and finally the doctor told me,
"Since gallstones are highly likely, we will perform a contrast examination using an endoscope, and if there are stones in the bile duct, we will remove them with a basket-like instrument attached to the tip of the endoscope."

An endoscope!?

When you say endoscopy, you mean the stomach camera they use for physical exams, right?
You know, that stomach camera I hate the most, the one that makes you gag?
The one that's painful even with sedatives, right?!!
(Note: This is just my personal opinion.)

Fortunately, the endoscopic surgery for examination and treatment was performed while I was unconscious. I realized I was back on an ER bed when I woke up. Thank you, doctor. My throat hurts a little (did it get caught when they inserted it?), but that doesn't matter.

It was decided right then that I would be hospitalized.

However, since I was an emergency patient, my hospital room wasn't ready. I was made to wait for a while. I didn't have the energy to ask what the results were. Eventually, I was rushed onto a stretcher, and it wasn't until night that I finally settled into a hospital room.

My husband arrived around 7:00 PM.

He had rushed over after his business trip. But the sedatives were still in my system, so I couldn't really hold a proper conversation.
Or rather, I was sleepy.
After asking for a few things I needed for my hospital stay, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep while he was still there. I'm sorry.

But of course, I couldn't sleep soundly until morning. I woke up many times that night too.
Whether it was from the pain or someone groaning. Oh well, I'm in the hospital, so I'll just nap during the day. I think the last time I thought that was around 2:00 AM.

Day 2: Diagnosis: Choledocholithiasis

After repeatedly waking up and falling back asleep, the second morning arrived.
I'm lying in bed connected to various tubes. I can't get up. I can turn over, so I slowly turn to the right and then to the left. I'm in a four-person room, in a bed by the window.

Just before 9:00 AM, a woman wearing dark-colored scrubs (that's what they're called, right?) appeared.

She greeted me, saying, "I'm [Name], your attending physician."

Wow, she's young!
She's beautiful!
She has that vibe where she could be in Sakamichi or AKB and occasionally take the center position.

"The stone has been removed. It was small, though."
Oh, that's good. But doctor, it still hurts.

My diagnosis was choledocholithiasis.
The end of the bile duct, which comes from the gallbladder itself, connects to the duodenum. It seems like a sand-like gallstone got stuck at that exit.

The medical team inserted an endoscope through my mouth to the duodenum, cut the duodenal papilla (the exit of the bile duct), and removed the stone with a basket-like instrument attached to the end of the endoscope. They said they inserted a small stent (like a metal tube) because the cut hole would adhere if left as is. When I Googled it later, it seemed like a very common treatment.

In any case, the explanation was easy to understand, and she listened to what I had to say, so she seemed like someone I could communicate with well. And honestly, the fact that this doctor, who is probably quite young among the permanent staff, is my attending physician made me assume that my condition wasn't that bad. If I were a patient with suspicious findings during the endoscopy or someone whose case might become complicated, a veteran doctor would have been assigned as my attending physician. I don't know if that's actually true, but oh well, positive thinking. Yay!

As for my abdomen, although the level of pain has decreased, my back still hurts, and I occasionally feel a burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. More than anything, several times a day, a surge like a carp jumping hits the pit of my stomach.

Oh no, what is this?!

It's very uncomfortable. It's a movement I didn't have before the endoscopic surgery. It's like my internal organs are spasming. What's happening to me? Why don't I feel better even though I heard the stone was removed? I kept thinking about these things over and over while I stayed in bed. Since I'm fasting, I don't have any meals, but I didn't have an appetite anyway.

Day 3: Status Quo

From the next day, the tubes were reduced to just an IV drip, and I felt a bit more like a human than the day before. However, it still hurt. Pain in my back and the pit of my stomach hit me intermittently. If the pain when I was transported by ambulance was a 10, this was about a 2 to 4. Sometimes it would go up to 5 or 6. Moreover, after the surgery, I didn't feel like I was getting better at all. It stayed exactly the same.

Meals started from lunch that day. It was a 30% rice porridge, flaked boiled fish, and chopped boiled Chinese cabbage and greens. The miso soup contained fine ingredients like seaweed.

But I had absolutely no appetite. Even though I hadn't eaten anything for two days. Because my stomach and back hurt. Even though the gallstones were supposed to be gone, it still hurt the whole time. I felt like it was fine not to eat since I was on an IV drip.

By the way, IV needles have evolved tremendously, haven't they? On this day, and actually until just before I was discharged, I was convinced that the indwelling needle for the IV was metal because it was a needle.
That's why whenever I moved my hand and touched it a little, I would panic, thinking, 'Oh no, this is terrible! I'm going to pierce my blood vessel!'

That's not the case.

The indwelling needle for an IV might be a metal needle when it's first inserted into the blood vessel, but once it's in, that needle is removed immediately. The thin plastic part (catheter) that was around the needle remains inside the blood vessel. So it's not a 'metal indwelling needle.' The only thing left in place is the plastic part.
When I learned this,

Wow, the progress of science is amazing!

I was amazed. Endoscopes have become much smaller compared to a while ago, and as time goes by, so many things really do progress.

However, inserting an IV is still done by human hands. In other words, by the nurses. And among these nurses, there are those who are very good at IVs and blood draws, and those who are not.

There was one young nurse who was very flustered and tried hard, but it didn't go well, and she failed three times in a row. Hmm... (ノ◇｀;)
One spot turned a dull, bruised blue-black. Well, I'm over my mid-50s, and I thought it was only right for an older person to watch over the growth of the young, so I tried my best to endure it.
She finally succeeded on the fourth try. I was truly a test subject. It's quite tough when your body isn't in top condition. But when I think about it, you don't get an IV when your body is healthy.
Hang in there, her. I hope you get better at IVs! (A silent scream)

Well, I was in a four-person room, but the two patients across from me didn't seem to be able to move on their own. I deeply felt the gratitude of being able to move on my own, regardless of whether my stomach or back hurt. The person in the bed next to me was able to move on their own, but I wasn't in a state to talk to anyone, so in the end, we just bowed silently when we passed each other and never exchanged words.

Anyway, it was a dull, throbbing pain. Waves of pain came and went, came and went.

I woke up at 1:00 AM with back pain and finally pressed the nurse call button. I had them administer painkillers through the IV. That allowed me to finally sleep for about three to four hours.

Day 4: Feeling grumpy

Even when the next day came, my back and the pit of my stomach still hurt periodically. It stayed the same. Since it wasn't getting better, I spent the day in a rather grumpy, dark mood.

My meals were upgraded to 50% rice porridge from this day, but my appetite was still zero. My back hurt. I impulsively wrote a desperate post on a certain social media site saying, 'It's not getting better!' Several friends comforted me, or rather, calmed me down. Thank you.

The stones should have been removed, yet it hurts,
Why isn't the pain getting lighter,
Why am I not recovering,
Perhaps it was the frustration of 'not knowing the cause.'

I felt this during childbirth as well, but I think that even when things are quite painful, having an expectation that 'in another XX hours (or XX days), the situation will change' is a great help for endurance. When you can't see that prospect, you end up feeling desperate, depressed, or losing motivation.

Well, on this day in the evening, I received an explanation of my medical condition from my attending physician along with my husband.

As I wrote before, a stent tube was inserted into the duodenal papilla, which was cut to remove the stones, to prevent adhesions. It should have been getting better and better, but the blood test the day after surgery showed that my liver values were all in the four-digit range!

Liver values refer to things like GOT, GPT, and γ-GTP. You see them in health checkups, right? Since the gallbladder is where bile produced by the liver is stored, gallstones or gallbladder inflammation cause liver indicators to worsen.
Four digits—I've never seen values like this.
I mean, they're usually two digits. When I first started feeling unwell and got tested at a local clinic, my GOT was 18 and my GPT was 20. Those are normal values. That's why I didn't know it was gallstones.

The values dropped a little the next day, but they were still in the three-digit range.
Even though the stone in the common bile duct had been removed and the procedure should have gone smoothly, these values meant I couldn't be taken off the IV or discharged. There were other stones left in the gallbladder. I was told that if things stayed this way, it would happen again, so I was advised to have my gallbladder removed in the near future.

There was no sign of the pain subsiding.
My pit of the stomach would also spasm with a 'pop!' about three times a day.
On this day too, I pressed the nurse call button at 3:00 AM and had painkillers added to my IV. That was the only way I could finally sleep. When will I get better?

Days 5–6: Stent, was it you all along?

On the fifth day of hospitalization, it was finally time for another endoscopy to check the condition of my stomach and duodenum and to have the stent tube that had been placed removed.

Another stomach camera!
(Technically, it's an endoscope, not a stomach camera, but 'stomach camera' is more familiar to the average person, right?)

Maybe they accommodated me because I made a fuss about being scared of the stomach camera, but I have no memory of the endoscopy, or even of returning to my hospital room afterward. Was I taken back in a wheelchair? I have no idea. Well, whatever.

After the procedure, the pain in my back eased significantly. It was surprising even to me.
Furthermore, from this point on, the sensation of my pit of the stomach spasming disappeared entirely. In the end, was my body just saying it hated having a foreign object inside it?

My meals were upgraded to 7-part porridge.
I'm going to eat everything!
Everything tastes so good!!

The next day, I pushed my IV stand, clattering along, to the shop on the first floor of the hospital and bought the latest issue of a city information magazine. It was a feature on restaurants and cafes. I guess I must have felt well enough to want to look at things like that.

Ah, it's such a blessing to not be in pain.
In my spare time, I used my small feature phone to search for and read other people's 'gallbladder removal experience stories' online. Since my doctor had recommended gallbladder removal surgery yesterday, I wanted to know what it was like.

I have several relatives who have had gallstones or gallbladder removal, so I knew about real-life examples, and the mention of removal didn't come as much of a shock.
Well, yeah, I guess that's the one... or rather,
It's more like, 'So, it really is the gallbladder after all...'

The more I read various experience stories and information online, the more I realized that mine was a truly typical case of gallstones and that the tests and procedures performed were standard practice. And apparently, with laparoscopic gallbladder removal surgery, some people are discharged in just one day.

Wait, I don't want that. Everyone writes that it still hurts, you know. I want to stay in the hospital for at least four days. Even if it is laparoscopic, they are still cutting into my stomach a little bit, after all.

Fortunately, the hospital I was in is capable of performing the surgery, and it doesn't seem to be the type that discharges patients the next day. I'm a bit of a coward, so please let me take it a little easier when I have my gallbladder removed.

Although I was convinced that removing the stent meant I was 'fully recovered!', there were setbacks. It wasn't severe, but my back would feel heavy and painful, or I would feel nauseous. Recovery isn't that simple, is it?

But, but you see, there is this unfortunate 'fat person quality' where, even if you feel unwell, once it's mealtime, you end up eating it anyway. I had a fairly voluminous physique, which is why I ended up with gallstones in the first place.
In other words, it's the '4Fs.' A doctor friend of mine taught me this term.

The 4Fs that make you prone to gallstones are:
・Forty or Fifty (40s to 50s)
・Female
・Fatty
・Fair
I fit all of them.

The last one, 'Fair,' apparently means 'good general health (no other particularly serious illnesses),' but could you just let me interpret that as 'beautiful' for now? No?

Anyway, the food was delicious, but I had a feeling something might be wrong, so I stopped halfway through. About an hour later, the familiar back pain returned, albeit mildly, so it seems I was right not to finish the whole meal.

Hmm, I hope I get better soon.
Well, I am definitely recovering much more than before.
The pain also gradually faded away over time.

Day 7: Meeting Shuzo

In the end, I was discharged once, and after a short interval, I was admitted again to have my gallbladder removed.

The pain in the pit of my stomach and the spasms that felt like a carp jumping inside me have been completely gone since the stent was removed. It really was the stent, wasn't it? I can't think of it as anything else. My attending physician, who stopped by before the morning rounds, told me that my blood test results had improved significantly.

"You can be discharged tomorrow or the day after."

Yes, I did it.

Now, it seems that a lung function test is usually done before a gallbladder removal (Note: this hospitalization was before COVID). It apparently has something to do with the anesthesia, but I don't really understand it well. Anyway, I was told to go to the testing room, but...

I have had lung function tests before during medical checkups. There is a test where you inhale and exhale as much as you can, and another where you exhale as forcefully as you can. And the technician at this hospital was wonderful (lol).

"Okay, inhale, inhale, inhale, inhale..." (This part was the same as usual)

"Exhale all at once—You can still do it, you can still do it, you can still do it, you can still do it, you can still keep going, you can still keep going (and so on)!!!!"

The technician was shouting at a very high volume. Th-this reminds me of something. Or rather, someone, something I often see or hear...

Ah, I got it. It's Shuzo!

The way they were cheering me on was just like Shuzo Matsuoka!!
It felt like I was being encouraged by Shuzo at close range with a booming voice (big laugh).
Thanks to that, I was able to exhale until there wasn't a single drop of air left. Wonderful. Isn't this what being a professional is all about?

After that, I had my pancreatic and bile ducts scanned with an MRI. This was the usual routine: getting into a narrow tube, and while it made clanking and banging noises, I just had to hold my breath or breathe according to instructions. I have a bit of claustrophobia, but well, if I keep my eyes closed, it's nothing to worry about.

At night, a nurse came by.

"Morino-san, how are you doing?"
"The doctor told me I could be discharged tomorrow or the day after."
"Oh, which one would you like?"
Huh?
"Um, am I allowed to decide for myself?"
"Yes, you are."
Are you serious?
"Then I'll be discharged tomorrow."

And so, my discharge was decided.
I immediately contacted my husband to say, "Discharged tomorrow." Man, that's convenient. I can't imagine life without a mobile phone anymore. Back in the Showa era... no, let's stop there.

Day 8: Discharge

The morning of my discharge arrived.
The IV needle was already gone. I woke up early, and while watching the sky brighten, I tidied up around my bed without making any noise.

The thing I felt most keenly after ending up in the hospital was how difficult it is to explain symptoms in words.
While in pain, I tried desperately to convey them accurately, but I wonder if it really got through to the doctor. I feel like there is a subtle gap between what a patient tries to convey and the information a doctor wants to know. I tried to explain it as clearly as possible without misunderstandings, but did it get through? Since I was diagnosed and recovered, I guess it must have?

I have always found it difficult to explain my symptoms to a doctor. For example, even when it comes to pain, there are so many different kinds, like a pricking sensation or a throbbing ache. Moreover, while I can clearly tell the difference between a "prick" and a "throb" myself, I wonder if that really conveys anything to someone else. Furthermore, even the same "pricking" sensation might be a different kind of pain for every individual patient.

Doctors who can synthesize such patient accounts to pinpoint the cause are amazing. In that sense, a doctor is like a mystery hunter. They gather evidence through medical interviews and examinations to solve the mystery of the illness.

However, patients aren't always able to convey everything accurately during a medical interview, so you never know if the testimony is correct. The person themselves might be mistaken, or they might be describing it in a way that doesn't get through to the other party (the doctor). I realized that identifying the culprit (the disease) while relying on knowledge and experience amidst all that is a difficult job.

And so, the biliary colic attack subsided safely.

Two months later, I will be readmitted for gallbladder removal surgery.
Come to think of it, my gallbladder has been storing and releasing bile through rain or shine for over 50 years. Even though its function has deteriorated, having to say goodbye to that gallbladder feels, in a strange way, like the sadness of having to move out because the house I was born and raised in is being demolished.

However, I don't want to leave it as is and end up calling an ambulance again because it got blocked. It would be even worse if I developed cholecystitis, if the gallbladder adhered to other organs due to inflammation, or if it became cancerous.
I had no hesitation in my decision.

For now, I am discharged.
The air outside after such a long time was cold and clear.
Thank you for reading.
I hope this account of my experience will be helpful to those who are also being hospitalized or undergoing surgery, as well as to doctors, nurses, and others in understanding patients.