A Little Lesson in Healthy Living ... The function of the gallbladder is to make grown women double-over in pain. And then they have this apparently faulty organ removed, and all is right with the world. Until they're out at dinner, bite into a piece of fried chicken or down a half-pizza, run-walk to the car and sit in the passenger's seat and scream, "Drive faster!" Which is far better than the pre-surgery pain, whose origin seems to have neither rhyme nor reason. But I'm no doctor.
My friend, Caprice, of hurricane relief fame in Thursday's post, went under the laparoscope Thursday (FINALLY) to take out her very out-of-commission gallbladder. If you missed this tidbit on your evening news, the synopsis goes like this: She had been lying on the bathroom floor for about two weeks when she decided it might be time to seek medical attention. The ultrasound showed that she was out of her mind and that nothing was wrong with her abdominal region. Her doctor sent her for a second test -- apparently, the first test didn't know what it was talking about. The second test revealed that her gall bladder was functioning at only 2 percent. And at only 2 percent, a gallbladder can only do so much with tamales and cheeses of the world.
"Well, that makes sense," I told her.
"What makes sense?" I then explained that when a person subsists on Hot & Spicy Cheez-Its and refrigerated cookie dough, the digestive system eventually says, "Whoa!" She became defensive and boasted about how she makes wise food choices.
"So, what are you eating now?" I asked.
"A spicy taco from Costco."
A week—and several spicy tacos from the deep freeze—later, the surgery is over, and the prognosis is good. Caprice delivered a very unhealthy gallbladder Thursday morning, and it either resembled a shriveled-up raisin or a rusty grenade. Nobody seems to want to comment on its appearance. No matter how many times I ask.
It's Here! It's Here! ... Our house feels a little like it does on Christmas. This weekend marks the first kickoff of the '08 college football season. Tonight, our car will be packed, coolers will be on standby next to the refrigerator, and the kids will go to bed early. Ours is a family that bleeds orange and blue, but our affinity for college football is largely color blind—well, not THAT color blind. We may not cheer for every team, but if we're not seated in the stadium on Saturday, we're in our den, watching just about any (and every) televised gridiron match, from early morning late into the night. If you aren't fortunate enough to live in Alabama, you might think we suffer a mild disorder. But this is Alabama, and this is what we do.
A Little Football Fare ... If you are in the deep South and will be traveling to one of two games this weekend -- because around here, there are only two games -- check out my pal Alan's blog about dining options. Please do not consider this an endorsement of any of these fine establishments (except Momma Goldbergs, which everyone loves and where my dear husband and Alan both enjoyed a brief career in food service), but simply a listing. I would not want to be held responsible for any post-Varsity side effects. Alan, however, must have a GI system made of cast iron. Check out his recommendations here.
War Eagle, y'all ...