The risk I don’t regret taking literally saved my life. Here’s what went down: I went to the hospital with this extreme pain where the gallbladder hangs out. I thought it was just my GERD throwing a tantrum—because why not? Turns out, GERD and the gallbladder like to team up and make your life miserable. When your gallbladder’s out of whack, it can make GERD an even bigger pain in the…well, you know. This risk I took, there is no doubt that it saved my life, not in my mind.

Anyway, things were not looking good. My blood work was a mess—bilirubin levels were off the charts, and other liver-related numbers were flashing red. It was clear my liver was struggling, and I was teetering dangerously close to that critical window where the gallbladder can rupture. To make matters worse, GERD had been masking the gallbladder symptoms for a while, so I had no idea just how bad things really were. That three-month clock was ticking, and I was near the very end without realizing it.

The doctor said, “The surgeons hate when we send patients up from the ER, so we’re going to put you on the FAST list.” First available surgical team, right? Except he didn’t actually do that. Even after I followed up, he didn’t fix the mistake. By the time my family doctor stepped in and convinced the FAST team to take me seriously—because it’s usually the ER that sends patients there—it had already taken him a couple of months. That meant I was dangerously close to the end of that critical window, one step away from a rupture. In fact, considering how bad things were in the ER and how long it took to get me on the list, I was already undeniably past the three-month mark, surviving on borrowed time.

Let’s talk about the ER doctor for a moment. Protocol in cases like mine is clear: patients showing signs of gallbladder inflammation, with blood work as alarming as mine, should be sent to surgery or at least assessed by a surgical team immediately. My bilirubin levels were elevated, indicating my liver was under significant stress. My white blood cell count was high, a clear marker of infection or inflammation. Other critical numbers, like potassium, were slipping out of safe ranges because I wasn’t absorbing nutrients properly. These were all screaming red flags. The ultrasound results showed my gallbladder was over half full of stones, some of them large enough to cause serious blockages. These findings alone should have been enough to admit me, yet the doctor sent me home. Even the nurses assumed I was being admitted—they said as much. I don’t think they realized how much I actually hear, even when I’m in pain.

I was in so much agony that I couldn’t advocate for myself properly, let alone think about how off things were. The doctor shouldn’t have even considered the FAST list, let alone sent me home with numbers like that. And when I didn’t hear from FAST within 24 hours as promised, I called. That’s when he casually admitted he had “forgotten” to put it in my chart but assured me he would correct it immediately. Spoiler alert: he didn’t. This is why I always say, stop being a compliant patient. Advocate for yourself, because mistakes like this can cost lives. If we do it outside of these situations, maybe they will not happen as much.

Here’s the thing—lasting beyond that critical three-month window is almost unheard of. The gallbladder becomes so inflamed and compromised that rupture is almost inevitable. When it does rupture, bile and bacteria spill into the abdominal cavity, triggering peritonitis and sepsis. Peritonitis is a severe inflammation of the peritoneum, the thin tissue lining the abdominal cavity, caused by the leakage of bile or bacteria. It’s excruciatingly painful and can quickly lead to systemic infection. Sepsis, on the other hand, is the body’s extreme response to infection. It causes widespread inflammation, organ failure, and often death. The mortality rate for cases like this can reach 30-50%, and if septic shock sets in, it skyrockets even higher. Toxic shock develops rapidly, and recovery becomes nearly impossible. By the time I finally got on the list, I wasn’t just cutting it close; I was hanging on by a thread that most people don’t get the chance to hold. My situation wasn’t just dangerous—it was a miraculous anomaly that defied what doctors know to be medically possible.

The clarity only came later, when I reviewed my blood work through Alberta’s Connect Care system, which gives us access to test results directly. Those numbers were grim, and seeing them myself was the only thing that kept me pushing my body to take in nutrition when even swallowing water brought tears to my eyes. I knew I was already past the three-month window. The level of pain relief I felt after my gallbladder was removed further convinces me: I wasn’t just skirting disaster. I was living on borrowed time, balancing precariously on the edge of catastrophe.

Originally, I went out to the rez to visit my nokum because I needed the peace and grounding that being there gives me and nokum always teaches me so much I needed my family. While I was there, she noticed I was drinking meal replacements and asked me why. That simple question kicked off a snowball of chaos that would lead to my leap of risk that I will never regret. She knew what to do right away and called my aunty who said to keep me there for a few hours while she made some medicine for me. Now normally you need to give protocol for things like this and not just simply tobacco. When my aunty brought the medicine over I learned some interesting things. She waved me off when I offered to bring protocol next time I was out. Again she refused it though said next time I would need to. I suddenly recalled I had a new pack of smokes in my bag. I always grab one when I go out there just in case. That she did accept, you see when medicine is gathered tobacco is offered in thanks with a prayer so it is important. Since I knew my aunty normally took protocol it was bothering me that I had nothing on me, so I am glad I was in that habit with the pack of smokes that day.

My aunty brought over some traditional medicines, some to be taken right then and there. Not so pleasant some of them. Immediately though I could drink water without pain, if seeing is believing well I just saw. I was even able to eat some of the treats she brought over for me. The rest of the medicine I was given was to be taken over a period of time, and not only did they actually work, but they bought me a lot of time—way more time than is actually scientifically possible. Who knows how close I actually was to that window the first ER trip I had been having major issues with my GERD for months. There is no other explanation for how I made it as long as I did, none besides the medicine from my aunty.

A year later, I was visiting friends in another city when the pain got so bad I had to seek help, which says a lot with the pain I deal with daily and the meds I have access to. Turns out my gallbladder was beyond stuffed with stones, the ER doctor couldn’t believe it had not burst especially when he heard and seen the medical records of how long I had been dealing with this. He said to me, “We don’t understand much of the brain, so how can we truly understand the body? Western medicine isn’t always the answer and you’re proof.” Then the next thing I knew I was being taken up to the surgical ward, and they didn’t even wait for the full fasting period before surgery. The thing was stretched so thin it was practically translucent. Get this—when they pulled it out, it burst right there as they were trying to put it into a container, thankfully not over the surgical field, and they had issues getting it out without it bursting. Instead of a one-night stay, I was there nearly two weeks because of everything. The number of times I heard the words “how did it last” was something I lost count of rather fast.

Normally, prior to surgery, patients are required to fast to reduce the risk of complications. Fasting ensures the stomach is empty, which minimizes the risk of regurgitation or aspiration—where stomach contents accidentally enter the lungs during anesthesia. Skipping the fasting period significantly increases the danger, especially for a procedure as delicate as gallbladder removal, where positioning and maneuvering can increase pressure in the abdominal cavity. Yet, in my case, the surgeons couldn’t wait. The gallbladder was stretched so thin and compromised that delaying surgery even for the standard fasting protocol was too dangerous. Being placed under anesthesia with a full stomach added to the already immense risks I faced, but at that point, there was no safe alternative.

In this case, my medical knowledge was biting me in the rear. I knew all too well how dangerous this was. I expected to wake up in the ICU with how fast things went and having heard how bad it was. It was already a miracle that I had made it this far, as survival in cases like mine is rare. I was terrified beyond belief. They even placed a central line—a catheter inserted into a major vein, such as the jugular or femoral vein, instead of a smaller peripheral vein in the arm or hand. Central lines are typically chosen in situations as critical as mine for several reasons, all of which tie back to the gallbladder and the risk of rupture.

First, gallbladder inflammation this severe often leads to septic shock if the organ bursts, requiring rapid and large doses of antibiotics, fluids, or medications to stabilize blood pressure. A central line allows for the quick administration of these life-saving treatments directly into the larger veins near the heart. Peripheral IVs simply wouldn’t be able to handle the volume or speed needed in an emergency like this.

Second, the surgical risks were amplified because of the gallbladder’s delicate and overextended state. Complications like bile leakage during surgery, or the potential for rupture during removal, meant that the central line was there as preparation for worst-case scenarios, including organ failure or immediate blood pressure collapse. It also allowed for simultaneous administration of multiple medications, which is vital in preventing cascading issues during surgery.

Third, with the danger so high, the team likely anticipated the potential for an ICU stay post-surgery, depending on how things unfolded in the operating room. The central line would have allowed them to manage complications in real time without needing to insert additional IVs in a high-stress moment. The fact that they chose to place a central line even before surgery began shows just how serious they believed my case was—and it felt as though they were expecting me to need intensive care.

Unlike a peripheral IV, which is faster and less invasive to place, the central line stands out because it signifies the gravity of the situation. It’s not something they do lightly. It also came with its own risks—like infection or complications during placement—but those risks were outweighed by the immediate threat I faced. And I wasn’t even in my home city where my family was. I was alone going through this, adding an extra layer of fear to an already terrifying ordeal.

Normally, once symptoms start, you’ve got those few months before things go downhill fast. Thanks to the medicines my auntie gave me, I defied the odds and held out way longer than most people could. There’s no doubt in my mind that they saved me until surgery could happen.

And two weeks after the surgery? Oh, I finally got a call from that FAST team. Let’s just say I had some colorful words for them, and I won’t let a doctor pull that “surgeons prefer ER patients not be sent up” nonsense on me again.

This experience was the first time I trusted First Nations medicine for something this big. Growing up away from the rez, I didn’t know much about who I was or those traditions. Taking that leap was a huge mental risk, especially since I’ve been trained in Western medicine. But let’s be real—if something didn’t work, it wouldn’t still be around today. It’s like acupuncture; just because we don’t fully understand it doesn’t mean it’s not effective.

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