A stop in the E.R.: four holes, ten stitches and an organ removal later…

With my body aching all over, seating in a ninety-degree position and a huge pillow holding my butt, we started our four-hour trip back to Buenos Aires.
My father can’t deal with traffic, so we did most of our travelling by night, arriving tired and hungry at four am the next day.
At six am I woke up with a pressing pain in my esophagus, and being a member of a pharmaceutical industry connoisseurs’ family, I decided that it was a heartburn and I popped two Omeprazole… after 45 minutes of being seated in the couch (laying wasn’t an option, even if my coccyx was killing me), taking water, a glass of milk and even a spoonful of salt and warm water (for nausea), I arrived to my father’s bedroom and pleaded for something stronger because this heartburn was eating my esophagus and my stomach was next.
He took one look at me, pondered wether it was worth it to wake up after only three hours sleep, and decided against his judgment to keep resting when he realized I was with bloodshot eyes and twisting in pain.
So the Grand Connoisseur declared (yet again) a heartburn, gave me two Ranitidine and went back to sleep. An hour later, seeing that the pain wasn’t receding, I decided to call my stepmom who very patiently gave me yet another medicine for heartburn; so after five hours, I was still grabbing my stomach, folded in half, trying not to throw-up and with fever/cold switching episodes.
One’s body can take so much, so I grabbed the phone and without the ability to even speak coherently I tried to explain to some operator that I wanted a doctor to be sent and explained that: NO, IT ISN’T HEARTBURN… HOW DO I KNOW?! BECAUSE I ALREADY TOOK EVERY POSSIBLE MEDICATION FOR THAT CONDITION AND IT HASN’T GET BETTER… He was impressed with my pharmaceutical experience and thirty minutes later, a doctor was examining me at home.
The physician declared it to be a “really strong gastritis” and without further ado prescribed me with two different drugs and left.
Needless to say that after six hours, five drugs and a doctor visit later, my stepmom realized that it wasn’t heartburn, or gastritis, or stomach-ache, or indigestion and we headed straight for the E.R.
With one look at my face, the attending doctor called the condition by its correct name: gallbladder stones; and with one echography, a blood test, and two very-strong analgesics diluted in an I.V. saline solution (complete bliss) I was assigned an O.R. and operated.
The next day I arrived at home seating in a ninety-degree position, the same pillow on my butt, four holes in my stomach with a total of ten stitches, minus an organ, a thirty-day diet and a learned lesson not to medicate myself, even if it means that I’m almost sure what I have (the key word-to-be: COMPLETLY)
Regards from a convalescent patient, drugged as a horse and 10 pounds lighter-to-be... so long pastries and cakes