It has been a wild ride — the kind of ride you don’t sign up for, don’t want tickets to, and definitely don’t want the souvenir T‑shirt from. I truly did not know the human body was capable of this level of pain. Turns out it is it absolutely is!

Let me take you back to the beginning so you can fully appreciate the chaos. It all started last April with what I thought was my back acting up again. My back is dramatic. It loves attention. It likes to randomly ruin my day for sport. So when this pain hit under my right shoulder blade, I thought, “Oh great, my back is being a diva again.”

But this wasn’t normal diva behavior. This was Beyoncé‑level drama. This was “I’m going solo and taking your sanity with me” pain.

It started on a Wednesday (because of course it did — all my medical disasters prefer midweek). It was annoying at first, then irritating, then full‑blown “I’m going to pass out in the break room” agony. By Thursday it was worse. By Friday it was worse‑worse. By Saturday I was in so much pain I wasn’t eating, sleeping, or functioning. I tried medicine, creams, heating pads, prayer, bargaining with the universe — nothing helped. I should’ve gone to the ER. Everyone told me to go. I ignored them like a stubborn raccoon am I.

I even called off work on Sunday, which is huge because I hate missing work. But by Monday the pain magically disappeared, and by Tuesday I was back at work like nothing happened. I basically gaslit myself into believing it was “just my back.”

Fast‑forward a few peaceful months. No pain. No drama. I forgot the whole thing ever happened.

Then August arrived. And with it… pizza. Sweet, innocent, cheesy, delicious pizza. Little did I know that one slice would nearly take me out.

It was another Wednesday (consistency is key), and while I was at work I started feeling weird. My heart fluttered, my anxiety spiked, and I kept getting this pain between my shoulder blades. I thought it was my heart. Or my blood pressure. Or maybe I was dying dramatically like a Victorian woman.

I got home, checked my blood pressure — perfect. Annoyingly perfect. And then… the pain returned. The same pain that had bullied me back in April. I didn’t tell anyone. I just quietly suffered like a mysterious Victorian ghost.

My cousin stopped by, and I asked him to crack my back, hoping that was the issue. He cracked it — oh, he cracked it — but instead of relief, I felt a sharp pain like he snapped my ribs into a new dimension. I still said nothing. I just went to bed like a fool.

But the pain kept getting worse. The fluttering came back. The anxiety came back. And this time I said, “Nope. Not doing this again.” I dragged myself to the ER convinced I was having a heart attack.

Shockingly, the ER was fast that night. They did bloodwork, an EKG, an X‑ray — the whole shebang — and sent me home with a “Your ribs aren’t broken, your heart is fine, but your liver levels are weird. Follow up with your doctor.” No pain meds for home. Just vibes.

Thankfully the pain didn’t last as long this round. By Sunday I was fine again.

Monday I saw my doctor, and SHE was way more concerned than the ER was. She sent me for more bloodwork and an ultrasound immediately. I hate ultrasounds. They’re cold, gooey, and involve way too much poking. But off I went.

And that’s when the truth came out.

It wasn’t my heart. It wasn’t my back. It wasn’t my ribs. It was my evil little gallbladder, sitting there full of stones like a tiny, angry rock collection.

My gallbladder had been plotting against me for months.

So after a quick chat with my doctor, the decision was made: this thing had to go. Eviction notice served.

Stay tuned for Part 2 to find out how my gallbladder fully turned on me — and how I finally got revenge.