Life after two gallbladder attacks, two ER visits, one surprise ambulance ride, one bile‑duct stone–scooping procedure, and being told I was “too fat for lifesaving surgery” was… a vibe. A humbling, dramatic, “okay universe, I hear you” kind of vibe. I knew something had to change.

I’ve struggled with my weight most of my life. I even had weight‑loss surgery ten years ago and lost over 200 pounds — which is basically the size of a full-grown linebacker. But over time, about half of that linebacker wandered back. So yes, weight has been my lifelong frenemy.

And the truth is simple: I love food. I really love food. Pizza, burgers, cake, cookies — anything that tastes like joy and comfort. Meanwhile, vegetables taste like punishment and fruit tastes like betrayal. I’ve often wondered why God, with all His infinite power, made broccoli taste like sadness and chocolate taste like heaven. That feels personal.

But after that last gallbladder attack, I started noticing patterns. Certain foods made my gallbladder angry. Certain foods made it throw tantrums. Certain foods made it plot my downfall. And research confirmed it — some foods are gallbladder triggers. So between that and the whole “lose weight or die” conversation, I knew I had to make changes.

And oh, the changes.

I gave up everything I loved. Chocolate cake? Gone. Pizza? Gone. Coffee? Gone. I replaced them with salads, broccoli, peppers, and other vegetables that taste like disappointment but don’t make my organs revolt. I stopped eating chips and popcorn and replaced them with water. Yes, water. When I felt hungry between meals, I drank water like some kind of hydrated woodland creature.

Thankfully, after a few weeks, my old weight‑loss‑surgery stomach woke up and said, “Oh hey, I remember how to be tiny!” That helped a lot. I stopped feeling hungry between meals, and the weight started coming off.

I stuck to my diet like a champ. I only strayed twice — Thanksgiving and Christmas — because I’m not a monster. I didn’t reach out to Dr. Curry, the surgeon who did my original WLS, because I didn’t have the money for a revision or medication. So I went old‑school: back to basics, back to discipline, back to pretending vegetables are food.

And it worked. For a while.

For four glorious months, my gallbladder behaved. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Like it had finally accepted its fate and decided to stop terrorizing me.

But no.

It was plotting.

Scheming.

Waiting.

Because my gallbladder had plans for me — and none of them were nice.