Wish I hadn't whinged about being a housewife.

And thus the neverending cycle continues... I'm back on the inside. Again.

On Friday I slept all afternoon so I could go out with Amy that evening. I had (shock horror!) four whole cocktails. Admittedly, two were dodgy $5 Cosmos from Fridays (yes, Jacqui, I went to Fridays... shudder), but the other two were a top quality margharita and a midori splice. Unfortunately the four cocktails made it seem like a good idea to eat some dead animal. Actually some dead cow and dead pig. And I haven't eaten dead animal in over a month. And possibly steak and ribs was a bit ambitious for a first attempt back. (It was so much easier when after a few drinks you just went to Maccas.)

Anyway, I was home by ten thirty. Bit of a tummy ache, and a guilty conscience about the dead animals, but this is a fairly normal price to pay for a night out, so I'm led to believe. Two am I'm in agony. Four am I decide if it's indigestion it's really bad and probably worth the trip into the hospital. At 6am I officially have pancreatitis.

At 8am I have pancreatitis and 'your liver is completely rooted. Most people I see with counts like that are dead'. Oh, and gallstones.

Saturday night was our engagement party. They morphined me up and let me go for a couple of hours. I'm sure I was a brilliant, sparkling hostess. Couldn't drink anything, couldn't eat anything with fat in it. Including engagment cake. It was a bit of a surreal night after a very stressful day. Amy had stepped up to the plate, driven to Caboolture to pick up the cake, spent the morning cooking and getting the apartment party-ready. Jason had been up all night with me, and then spent the day cleaning the apartment. I hope everyone had a good time - we were a bit stressed, and probably not great hosts. It was lovely to see everyone though, and the fireworks were fantastic. (Yes, we had fireworks for our engagement party. Brisbane City Council and the Ekka think that our engagement is worth celebrating. As do we.)

Sunday I think I have gallstones, not pancreatitis. I forget. Monday the diagnosis changed again. Either way, I keep hearing the words 'your liver is absolutely rooted' ricocheting around in my head. Fully expecting to die of liver failure before the end of the week.

Sunday night I learn a very important life lesson. Never, ever, EVER, when completely stoned out of your cracker on morphine, read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It will send your brain zooming through the improbability drive to another dimension. I was up all night because my brain was doing the macarena.

On Monday night I finally see a surgeon. By then they've stopped letting me eat food, but haven't told me why. I'm hungry, sick of the four walls of my room and slowly getting more and more irate. The surgeon came in and said not really sure what the diagnosis is - I don't have gallstones, but i do have gall sludge (so appealing). I do have pancreatitis, caused by the gall sludge. My liver counts are all off the charts, and would need to improve A LOT before they can operate on the other two.

I was quietly getting into a bit of a state by the time the surgeon got around to seeing me and just quietly, I had a bit of a tantrum. Yelling may have been involved. Nurses may or may not have come running to make sure no one was being killed. My doctor may have come back asking if I was going to throw something at him. So I'm not a nice person. So being hungry doesn't suit me.

But it does mean that they realised I was not happy about being shut off in a room for days on end without someone looking into my case. The plan? Starve me. If I don't eat food for a few days, then the pancreas won't have to work and will stop being inflamed. Then, if the liver counts go down, they can whip out the gall bladder.

Interestingly, I slept for nearly 24 hours aftter my tantie. Just needed to vent? Or an interesting insight into patient management by the hospital? You be the judge.

Tuesday through Friday we wait and see what the pancreas and liver do. Oh, no food. Free fluids only. I hate soup. I hate jelly. I especially hate orange jelly. The Mater Private only makes orange jelly. Even red jelly would have made me happy. I do quite like apple juice though. And I went downstairs for a milkshake every day even though they were, let's face it, disgusting. But not as bad as soup - or sorry, hot salty water.

Every day I get a happy visit from the phlebotomist at 5am. Blood suckers. Some I can sleep through. One morning one woman came in and it felt like she stuck a blunt potato peeler into my arm. The next morning she came back, and couldn't get a line in after four attempts (and a go by a colleague). Good morning sunshine.

Friday is operation day! My pancreas is still a bit inflamed, but the CT shows it's okay. My liver function is still high, but has been coming down each day at a 'normal' rate. Let's go ahead.

I love the moment before going under in a general anaesthetic. Most people hate it. It's a great high. I love medazzlum. Pity it only lasts a few seconds and then you're unconscious.

Wake up feeling pretty good. Hey, I'm alive, aren't I? (I've been a bit paranoid since Susan died on Gray's Anatomy after a simple surgery.) I don't remember waking up in recovery but I do remember being back in my room with Jason, and being so happy to see each other.

I ask how it went and his Face turns Serious. He says that didn't take it out. Minutes later the surgeon comes in and confirms that they didn't take out my gall bladder. My gall bladder has a layer of cancerous plaque all over it. (I'll try and scan the pictures in... even though certain people say my insides look really ugly. I don't know about this 'out of the mouths of babes' thing.) Either way, can't take it out - can't get cancerous bit everywhere, too risky.

So... what does this mean? Honestly, it's not great news. Still have gall sludge. Hopefully it will go away and stop blocking up the pancreas and causing all the pancreatitis. Unfortunately possibly will come back because I still have a gall bladder. This means being careful about diet. No booze. No fat. No fun. It also obviously means that my organs are not in great nick.

It's Sunday now and I was discharged this morning. With caveats. After improving for the past several days, my pancreas got worse overnight. (Lipase results on Saturday of admission - 15000. Normal - 100. Yesterday - 80. Today - 400.) So I have to go back tomorrow for more blood tests to see what it does tonight. Don't think doctor was game to make me stay in hospital.

Six months ago it was a lot easier to accept the fact that I'm dying. It's a lot harder now. More than anything I want to live to share my life - my whole life - with the man I love. I've created memories with so many people - my family, my friends - and I'm so sad to leave you all. But to leave Jason, right when we're starting out on our lives together? When we have so many plans? This is one of the happiest and one of the most heartbreaking times for me. I want more than anything to live right now. I want more than anything to be able to keep sharing this journey with the man I love.

Lord, please let me live. Let me share this journey with my husband.

Please pray for me.

Jess