Fiction, Life, Real Life, Writing

This is when you know you’re a writer

First off, this is not the serious writing post I promised last time. I’m still working on that one. But this one does concern writing—in a bizarre sort of way.

That pesky little internal organ known widely as the gall bladder has influenced my life for a month. Did I acknowledge its power and do the smart thing by adjusting my diet? Did I hie me hence and forthwith to the vitamin store to replenish my long-deleted stock of flax seed oil? Good heavens no! Did I pay for my foolishness? Would there be even the tiniest point to this post if I had? So …

Last Saturday night, I woke just after midnight in pain. I mean, PAIN. My immediate diagnosis was heart attack because I’m just melodramatic like that. Then I realized I knew that pain; it was just registering one bazillion times worse than ever before! Convinced the only thing that would relieve the pain was death, I got out of bed to play Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. Halfway through the second game, just as a supercallifragilistic power gem exploded, it dawned on me I might be in the early stages of fainting.

Somehow, I made it back to bed just in time to realize I was about to vomit. After making my acquaintance with that fine china bowl, I slithered to the bathroom floor. I do not deal well with acute internal pain; I always end in a state of semi-shock. As I lay there semi-conscious and drenched in cold sweat, 90% of my brain frantically negotiated with my gallbladder, vowing to do anything, everything, to pamper it in the future, if it would just stop the pain NOW.

Then, a scene from the movie Braveheart popped into mind. You know, the one where that actor-I-formerly-respected portrays William Wallace’s death. And the other 10% of my brain said, “Hey, this must feel a lot like disembowelment. Take note of your exact physical sensations in case you ever need to write a scene where someone is being drawn and quartered—or is in severe pain and shock, whichever comes first.”

That, my friends, is when you know you’re a writer.

[tweetmeme source=”cassidylewis” only_single=false]

44 thoughts on “This is when you know you’re a writer”

  1. Linda,
    Bless your heart! I hope you are feeling better soon. I’ve never had gall bladder trouble, but my sister has had hers removed, and we were talking about it TODAY, driving home from Duke, what it felt like when she was having an attack. She said she was standing on the back of the couch, pressing herself against the wall … lol.

    I hope you pamper that gall bladder and have it feeling all perfect again soon!



  2. I read this blog, and some of the comments. All over my head. I may have gotten some of the humor in your blog though.


  3. Linda, I also am glad this has passed!

    I can relate to this in two ways – now as a writer and before what I would experience when I was a therapist. Whenever I found myself feeling strongly, I would have that observant brain watching. “Look at that. This is what is feels like to be (hysterical, raging, anxious). Remember this for your clients.”

    Then there is the part of the brain that is observing the first two parts. “Interesting. I can be hysterical and watch myself being hysterical at the same time. Is something wrong with me?”

    Then there’s the part that notices all three. I am we. 🙂


    1. Oh my, Pamela, what many layered beings we are. Well, not everyone. I was reading Merrilee Faber’s blog this morning and it reminded me how my mother would tell me the same sort of things, “Quit daydreaming. Put down that book. Etc.” I don’t believe my mother has much imagination (except to worry about a thousand things that will never happen) and I think that must limit her layers.


  4. Oh I am laughing Linda. Not at your pain of course, but the situation. Severe pain that must result in death. Must take notes. Well this horrible experience make an appearance in your work??
    Glas to hear it all passed! Are you making good n your promise to do anything it to takes not to suffer it again?


Do you have a comment?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.