Did you ever pay attention to this small little organ lying unnoticed in the lap of your liver! I always knew my gall bladder was a moody little organ, but I didn’t realize it had been running a full-time jewellery business inside me. If anyone had told me a month ago that I was secretly running a gemstone factory inside my abdomen, I would have laughed. Lol. But destiny — and a highly accomplished and charming GI surgeon — had other plans.
It began with the dreaded verdict. When the ultrasound indicated I had gallstones, I imagined a polite handful. Maybe two. Three, if my luck was especially rotten, quietly lounging in my tiny gall bladder like freeloaders enjoying a long-term Airbnb stay.
But twenty plus?
Each one bigger than the size of a molar, 10 mm?
In that tiny gall bladder?
Honestly, if organs had real estate laws, mine would have been evicted decades ago. Nature, however, had set up an entire colony of twenty plus.
The ultrasound graphically screamed from the roof top declaring the cohabitation. To make it sound easier the rather suave Doctor said it’s just no problem, they will be out in lesser time than you even fly from Delhi to Jaipur. A time and date were fixed.
Once surgery was scheduled, my first challenge arrived in the form of the mandatory 6-hour fasting. Now, fasting sounds very spiritual and cleansing — until you’re actually doing it. The night before surgery, I heroically declared, “I’m strong. I’ll manage.”
By hour four, I was making emotional eye contact with the refrigerator. By hour three, I was giving motivational speeches to myself like a stranded explorer in a survival movie. Water never tasted so delicious.
The real fun began on the day of my surgery. Morning arrived, and off we went to the hospital, me behaving like a brave warrior on the outside and a hungry squirrel on the inside. After completing endless forms and getting my vitals checked, donning the blue tunic and pyjamas, I landed in the pre-operative waiting area — the limbo between normal life and the mysterious world of the OT. Bracing up for another adventure.
I was wheeled into a waiting hall where other patients were waiting for their turn of getting under the knife some way or the other all pretending not to be nervous.
Then walked in my Anaesthetist, giving me a rundown of the many aftereffects of anaesthesia on my body as I happened to be with auto immune. ‘It might trigger flareups’ if it does not suit etc. I wondered if I was in the right place. But now I was already committed to throwing out the crystals from the gall so there was no looking back. Half the way into the Operation Theatre, in the ‘Blues,’ fasting of half a dozen hours, there was no looking back.
Meanwhile, my stomach was auditioning to play thunder in a sound effects studio. Every nurse who walked by probably heard it. My name was eventually called, and a sense of theatrical intensity swept over me. This was it.
The moment I stepped into the operation theatre, my first chance, I felt like Alice entering Wonderland — only the Wonderland here was brightly lit, spotless, and filled with smiling humans wearing masks and hair caps. A part of me wondered if I should greet them like celebrities.
The surgeon’s team, however, ran the place like a five-star hotel making the whole scene pretty comfortable. One adjusted my blanket, another asked if I was feeling okay, someone fixing BP monitoring machine, someone ensuring right pulse rate, when one assured me the anaesthesia would kick in soon. At this point, I was convinced they deserved a hospitality award.
Then came the anaesthesiologist — the magician of the OT.
“You may feel a little lightheaded,” he said calmly.
Lightheaded?
Sir, within three seconds I was floating like a Bollywood heroine in a dream sequence. If anyone had started singing in the OT, I might’ve joined in. Within moments, I was levitating emotionally.
And then — poof — blackout. Blissful unconsciousness.
I woke up later in recovery, convinced only five minutes had passed. Meanwhile, my gall bladder had been neatly removed, stitched, packaged, and metaphorically filed in medical history. The internal gemstone factory shut down permanently.
But the real shock came at home. My family, with the enthusiasm of archaeologists, presented me with a container. Inside were ‘green stones,’ shining like big UNPOLISHED emeralds from a badly run mine. I stared at them in disbelief and they stared back at me.
“These were inside ‘me’?”
“Yes,” my family said. “All twenty.”
I couldn’t decide which emotion was stronger — awe, horror, pride or the urge to post them on OLX as “lightly used crystals.” Even maybe start a side business selling ‘organic internal crystals.’ Honestly, they looked like props from a fantasy movie.
Frankly, the gall bladder had been running a souvenir shop without my permission. No symptoms, no warning, nothing. Just quietly manufacturing gemstones like a side hustle.
It’s incredible how such a tiny organ carried so many uninvited guests without once filing a complaint. Not a warning sign, not a protest. Just quietly running an underground mineral enterprise.
If stones could talk, mine would surely say, “We lived rent-free for years. Thanks for the hospitality.”
Looking back, the whole experience was a mix of scientific marvel, personal shock, unexpected glamour and a surprisingly smooth OT adventure made possible by a brilliant, charming and highly accomplished Surgeon, Dr Sumesh Kaistha.
And let’s be real — I have the strangest souvenir collection anyone could ever boast of: Twenty plus crystals, limited edition, handcrafted by my own body.
I can now add a degree in manufacturing crystals too among the few other that I have.
Lucky me, right?
(Priti Prakash is a New Delhi based Senior Independent Journalist. She is a political analyst & blogs on Diplomacy.)
