To my dearest gallbladder....

To my dearest gallbladder,

I want to start this note with an apology; it's clear to me that I've under-valued and under-appreciated you my whole life. Beyond my high school biology courses, I have to admit to being completely oblivious to the role you've played in my digestive process all these years. And I can imagine that must really steam you. I mean, here you are, reliably releasing bile into my intestines to help me break down fatty foods, working like clockwork, and never being given any notice or appreciation. I know I'd eventually get fed up, too.

But I do want to provide some feedback to you on how you went about letting your presence be known. To go from living in complete obscurity to sending me to the ER writhing in a kind of pain that reminded me quite unpleasantly of labor pains was, well, a bit much. I mean, couldn't you have been a bit more subtle? Maybe start with some mild indigestion, or a tinge of discomfort? Did you really need to go full throttle and put me in the fetal position, unable to speak to the triage nurse? And treating me to further attacks when I eat anything fried, rich, spicy, or in other ways delicious seems a bit over the top.

I feel like you and your friend the appendix really need to develop better anger management skills. I mean, I know it's hard to learn that you are, well, let's be blunt, kind of b-team organs which can be removed with no long term health implications. I mean, when people have trouble with their heart, their liver, their kidneys, it's a five alarm issue. With you guys? In my case, a small incision in my belly button and two surgical robotic arms will make light work of your removal.

Don't take it personally; I mean, we have some good years together. But those days are over. This Thursday, your new home will be a bio hazard waste bin in a surgical theatre in a hospital nearby. I wish you the best, and will toast you affectionately over a big plate of fries sometime very soon.