Ode to the Organ I Didn’t Know I Needed

I used to live wild,

Drenched fries in oil,

Ate cheese like oxygen,

Let butter boil.

Never thought twice

About pizza or cream,

’Til one night I woke up

Mid-bile-filled scream.

You were just a pear-shaped thing,

Tucked under my liver,

Yet you could throw tantrums

That made me shiver.

You plotted in silence,

But your stones made a scene,

Like lava inside me

At Olive Garden cuisine.

So off to the surgeon,

“I don’t need it!” I said,

And I signed the forms

While half-hunched in bed.

You were yanked out quickly,

Laparoscopy style,

Now I poop like a faucet

Every once in a while.

The doctor said gently,

“You may notice some changes,”

Which apparently meant

I can’t eat at buffets or strange ranges.

Now I read menus

Like they’re medical files,

Avoiding deep-fried things

And foods that bring trials.

Once sexy in silence,

Now I scan for a stall.

Is there a restroom?

Do they serve alcohol?

Because margaritas?

A digestive roulette.

It’s either a night out

Or intestinal regret.

My intestines have trust issues,

My colon has clout,

And if I eat wrong,

It’s an immediate route.

To those still gallbladdered,

I envy your guts.

You’ve never had to run

Mid-Taco Bell struts.

But to my gallbladder gang,

My surgery squad,

Who’ve made peace with the porcelain—

You know it’s not odd.

To memorize restrooms,

To fear greasy bites,

To carry a change

Just in case mid-flights.

Yet despite all the chaos,

The cramping and gas,

We walk through the world

Still kicking—still class.

We smile at the servers

And say, “No ranch please,”

Then quietly wonder

If broccoli has cheese.

We are brave, we are bold,

We live free of the stone,

And when that urge hits

We just grab the phone—

To fake a quick call

As we scurry and dash,

Praying the door’s not

Occupied or trashed.

So here’s to the organ

I didn’t appreciate,

Who left me too soon

After one too many plates.

You were small but chaotic,

You ruined some meals,

But now I’ve adjusted

To life without eels—

Because yes, I once tried them,

Now I regret it.

Without you, dear bladder,

My gut won’t forget it.

And if I could say

One last goodbye,

I’d whisper:

“Screw you,

But also…why?”