This past Friday marks two weeks since I made my first ever 911 call.

It was around 4pm that I had told my kids to make sure they had their cell phone with them so I could call them in for dinner. I was sitting here in living room, doing some web development work when I felt a bit of a twitch on my right side and what I thought was a hunger pan.

So up I go and into the kitchen to prepare a salad and have some fruit given I've been doing some massive retooling for the past 4 months of my food intake with Jamie, my nutritionist. I wash and cut some lettuce and a piece of grapefruit which I proceed to eat.

Within 5 minutes I was howling on the floor in pain as if someone had suckered punch me in the chest whilst all the muscles on my right-side froze, seized in a painful spasm.

I had to crawl to the nearest phone so I could call my kids and their father, to warn them I was calling 911. The dad, as usual, was skeptical. I hang up to call 911 not thinking that I was using my cell phone and that they couldnt track me. So here I am trying to describe to the operator what was going on when the phone rings and the dad realizes that indeed I am in a medical emergency.

There's the pain of labor and then there's the pain of what was torturing me during what seemed like an eternity. Yet the pain wasn't as shocking as the 8-10 cops and firemen that ended up in my apartment.

I had no idea NYC doesn't send in EMS if there's suspicion the person calling might be having a heart attack or stroke. They send in the big NYFD paramedic guys with their muscly arms and their battle axes (soOoooOoo friggin' cool).

In no time I had the boys and their dad along with the already NYPD and NYFD testosteroned apartment; made me wish I had been this popular with the boys when I was younger (and also that I had been wearing a bra but I couldn't wear anything around my chest because the pain was just too much to bear).

And sure enough, I had NYFD paramedics cart me ACROSS THE FRIGGIN' STREET TO BETH ISRAEL because I couldn't walk. They didn't find any signs of a heart attack or a stroke, thank goodness, but I was still in massive pain when they wheeled me out. And am glad they did because had I walked in by myself I would still be waiting to be seen by an attendant given the overflow of emergencies they're getting now that St. Vincent's Hospital is gone.

So what was the problem? I passed a gallstone. I was hospitalized from Friday until Sunday waiting for an emergency and then an elective cholecystectomy (aka gall bladder removal) that never happened.

And it was going to happen today but after just getting back on my feet, I postponed it until, for now, the end of the month.

Yes, the gall bladder is still swollen.

Yes, it's full with stones.

Yes, I cannot eat or drink or move or even sleep the way I normal would.

Yet the scheduling is almost impossible. I have painters coming in next week. Packing up my apartment is becoming a bit of a nightmare. Kids are still in school. Oh, and it's my birthday week.

My life, needless to say, sucks hard right about now. Surgery will have to wait.

And, yes, I can't still wear bra.