A few of you knew that I was hospitalized and under the O.R. I know I have been joking around saying I was admitted for my Post-Op operation, just to make light of the whole situation. However, and here comes the warning, I will detail the exact horror of my mishap which may be a bit to graphic for others. It’s things like these, where I can only reiterate that my life serves as a comic relief for the universe.
Let’s go back in time somewhere 10 years ago to my first OBGYN exam. I was notified that I had what was called a Bartholin Cyst. He said I shouldn’t worry because most of the time there was never need for surgery because it wouldn’t grow.
Hot tub time machine to the weekend of Hurricane Irene hitting NYC and I am chilling at home in bed, doing nothing else but watch the news, eat my heart out, and hope that I was not left in the dark with a power outage. 72 hours later after averting the hurricane crisis, I wake up monday morning feeling feverish and and all over general malaise. I chalk it up to the cold I caught from my best friend spending the night at my place on thursday. Somehow in the back of my mind I knew it might be something more, because I recognized flu symptoms from a mile away, and these were flu symptoms, and to my unfortunate luck… flu season had not made it’s red carpet entrance.
It was a nice, sunny August day with temperatures well above the 80s and I felt like I was submerged somewhere in the outskirts of Alaska. I stayed in bed with hoodies, tshirts and sweatpants to ease the cold and somewhat shake the fever I was having. Later on during the day I notice that tiny lump.. the one my doctor said would never grow.. start resembling the size of a grape. It’s okay I tell myself.. I was going to the gyno anyways on tuesday so I’ll have that check out. I didn’t put 2 + 2 together and realize that my body was fighting of an infection that I was having (horror) down there!
By tuesday morning, my grape size cyst became a golf ball when I woke up. The horror, because A) I just started dating an awesome, awesome guy, with whom I was embarrassed to discuss this and was more than eager to well .. indulge in recreational bedroom activities with B) I looked like I went from having a vagina to growing a pair of balls C) [typography font="Crushed" size="24" size_format="px" color="#f5030f"]SHIT HURT![/typography]
My doctor saw me on tuesday to what she confirmed was a bartholin abscess and explained the dreadful procedure of having it lanced and drained. I was more than ready to bear the pain, having always had a high pain tolerance. She insisted I go home, wait it out and take sitz baths and hot compresses so that it would pop on its own. I sigh, go home and wait for wednesday only to discover this thing has not gone down, was swollen red, burned to the touch and was driving me insane. Thursday I go back to my doctor’s office to have this dreadful crap lanced. I was given a valium IV (best thing in the world) to calm me down and she talked me through the whole procedure, explaining how the local anesthetic might hurt a bit since it was a sensitive area. I managed that pretty well….
Then came the horror.. Have you ever heard that saying, that whatever acidic component that makes up an infection will sometimes counteract with a local anesthetic? yup.. THAT! I felt the scalpel as she made an incision of my inner most part of the labia. I hold my breath and try not to scream. 20 minutes of pushing stuff out and more incisions later, she says she can’t do anymore because of all the pain I am in and the area was already too swollen to do much more. She left a place of drainage and advise that whatever was left should drain on it’s own and the swelling would go down. I go home semi sort of able to walk, which had me a bit worried after reading forums of women who were able to walk right after having that hell of a cyst lanced.
Wrapping up this ordeal.. friday arrives and I am happy to be able to see Andrew, even though I felt like shit and was confined to a bed. We stay in bed.. mostly him sleeping and I up all night because the codeine pills would wear off every 2 hours. After countless phone calls from my mom waking up repeatedly (poor Andrew) I took her advice and finally decided to page my doctor ( I was trying to brave it out).
Luckily my best friend was able to pick me up and drive me to the ER to have me admitted on my doctor’s orders. On my way down the stairs I see that I’m bleeding, which I attribute to perhaps all the moving around broke a stitch or whatever. The ride all the way up to Mt. Sinai was not as bad as I thought..although the smell of myself was something that I could not handle and I honestly thank my friend for being able to put up with it. Little did I know that whatever was left of my abscess had burst in the seat (thank god for the sheets and towels underneath) allowing me to comfortably walk into the ER (THANK GOD!!)
My moment of comedy (as usual) was this dominican lady, whom I guess felt some sort of embarrassment for me. She quietly whispered in my ear that the blood from my period went through my pijama pants. I looked at her.. in that look that those of you close to me know so well.. and politely said.. lady.. it’s not my period.. this is the reason why I am in the ER. They wheel me into a waiting room in the ER and have me strip down, lay on the bed and wait for the next OR room to be available.. Nurses, Residents, Doctors and Attendees all came in an out, looking at my vaginal mess. I felt like I was on display at the circus..and today I have lost any shame in showing my vagay.. (see how I made that rhyme there?)
A morphine drip, local anesthetic and 2 hours under the OR, the Resident wakes me up and tells me we’re all done. I’m kept under observation over night on Percocets and lovely nurses laters, I am done with the whole fiasco.
What have I learned from all this.. to live in fear of the next flare up, to be lucky that I have health insurance, Mt. Sinai’s medical staff is superb, and I am not having a child.
xx
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