UPDATE: Why my ass hates me and I'm all itchy...among other things

Saturday, March 5th, in the Year of Our Lord 2011

*sneakily slinks back into the room, sheepish smile plastered on my face*

HHHHHHHIIIIIIIIII.

*pauses, waits for people to acknowledge presence after prolonged absence*

Did you miss me?

*actually hears the sounds of crickets chirping coming from some mysterious place in the room*

Ahh...yea. 

*wipes sweat forming on forehead, feeling quite like a comedian whose jokes are tanking one after another*

So, I just flew in and BOY, are my arms tired!  BA-DA-DUSH!

*closes eyes, realizes drum noise was a bad idea*

I should probably explain why I've been gone...for almost a month.

Well, not quite a month.  Several...days.  If I keep making the time period shorter, I feel better about myself.

It all started the week of my birthday.  (If that first sentence didn't set the scene for the most DEPRESSING post ever, I don't know what will.)  Monday, I was perfectly fine.  I went to bed and woke up with nagging pain in my lower back region (read: ass).  [A/N: For those with weak hearts or epilepsy, please skip to the end where I talk about being unbelievably itchy (you won't miss it...believe me).  For those who are freaks of nature, continue on and think about applying to Professor X's academy because you're probably a superhero.]

Just beware of rooming with this fellow.  He has a wee-bit of a gambling problem...



Tuesday, the pain was manageable, only coming in waves and when I sat weird.  Wednesday it was starting to get annoying.  The pain was constant and I couldn't figure out what I had done.  I had been biking the week before, maybe I pulled a muscle?  I called my mom that night and cried, the pain being overwhelming.  I can only describe the pain as intense...achy...miserable.  Unless you've experienced what I did, the words will escape you.  Thursday morning, I did something stupid.  I went swimming. 

HAHAHAHA...I wish.  I look like Michael Phelps' mentally
handicapped little sister when I swim.

Like I said, stupid.  I almost faked drowning to get out of my workout.  I barely crawled out of the pool without screaming in pain.  Sitting in class later?  HAH.  I felt like a druggie, popping pills every time I went back to my room.  I'd be taking 2...3...4 Tylenols in one sitting and be taking the same again two hours later when the pain came back. 

I couldn't handle it anymore.  I went to the bathroom to investigate.  I felt this huge bump on the end of my tailbone (read: top of butt) [A/N: I WARNED YOU, REMEMBER?!]  Obviously, I lost my shit.  I ran back (read: waddled ungracefully) to my room and started Googling my symptoms. 

Coincidentally, I DO like to think of Jesus as a mischievous badger.
I'm not the only one!
I also have taped my thumbs to my hands...on more than one occasion.

I found a website about these things called "pilonidal cysts".  What I read gave me enough information to produce nightmares for the rest of my life [A/N: Don't Google Image *shivers violently*].  I was checking off every symptom.  I did NOT want to have one of these things.  I called my mom, again in tears.  She said she would call Friday morning to get me a doctors' appointment.  I was going home to celebrate my 20th birthday, so it was convenient enough for me to go to the doctor. 

That night was one of the worst nights of my entire life.  I couldn't lay on my back; it hurt too much.  I couldn't lay on my right side; that was where this bump was located.  I couldn't lay on my left side; it pressed down on the bump.  I couldn't lay on my stomach; the angle was horrifically painful.  I ended up waking at 4:30 and watching the sunrise filter in through my curtains in my dorm room.  When I finally got out of bed, I almost passed out from the intense pain.  I couldn't sit, couldn't stand, couldn't walk.  WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!  LEVITATE?!

Criss Angel, is there anything you CAN'T do?!

I called my mom yet again.  I informed her I was coming home right then and there.  Yep, I was hitting the road at 7:30 in the morning.  OH. MY. GOD.  WORST RIDE OF MY ENTIRE LIFE.  I sang songs at the top of my lungs to disguise my screams of anguish because my car seat was hellbent on destroying the last shred of sanity I possessed.  Holy shit on a shingle, seats in cars are horribly painful.  After the longest hour and forty-five minutes of my life, I pulled up to my house.  I shuffled my way into my house and collapsed on the couch, immediately being informed that I had a doctors' appointment at...two.  It was roughly 9:30 at this time.  The clock is really, really, really slow when you stare at it for nearly 5 hours straight.

Hallucinating with pain, this is literally what I saw when staring at the clock on the wall.
Dali knew what the hell he was talking about.

 Finally, God decided to spare me of my misery and I ended up at the Prevea Clinic right behind the Bay Park Square Mall.  Their driveway/parking lot is extremely uneven and full of potholes.  My pain levels shot through the roof.  I think the nurse they stuck me with was incompetent.  Nay, I KNOW she was incompetent. 

Actual conversation:

Nurse: "Go ahead and take a seat right over there."

Me: "Uh, no thanks.  I'll stand."

Nurse: "Why?  There's a chair right there."

Me: *rolling my eyes and shifting uncomfortably* "Because I can't sit down."

Nurse: "Why?"

Me: *straws are quickly disappearing with this lady* "BECAUSE MY ASS HURTS, OKAY?"

Nurse: *blinking her unnaturally blue eyes at me* "So you're not going to sit down then?"

I bit down on my cheek so hard to keep from screaming obscenities at her, I tasted blood.  When I was explaining my symptoms, she kept writing the OPPOSITE THING OF WHAT I WAS SAYING.  I finally lost my mind and told her to type exactly what I was saying.  She had this confused look on her face when I was explaining things.

Yep, a lot like this.

Nurse: "I don't understand what you mean.  Where is it?"

Me: *grinding my teeth, not understanding how hard it was to comprehend the location*  It's on the bottom of my tailbone, like right above my butt."

Nurse: "So your lower back?"

Me: "No.  Not at all.  It's right here."

I pointed to the exact spot through my sweatpants.  Confused Nurse was still confused.

Nurse: "I'm going to have to see it."

Sighing, I yanked my pants down and pointed.  This is what I heard.

Nurse: "Oh...God."

AND THEN SHE LEFT THE ROOM WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD.

That is NOT what someone wants to hear when they go to the doctor.  The real, honest-to-goodness doctor finally arrived and took one look and confirmed my Google search.

I had a pilonidal cyst and I needed to get rid of it.  Today.

FUCKING.  SWEET. 

We left the Prevea Clinic and sat at St. Mary's Hospital, watching Ellen and trying not to lose my mind.  The ER nurse called my name and I waddled down the hall. 

The ER nurse informed me to strip down, just in case I had to go to surgery.  Panic filled my entire body.  The only time I had ever been put under was when I got my Wisdom teeth out and that was last December.  I loved the sensation of waking up, and the ride in the wheelchair through the lobby was entertaining, but I was only out for less than a half hour.  Apparently I would be out for nearly an hour and have to stay in the hospital for a few hours more after that, recovering.

The doctor and nurse came in, instructing me to lay face down on the gurney.  I did what they said and without warning, my pants yanked off.

AND THEN THEY LEFT ME.  AGAIN.

What the fuck?  Is this new policy for doctors and nurses to humiliate their patients?  I mean, come on.  I wanted to leave here with SOME dignity.  [A/N: My mother, sensing my discomfort, informed me I have a cute butt.  Thanks Mom!  You made my day a billion times brighter!  Now stop staring at me and hold my fucking hand!]

Fun Fact: They're all Pre-Med.




I overheard the doctor and nurse discussing the procedure as I damn-near suffocated on the hospital grade pillow that was lodged under my chin.  I was thinking about how much I was drooling on the pillow when I felt this unbelievable burning sensation in my back.  Oh, it was no big thing...just the doctor PREPPING ME FOR SURGERY WITHOUT TELLING ME.

At that moment, I had the first of three panic attacks I'd experience that delightful afternoon.

Thank God the nurse was lovely.  She stroked my head and agreed that I had a cute butt.  [A/N: Thanks Karen!]

I would've been fine and probably wouldn't have had another panic attack if the doctor didn't start fucking narrating exactly what he was doing to me. 

Doctor: "Okay, you're going to feel a bit of a burning sensation right now.  It's a lot like a swarm of angry bees sent straight from Satan's butthole, doused in napalm and armed with mini-torches.  But it'll go away quickly.  And by quickly, I mean you'll be jumping off the table and biting your hand in agony.  Did I mention that we've also covered a pack of bears in napalm and are ready and willing to set them on top of you as well?  Because we do.  They're in the hallway."

HOLY SHIT.  THEY WEREN'T LYING ABOUT THE FIERY BEARS.

The doctor, after about fifteen minutes, announced he was complete and that I was allowed to lay there for a bit while the nurse got my discharge papers in order.  I didn't hear much, only:

Doctor: "Now that I've violated, I want to leave you bare-assed, snot-covered and shaking from panic attacks while I go have kinky sex with the nurse down the hall.  Have a delightful weekend." 

I sat up about five minutes later, feeling quite well.  Then I stood up.  All I can really remember is leaning against the counter, seeing huge black spots in my vision. 

Me: "Hey, where's the best place to throw up in this town?"

The nurse wheeled over the trash can and all but shoved my face in it.  She ran to get me a Sprite as I fought back the worst wave of nausea I've ever experienced.

I left the hospital a few minutes later, with some valuable life lessons and fascinating facts about what had just happened to me.

1. Pilonidal cysts are birth defects.  They're little dimples in your...butt crack...[A/N: I TOLD YOU IT WAS WEIRD] that can randomly flare-up and cause intense pain and discomfort.  Basically, in less than 100 words and gross terms, the skin is backwards there.  The hair follicles, instead of going outwards like normal, go inwards.  Yup.  Just as disgusting as you think it is.

2. The pain I went through was equivalent in males to going through the full stages of labor.  I've now discovered I never want to give birth.

3. Vicodin is my best friend.  My. BEST. FRIEND.

4. Watching "Bones" while high is an interesting experience.  I was actually there, helping them solve the crime.  Booth smells delicious.

I celebrated my 20th birthday on Vicodin, with a pack of gauze taped in my ass. 

I also didn't get a: card, cake or presents.
I had to make my own birthday cupcakes.
My parents forgot it was my birthday...until I reminded them.
The nurses and doctors all wished me a happy birthday.
All of them had seen my bare ass.
I plan on not remembering next year.



That's more like it!



Now, if you were waiting for the part where I don't talk about gross things, here it is:

I have dry skin.  I am very itchy.  I am in a serious and committed relationship with my lotion bottle.  We are getting married next month.  I scratch constantly.  I am losing my mind.

This is considered porn for the dry-skinned folks like me.
Pssh...you don't need that lotion, naughty-naughty!
You have nice skin!
Save that for when you really need it.

Oh, I forgot to mention.  I went swimming twice this week.  GO ME!