Modern Medicine
Oh, to be an android.
I don't want to alarm anyone, but I'm probably not going to be around for a while. I underwent an unplanned and very minor surgery. Really, it's over glorifying it to call it a surgery. It was more a quick slash and bandaged. Painful and expensive, but nothing major. Not an hour altogether.
The thing is, the prescription they gave me for the pain is... well, stronger the anything I've ever taken. (I was told by the pharmacists it was "like a generic Vicoden." Yay, just like House!) I'm not really comfortable with something this strong. Then again, I'm not all that comfortable with pain.
Take as needed. Huh, we'll see.
For those of you interested in the gory details of my incredibly unglamorous operations, I live to please. Warning = Grossness.
I've had a lump on my back for years that I was told was a cyst. Getting rid of it would require surgery, and since I was assured it was perfectly harmless, I view that sort of thing as cosmetic. A vanity I couldn't really afford.
A few weeks ago, it started to swell and become really sore. It got to the point where moving my shoulderblades was enough to set it off.
The thing is, I'm kinda uninsured at present. So I did my normal practice of hoping it goes the fuck away on it's own. Finally I woke up today looking like Quasimodo and not feeling much better, so my boyfriend took me to the clinic.
I knew there was something wrong when they took my vitals and I had a temperature. 99.1 wouldn't be much for most people, but I run a bit cold most days.
I was then made to wait in one of the scarier rooms. You know, the ones with the adjustable interrogations lights, and the tray full of unspeakably evil devices? I saw needles and several small bottles laid out, and hoped like hell that was for the last person.
More ominous then the needles though was the nondescript blue bundle, no larger then a loaf of bread. I don't know why, but for some reason that frightened me more then anything. Waiting for the doctor, I imagine a wrapped lung waiting for a transport cooler. I heard Eddie the Mammoth in my head asking how I felt, how's my liver and my kidneys?
I am really, really scared of hospitals. Of needles and scalpels and the idea of being cut open, or even cut at all. Hell, I'm barely comfortable with a bread knife!
So you can imagine my ease when told by the attending doctor that this was infact their "cutting" room.
"You're already breathing hard, I haven't even done anything yet!"
Everyone is afraid of something. (Sometimes it seems like I'm afraid of everything, but that's beside the point.)
So the cyst had to be drained and removed. Or maybe removed by draining. The specifics escape me. What I remember most vividly was I was going to need an injection.
Actually, four injections.
Imagine the sorest, tenderest spot on your body. Something which cannot be brushed with any pressure at all, and for which even clothing was painful. Now imagine someone informing you cheerfully they were going to stab it repeatedly with a needle.
Fun.
"It's important you breath."
Really? Because I was doing so well with the not breathing.
Then I was left alone for a while, lying prone on the little padded bench, warned not to move or the numbing agent might leak back out.
When she came back, it was time to open the blue bundle.
If I could go back and do anything over, I'd have faced the wall instead of the room. In that little blue bundle were a wealth of metal instruments, (most of which, mercifully, she did not use) none of which looked at all pleasant.
Now, despite the numbing agent, parts of my back were still sore. Specifically, all the places she decided to lean on. >< But at least I didn't feel where she made the incision. (Incisions?)
I didn't feel it, but I sure as hell heard it.
At first I didn't realize what was happening. There was this loud scraping sound. I thought she was sharpening the scalpel, like some sadistic interrogation method. Scraaaaaaaaaape.... scraaaaaaape. It wasn't until she asked me if I felt anything that I realized she was cutting me open.
The worst though, was yet to come.
Now, this part is really gross, so I'm going to isolate it, just incase anyone wanted to turn back now.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Then she began to squeeze.
And since my back wasn't completely numb, this was incredibly fucking painful. The damn thing came out in spurts that even made the doctor jump back. And she had to keep squeezing and kneading this incredibly sore and painful part of my back. Wiping it with gauze and then squeezing again.
I don't think I've ever in my life gone through anything with that same combination of painful, disgusting and horrifying.
...
Well, nothing official anyway.
So, after that was done, the doctor playfully wondered what I'd like better. The draining or the packing?
Packing?
Oh, that's where they stuff gauze in the wound to keep it from closing.
"Shit..." I said. "Oh fuck."
"Oh, now why are you cursing?" My doctor asked, offended.
Gee, I don't know. Maybe because at this moment there is nothing more horrifying then the thought of stuffing something into the open wound on my back to keep it open? Just a guess.
But the fear was worse then the pain, as is almost (but not always) the case. Now I just have to pretend there isn't, currently, a open wound on my back.
After 'packing' me, my doctor left me to be cleaned and bandaged by a nurse. While lying there waiting, I could feel this faint trickle down my back that seemed to get colder as it progressed.
Oh, joy. I was still bleeding.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Oh, and the good news? There's the possibility this will grow back. Yay for me! God, I hate life.
So I come back in three days to get the gauze removed and the bandages off. ("Doctor, when, when will they take the bandages off?") And in the meantime I'm on antibiotics, which I hate and make me crazy, and extremely strong painkillers, which I will probably start taking tomorrow.
Oh, and since I can't shower until the bandages come off, they recommended sponge baths. And can you believe they neglected to send me home with a handsome orderly to take care of this for me?
Really, what has become of our medical system? I'm moving to Canada.
See you all in a week or so.
I don't want to alarm anyone, but I'm probably not going to be around for a while. I underwent an unplanned and very minor surgery. Really, it's over glorifying it to call it a surgery. It was more a quick slash and bandaged. Painful and expensive, but nothing major. Not an hour altogether.
The thing is, the prescription they gave me for the pain is... well, stronger the anything I've ever taken. (I was told by the pharmacists it was "like a generic Vicoden." Yay, just like House!) I'm not really comfortable with something this strong. Then again, I'm not all that comfortable with pain.
Take as needed. Huh, we'll see.
For those of you interested in the gory details of my incredibly unglamorous operations, I live to please. Warning = Grossness.
I've had a lump on my back for years that I was told was a cyst. Getting rid of it would require surgery, and since I was assured it was perfectly harmless, I view that sort of thing as cosmetic. A vanity I couldn't really afford.
A few weeks ago, it started to swell and become really sore. It got to the point where moving my shoulderblades was enough to set it off.
The thing is, I'm kinda uninsured at present. So I did my normal practice of hoping it goes the fuck away on it's own. Finally I woke up today looking like Quasimodo and not feeling much better, so my boyfriend took me to the clinic.
I knew there was something wrong when they took my vitals and I had a temperature. 99.1 wouldn't be much for most people, but I run a bit cold most days.
I was then made to wait in one of the scarier rooms. You know, the ones with the adjustable interrogations lights, and the tray full of unspeakably evil devices? I saw needles and several small bottles laid out, and hoped like hell that was for the last person.
More ominous then the needles though was the nondescript blue bundle, no larger then a loaf of bread. I don't know why, but for some reason that frightened me more then anything. Waiting for the doctor, I imagine a wrapped lung waiting for a transport cooler. I heard Eddie the Mammoth in my head asking how I felt, how's my liver and my kidneys?
I am really, really scared of hospitals. Of needles and scalpels and the idea of being cut open, or even cut at all. Hell, I'm barely comfortable with a bread knife!
So you can imagine my ease when told by the attending doctor that this was infact their "cutting" room.
"You're already breathing hard, I haven't even done anything yet!"
Everyone is afraid of something. (Sometimes it seems like I'm afraid of everything, but that's beside the point.)
So the cyst had to be drained and removed. Or maybe removed by draining. The specifics escape me. What I remember most vividly was I was going to need an injection.
Actually, four injections.
Imagine the sorest, tenderest spot on your body. Something which cannot be brushed with any pressure at all, and for which even clothing was painful. Now imagine someone informing you cheerfully they were going to stab it repeatedly with a needle.
Fun.
"It's important you breath."
Really? Because I was doing so well with the not breathing.
Then I was left alone for a while, lying prone on the little padded bench, warned not to move or the numbing agent might leak back out.
When she came back, it was time to open the blue bundle.
If I could go back and do anything over, I'd have faced the wall instead of the room. In that little blue bundle were a wealth of metal instruments, (most of which, mercifully, she did not use) none of which looked at all pleasant.
Now, despite the numbing agent, parts of my back were still sore. Specifically, all the places she decided to lean on. >< But at least I didn't feel where she made the incision. (Incisions?)
I didn't feel it, but I sure as hell heard it.
At first I didn't realize what was happening. There was this loud scraping sound. I thought she was sharpening the scalpel, like some sadistic interrogation method. Scraaaaaaaaaape.... scraaaaaaape. It wasn't until she asked me if I felt anything that I realized she was cutting me open.
The worst though, was yet to come.
Now, this part is really gross, so I'm going to isolate it, just incase anyone wanted to turn back now.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Then she began to squeeze.
And since my back wasn't completely numb, this was incredibly fucking painful. The damn thing came out in spurts that even made the doctor jump back. And she had to keep squeezing and kneading this incredibly sore and painful part of my back. Wiping it with gauze and then squeezing again.
I don't think I've ever in my life gone through anything with that same combination of painful, disgusting and horrifying.
...
Well, nothing official anyway.
So, after that was done, the doctor playfully wondered what I'd like better. The draining or the packing?
Packing?
Oh, that's where they stuff gauze in the wound to keep it from closing.
"Shit..." I said. "Oh fuck."
"Oh, now why are you cursing?" My doctor asked, offended.
Gee, I don't know. Maybe because at this moment there is nothing more horrifying then the thought of stuffing something into the open wound on my back to keep it open? Just a guess.
But the fear was worse then the pain, as is almost (but not always) the case. Now I just have to pretend there isn't, currently, a open wound on my back.
After 'packing' me, my doctor left me to be cleaned and bandaged by a nurse. While lying there waiting, I could feel this faint trickle down my back that seemed to get colder as it progressed.
Oh, joy. I was still bleeding.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Oh, and the good news? There's the possibility this will grow back. Yay for me! God, I hate life.
So I come back in three days to get the gauze removed and the bandages off. ("Doctor, when, when will they take the bandages off?") And in the meantime I'm on antibiotics, which I hate and make me crazy, and extremely strong painkillers, which I will probably start taking tomorrow.
Oh, and since I can't shower until the bandages come off, they recommended sponge baths. And can you believe they neglected to send me home with a handsome orderly to take care of this for me?
Really, what has become of our medical system? I'm moving to Canada.
See you all in a week or so.