The Surgery that Started it All
When I was sixteen I got in a car accident (hilarious story) and had to wear a neck brace to school for a week; around that time I also started having a pain in my tailbone. My parents told me that it was all related and just like the whiplash it would subside. After the embarrassing monstrosity of brace left my gorgeous neck, the ass pain was still around and worsening by the day. My mother then decided that I had to have bruised my tailbone, so she bought me a donut. Within a three week period I had become the shmuck with the neck brace and ass pillow.
The tormenting blue donut was useless and I told the parentals that my health and reputation had suffered enough and this weird bump was forming in my ass crack. This was pre webMD, so my mother grabbed a gargantuan book of medical problems off our bookcase and skimmed through it. She decided that she needed a closer examination, so she grabbed a flashlight and my pants. The women in my family are basically nudists, so dropping trow in the family room didn't phase me. However her telling me to lay on the couch, then shove a flashlight into my crack, while my sister spread eagled my cheeks did. She explained to my Dad what the no-man's land of my behind looked like and he proclaimed that the bump was either a boil or a carbuncle and I needed a doctor. They sent me to my pediatrician, who sent me to another pediatrician in a different office that would lance it.
This problem had lasted well over a month and every day the pain became more excruciating. I did not know what exactly lancing entailed, but I was down for anything. My sister drove me to the office a few days later because both of my parents had this disgusting virus and were in quarantine. It was the final day of the county tournament in wrestling, which I had to attend, being the manager of our team and a wrestling enthusiast. She walked and I limped up to the building to check where the office was located. Normally finding out an office is on the fourth floor would not have made my knees buckle and eyes well up, except when there is no elevator and the mere act of putting one foot in front of the other was harder than AP Statistics. As we reached the second floor landing I contemplated suicide. The only way I could see out of this pain was to throw myself back down the stairs from which I came. Sionne grabbed my hand and pulled me up the last two flights like a sack of angry potatoes. We finally reached mecca i.e. the doc's office and we were waived right into the exam room.
Pulling down my pants for strangers in a lab coat was becoming a daily ritual, so I climbed onto the table, undid my pants and waited with enthusiastic anticipation for this doc to lance this stupid boil. He looked my ass bump over, grabbed a two foot long needle and stabbed my tuchus. Nothing. Well not nothing, he pissed that protruding menace off. A pain I never thought could be worse suddenly was. And this quack couldn't explain it. He just looked all befuddled, stared at my "boil" and said that since it didn't pop, it wasn't a boil. Thanks dickwad because that wasn't clear. Sionne led me back down the death stairs, as I cussed out everyone from Madonna to Prince Charles.
I got home worse than I was before, got in my car, drove 40 mins on my blue donut to the county tournament and laid on my side watching and screaming. For those unaware, this is not a short tournament, it lasts all day. So around 5 pm I again considered suicide, but didn't have the energy to even think of a way to do it. I instead got in my car and drove to the nearest CVS. I bought a family sized bottle of Tylenol Rapid Release, took three minutes to open the idiotic child proof cap, and took a liver-crippling amount. With half the bottle gone, I went back to the tournament and cheered through every match. I tried to time my screams of pain with the action on the mat.
The next morning I awoke to two firsts. The first time I had ever smelled an infection (imagine spoiled milk plus vomit) and the first time I woke up covered in bodily fluid and unable to move. Once the shock of how gross I was wore off, the pain set in. My mother came rushing in, she had heard the shrieking, she saw the pussy, bloody mess that used to be called a bed and immediately dialed my gastro. It was a holiday, so she wasn't in, but there was a forwarding number. We were told to go to a doctor that was in a building connected to the hospital. Normally, I would have done what I was told, except this time my ass had two gaping holes. (I still can not explain the pain, but I have had organs removed and organs put in places they don't belong and this pain was worse.) My father came in my room and told me I had to go to the hospital. I told him to shove it up his ass, he sternly told me to go to the hospital, and I yelled to go fuck himself. He then screamed that I was going to the hospital and I screamed that I was going to die there and he needed to get the fuck out of my room. Then suddenly I was in my mother's car on the way to the hospital.
We walked into the other doctor's office and my mother tried to explain why we were there. However, we still had no name for the exploding ass bomb. The secretary was rightly confused and told us to wait. Waiting without sobbing was not something I could do. The nurse felt so bad, she took me back, and said the doctor would be right in. He was, but only for a second, because the moment he looked at my ass he told me to go to the ER. Two useless idiot doctors in a row. As I entered the ER with my shorts covered in disgusting slime and blood, the admitting nurse called a stretcher and took me back. The next thing I remember is getting asked what flavor of anesthesia I wanted, I replied watermelon, and that was all.
That was my first surgery and my first pilonidal cyst. I have had roughly 15 surgeries and 10 of them have been pilonidal cysts. My last one was in February and after nine years, my medical team has finally admitted that they are not pilonidal cysts. They have no idea what they are and just like every other problem I get diagnosed with there is no cure. Just one more pain in my ass.