In my line of work, we talk about all kinds of morbid things. We enjoy a dark sense of humor. I mostly surround myself with people who either work in the same field as me, come from a bat-shit crazy family, are themselves bat-shit crazy (most of us are in some way or another), or have watched enough Oprah, Dr. Phil, White Oleander, Girl Interrupted, any movie Clint Eastwood directs, to at least stomach my sense of humor, if not appreciate it and chime in from time to time. I considered myself a real tough bitch when it came to talking about the "hard stuff." I can play socialite with the best of them but I will always find the group of people who are talking about someone having a mental breakdown and want to join that conversation. Yea, I like the dark stuff. Except when it involves my ass. My thrombosed hemorrhoid ridden ass.
There I am, doubled over in pain, crying as hard as I did during my 36 hour labor, telling Aaron, "There is no way in hell I am going to get help for this. I would rather die of pain than explain what is going on with me." "I'm sure they see it all the time Dorothy." He responds coolly. "They see way grosser things than this." He adds. "EVERYONE KNOWS ME IN THIS TOWN. I sit at committee meetings with these people. There is no way. NO WAY!" I retort dramatically.
1500 mgs of Tylenol, 800 mgs of Advil, three google searches, two sitz baths, and one heart-to-heart with myself in the mirror later, I announce that we are going to the ER. For being a drama queen, I sure do not like over utilizing the medical profession. I needed to be in more pain that I could stomach to stomach talking about my pain. I was there. It was bad. Active stage of labor bad.
I was mortified enough that I sent Aaron to breakfast so I could suffer in silence with my hopefully, visiting ER Doc. He was very nice. I told him what was wrong. He was sympathetic and I hid my face in a pillow while he checked me out. Hearing him say, "Oh yea. That's a big one. We are going to need to lance it. It's clotted," helped me feel ever so slightly better because a.) my google search was correct and b.) you're Goddamn right it's a big one. I can't walk. Or sit. Or sleep.
I have a love-hate relationship with lidocaine. It's the opposite of most of my relationships though. It starts out bad and then gets so good. When he stuck my 'roid with his needle, I thought I might die. Then, euphoria. 48 hours of excruciating pain, gone in an instant. I love drugs.
He pulled out some rather large blood clots, which I insisted on seeing. "I didn't peg you for the type?" He said before showing me. They were as big as jelly beans, but flat and round. Little assholes. He discharged me with a big maxi pad, sitz bath instructions, a script for some narcotics, which he cryptically added, "you're definitely going to want these.", and told me to follow up with a surgeon asap.
I went home, crawled into bed and enjoyed another twenty minutes of pain free existence until suddenly, and without warning, I was in mind-numbing pain. It made my vision blurry. Tears shot out of my eyes and I scrambled for the pain meds. It was too late. I was behind the pain. I knew I had hours of this to look forward to. I surrendered and sobbed until it passed. I kept on a healthy, every 4-hours, pill pop regimen after this. I slept soundly but still couldn't walk the next day.
After 20+ sitz baths, a liquid gold Doterra concoction from the blessed Annette Gano, a clairvoyant healing from the magical Stephanie Harrison, a chiropractic visit (I don't know! I figured it couldn't hurt) a whole lotta' fibrous foods, and three days in bed, I am thankful to report that I am definitely on the mend. I'm terrified to meet with the surgeon. Afraid he's going to want to cut my butt open, which turns out, is really painful and should be avoided if at all possible.
This whole experience reminds me of birthing Ellis, which by the way is where I first met my roids. I remember being in a lot of pain "down there" but I had this little, amazing creature to take care of so I didn't think much of it. It healed, she survived, it's all good. I hope this has a good ending too.
I'm writing this not in hopes of grossing anyone out but I have to protect my rep. Roids are officially on the can and will talk about list. I know I'm not the only one. Google says I'm one of 100 million sufferers. That's a whole lot of pains in the asses. As always, thanks for listening.
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