Believe it or not, this is me.
It's all changed. When I got sick with my heart, I quit working for a while. I got better, and I went back. In part because I needed the money, but I also just needed the job. It filled some need for attention that I've always had and it gave me some self esteem that I've always lacked. I've come to realize that the depression and anxiety have quadrupled at least since I stopped working. At least quadrupled, but probably multiplied more like times a hundred. Sad, I know, that getting paid to bare myself for an anonymous stranger was so important to me when so many would be ashamed of it. I never really was. I didn't tell some of my family members because I didn't think THEY would handle it all that well or understand in the least and to be honest, most of them don't. The ones that do understand have surprised me.
When I get this surgery on my ass, I don't know what will happen. I don't know what the scars will look like or how much they'll be noticed. I don't know if I'll ever even be able to work again. I certainly don't feel very sexy anymore any of the time. How could I? I don't have anyone to tell me that it will all be ok and that this is no big deal because it is, and because I have no support system at home. In fact, my homelife is absolutely awful most days and my husband is the least supportive person in this respect. You'd think it was a pimple on my ass. I went to the doctor yesterday. The cardiologist to be exact, but while I was there, she called not only the ob/gyn that delivered Memphis, who promptly told the doctor what to look for and how to tell the difference between mastitis and an abscess in the breast, but she also called the actual HEAD of internal medicine for White Memorial Medical Center and Hospital in Los Angeles California. That's kind of a big deal. The reason she was calling all around to check with other doctors is because this bacteria is running rampant in my body. If the infection gets into the pocket of tissue my pacemaker is in it could be fatal. That's not an exaggeration as much as everyone I live with would have you believe. Again, sadly, I have no support at home. The infection is probably, in part, because I'm so stressed out I can't handle things at all so my body is susceptible to everything and since I already had the pilonidal thing flaring up about once a month or so, the breast abscess just took hold. They wanted to admit me for IV antibiotics. I was there with my husband and Memphis and we had taken Care1st transportation to get there. No me=no way home for my hubby and the kid, so I cried at her until she conceded to give me a high dose oral antibiotic and order some STAT tests to be done which means my HMO will push them through in a few days instead of a few weeks. In the mean time, I'm dealing with my mom and her Munchhausen syndrome (not confirmed but I'm not kidding here, I know I've mentioned this before but it's getting out of hand now).
The surgery on the butt is going to relocate my anal cleft from what I understand. It will also be left open to heal from the inside out so I'll be down for a few weeks to a few months depending on what they find when they get in there. I have a pacemaker, which means I can not have an MRI done at all, and they have no way of knowing until they cut me open how far the sinuses run or how many there are. Here again is some info on pilonidal cyst. My brother had one he had surgery on twice. I was around for the first surgery when he was 18 and the part that sticks out the most in my memory was the packing of the wound. And how obviously painful that was for him, but beyond that, how much it grossed out the nurse that came to do it, and my grandma when the nurse couldn't come. I don't want to be gross. I want to be pretty and sexy and I don't want to make people feel icked out. I don't want to have this happening to me. I just want to go back to how things USED TO BE.
I know that's never going to happen. I know I'm going I'm aging, and this is the year I turn 40 and honestly, I'm ok with my age as long as I'm not a gross 40. But I am. My body has gotten gross and I don't know how to deal with it anymore. I don't want to go have my ass cut open, but while we're on the subject of gross, the only GOOD thing about this whole situation is my cyst doesn't smell like I've heard and read they almost always do...So that's my story for today and I'm going to do my Mamatography tomorrow, make sure you come back for that and check out last weeks post here and the week before's here.
Until next time...