That Time I Totally Didn't Freak Out About a Minor Surgical Procedure

For those that know me well, they know I am not a big fan of doctors or hospitals or needles or the healthcare system in general.  This week, I got to deal with all of them as I had a surgery performed yesterday.  Warning, there be far too much information in this post but I promise that there are no disgusting photos or descriptions.  You can probably read this while eating...

DO NOT Google Image Search "Pilonidal Cyst".  You've been warned.

So, I have had a pilonidal cyst for about 7 years now.  It's a cyst that grows on the tailbone and when it flares up, it is painful, debilitating, smelly, and gross.  It's also known as a "tail" and "Jeep's Disease".  You can Google it for yourself or click here if you want more details but that's really all you need to know for now.  Over the first 5 years, it flared up about 3-4 times each year.  It only flared up twice total in the last 2 years because I got really good at catching it ahead of time and my doctor was really awesome about preemptively prescribing me antibiotics.  In those first 5 years, it caused me to miss a lot of work and social engagements.  I dealt with it the best I could having been told surgery wasn't an option.  More importantly, my now wife dealt with it in ways nobody you just started dating should have to deal with anything.

Fast forward to 2016. My current, awesome, doctor gave me a referral to a surgeon and I met with him.  We decided surgery was an option and always had been and the previous doctor was a moron.  After a very long period of waiting for insurance approval, I was able to schedule my surgery for September 20th.  I arranged to take the appropriate time off work for recovery and here's hoping it goes quickly because I can't afford to go longer than 2 weeks.  I digress.

I scheduled registration for the day before which included filling out a lot of paperwork and doing some labs to make sure there was nothing funky to look for.  I spent about 90 minutes in the hospital on Monday doing this.  I also found out that my 7:30 am surgery the next day meant I had to arrive at the hospital at 5:30 am.  Not cool.  I inquired as to why and they described about 30 minutes worth of stuff, not 2 hours worth, but thems the breaks.  During this 90 minutes, I freaked out.  I was scared.  I didn't sleep well the night before.  I was sure I only had 36 hours to live.  Ask my wife.  I cried at the hospital.

I was told to shower the night before and then wipe my entire body down with these special anti-infection wipes.  I then had to repeat the process the next morning at 4:45 am.  Of course, I was not allowed food or drink after midnight, which is a big problem for me because I am always hungry.  The night before, I, again, didn't sleep very well.  I had dreams of amputation. I tossed and turned.  I shook.

4:45 am - I wake up and shower and wipe down with the sticky pads.  I dress in comfy clothes.  Alyssa drives us, in the pitch black, to the hospital. I shake.

5:30 am - I check in in the lobby, grab paperwork in Admitting, and head up to the ACU.  I shake.  They take my weight.  I am fat.  They take my blood pressure, which reads surprisingly great for me.  A moment of levity. I am seemingly calm.  At least, calmer than the day before.  Perhaps I am just tired and don't realize anything is happening.  Perhaps it's Alyssa's eyes.  They give me a bed in the front, next to the white trashiest person I have ever heard.  I digress.  They give me a paper gown to dress in and I do.  What I soon realize is that the paper gown is lined with plastic on the inside.  The most uncomfortable plastic ever made.  I lie on the bed, steaming like vegetables in one of those microwavable steamer bags.  Alyssa sits next to me, patiently listening to me complain about the heat, fighting her own hunger in solidarity, and sharing knowing glances every time the woman in the next cubicle speaks.

Several nurses come and go, introducing themselves to me.  One of them puts the IV in me.  I shake. The anesthesiologist comes and goes, introducing himself to me.  7:30 am, comes and goes.  The surgeon is late.  We all know how I feel about the medical system's tardiness.  I decide it best to not complain until after the surgery is over.  He finally shows up and chats with us.  I shake.

8:30 am - They finally send Alyssa away and the nurse and anesthesiologist come to wheel me away to the operating room.  As we arrive, the nurse is in front of me.  The anesthesiologist is behind me. I shake.  He explains that he's going to give me the anesthesia among other stuff there in the IV and then says they're going to give me some oxygen first.  She rests it on my face and says to breathe normally.  I feel myself getting tired.  My body suddenly feels like I weigh 600 pounds.

9:40 am - I wake up in recovery, with a dry mouth, sore throat, and runny nose.  I can't see.  It's blurry.  A new nurse tells me it's all normal and I'll be fine in a moment.  She asks if I am in pain.  I say my tailbone hurts.  She puts something in the IV.  The pain become dull and almost absent.  She tells me I have been there about 20 minutes.  She shows me the drain they installed in my back.  She asks, on a scale of 1-10, how is my pain.  I say 2.  The meds worked.  After several minutes, they get word that the ACU has a spot for me and I get wheeled back.  The IV gets taken out, I get discharge instructions and water and juice and clothes.  I get to see Alyssa, who has already spoken with the surgeon.  She gets trained on the drain.  She goes to pull the car around.  I get wheeled downstairs and sent on my way.

Now, I have antibiotics and pain meds. (though I haven't needed the pain meds yet.)  I have a drain sack in my pocket.  I cannot shower for two days.  My appetite is weird.  My throat is killing me.  The dry mouth comes and goes.  I can't poop but I pee a lot.  I had a fever last night.  All of this is apparently common.  I can only lay on my side or stumble around.  It's sore, not painful.  I am obviously alive and freaked out for nothing.  I hopefully get the drain removed before the weekend.  Recovery will take 2-4 weeks and up to 6 months to fully heal.  My wife is a trooper and I couldn't ask for a better home nurse.  I can't ride in a car for long distances for a couple weeks.  I can't drive at all.  At least I have Netflix and our cat is extra cuddly.

Hopefully, this fixes my issue in the long run, but it's been a scary week.