Well, it's a rather unpleasant story. I managed to get something called bartholinitis. If you have a morbid curiosity, go look it up, but I take no responsibility for what you may see or read if you do so. In short it's an inflammation of a gland in my.. uhm, private area, va-jay-jay, call it what you like, and normally these things take care of themselves. But of course not so in my case - last weekend pain and swelling ensued, and I got a doctors appointment, thinking I'd get some antibiotics and it's all go away. But no. The doctor sent me to the hospital to see another doctor, and she promptly told me that I had an inflammation abscess and they had to open it up and get the inflammation out. "Fine," I thought and envisioned some local anaesthetic, maybe a scalpel and an unpleasant but minor procedure in my not too distant future. "We'll do the surgery later tonight, and you'll be under mild anaesthesia, you'll be asleep." Whatnow? Surgery? Asleep?! Oh, brilliant. After about 6 rather long hours they slapped an IV cannula and a hospital gown on me, and took me down to surgery. I remember thinking something along the lines of
"how do I always end up in situations like these?"Attack of the ninja squad
Being wheeled in to the surgery room was like being ambushed by a highly trained squad of ninja nurses, they were all over me like ants in an anthill, attaching monitoring equipment, adjusting the operating table, measuring my blood pressure, holding my oxygen mask, asking questions, calling the doctor. Points for effectiveness, I'll give them that! Then I was given some "powerful painkiller" or other, the effects of which I got to enjoy for about 5 seconds ("weeeeeee"), because after 4 deep breaths I was out like a light. I can't even remember slipping into sleep - one second I was focusing on breathing, the next second I was out cold.
They crudely woke me up about 30 minutes later, the surgery was over, all went well, but they suggested I might stay the night at the hospital. By this this time it was almost midnight, and I was kind of woozy after being in a mild coma for a few minutes, so I stayed, and was wheeled into a room where a sweet old lady which I'd met earlier that night, lay in her bed. Of course, as per usual, this woman had to be a professional snorer, and I went through 8 rather looooong hours of trying to block out the snoring and the increasing pain. If it hadn't been for my new headphones and the iPod I'd probably torn out the IV and marched out of there after an hour or two.
And now I'm here, in my comfy chair, eating painkillers and two types of antibiotics I've never even heard of, taking antibacterial baths twice a day and generally feel a bit sorry for myself. It all felt somewhat dramatic for what I initially thought was a minor thing, but the doctor told me that if I hadn't come to see her, the infection abscess might've punctured and it could've spread to all sorts of places, I think I even heard the word "infertility" among the possible worst case scenarios but I'd blocked her out by then. As my aunt just said: "That's just you. Only you could manage to get something like this". Yes, you're absolutely right, and I am very painfully aware of it.
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