3. The Screaming Hyena

I think one of the toughest things I went through (and continually go through) is the incomprehension of the complexities of my condition from those around me. It's an isolated feeling. Sometimes very lonely. I always knew there were many other young people going through the same things, but finding them, speaking to them...was near impossible. I suppose that is why I wanted to be involved in this project. Since I wish there had been something like this to turn to when I was diagnosed, when I was really struggling. Just knowing that other people are dealing with this as well might have helped me.

I have mentioned before, I refused to take care of myself for the first few years. This naturally led to some ridiculous complications. The worst of which were by far the infections:

I guess it started off as a small pain in my rear end. Sitting at work suddenly became uncomfortable, then painful, and finally unbearable. I had no idea what was wrong... it was not an area of the body that is easily visibly accessible. As you might guess, getting someone else to check it out for me was out of the question. So I endured as long as possible (looking back, that maybe wasn't the smartest move. Early detection is the best thing possible in these cases). Finally I couldn't take it anymore and went to the doctor.

I thought at the time, as a 21 year old young woman, that lying on my side on an examination table dressed in a gown made out of paper, and squeezing my eyes shut as my doctor poked around that sensitive area with clinically cold hands, that that had to be the worst experience I could possibly have to endure.

Whoo-boy.

Fast forward 6 hours, to me at the hospital in another fancy paper gown, being poked by multiple clinically-cold hands. My hospital of choice (and the best in the city, in my sort-of-expert opinion) just happens to be a training hospital. So instead of enduring one stranger peeking near my privates, I was lucky to have my very own TEAM! A whole team of interns, and I get to help facilitate their learning experience.

Fantastic.

I rethought my first judgment of "the worst experience I could possibly have to endure"

It turned out I had an abscess. A pocket of infection under the skin. It needed "emergency surgery" I had to wait about 36 more hours for a free operating room. Until then they continued to check up on me. There's nothing quite like having to drop your pants every 20 minutes or so for the next group of strangers to have a "look-see".

It's a humbling experience.

The surgery was the easy part. What I had not realized, and was horrified to discover, was that in cases such as this, the wound needs to be packed with gauze so that it does not just refill with infection (this is a little gross I know...). This packing needs to be taken out and re-packed with clean gauze so that the wound heals from the inside out.

Can you imagine the effect this has on a raw wound? For any out there who have been through this, you have my deepest condolences.

Two days after the surgery they decide is when they are going to change the packing. About 20 members of my team cram themselves into my hospital room. The feeling radiating from them is ominous. Ominous and curious. One of the lucky ones gets to do the procedure herself.

I should tell you now that I'm a suck for pain. A total wimp.

I'm watching them prepare some equipment to do this and I'm sweating through my gown. Sweating through my bed sheets, I see my intern and my nurse pull out a long toothpick-looking thing they would be using to stuff the clean gauze back into me after removing the old gauze and come to the (correct) conclusion that this is not going to be good.

I reluctantly role onto my side and reason with myself that they at least have to remove the old gauze, I mean, they can't leave that stuff in there forever, right? About 3 seconds later I decide that I was wrong. And that I could completely be fine with just leaving the gauze in my bum for the rest of my life!

The intern had given the gauze one hard tug, ripping out the first section of it dry. Yes... dry. Apparently they had stuffed yards of it in there.... this was only the beginning! I refused to let her do any more. Beyond all rational thought I started yelling that she needed to knock it off, because I wasn't going to let her touch me again. I think they tried to reason with me, saying that she wouldn't pull anymore without telling me first, but that they thought saturating the gauze with saline solution would help it slide out more smoothly. My nurse was busy pumping painkillers and sleep aides into my IV, but I barely noticed her.

I rolled over again to let them pour the saline, confident they would tell me before pulling again.

Not so!

Suddenly yanking the remaining string of gauze she pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

I had a friend waiting out in the hall. She described the noise that came from my room as a screaming hyena. For the rest of the week in fact, nurses would come in and tell me of concerned patients from the other side of the ward who'd heard my wails of distress.

When she yanked that gauze, going back on her promise to tell me beforehand, my rage took over. My pain took over. To my everlasting shame, I swung around and punched her. I punched her in the head actually. Luckily she'd gotten the remainder of the gauze out. It was about then that the sedatives took affect (a little late) and I fell asleep.

I heard later that because of my, um... slightly adverse reaction... they decided to forgo the normally obligatory re-packing of the incision. Therefore I was very lucky that I did not have any re infection. I healed well and aside from not being able to sit properly for awhile (my mum offered to buy me one of those inflatable seat doughnuts but I couldn't bare the embarrassment of that) life went on.

Over these years that I have lived with this disease, I've found that through their concern, medical professionals inadvertently resort to scare tactics to encourage straying diabetics to get their acts together and take care of themselves.

That is not what this is.

While I realize it could be a potentially scary story to some, what I intended it to be was just an experience of mine. Something I wanted to share, as it contributed to me. It showed me about myself. It is an attempt to sympathize with any who perhaps have also had the same misfortune.

ttyl!
sugar.free.Ang