Not fair leaving all ya'alls hanging - worrying about the sliver in my butt and all. So what was the end (yes, pun intended) of the saga....or has it ended?
My doctor referred me to a surgeon since the sliver was deep and required a larger incision than my family doc wanted to do. The problem started because the surgeon thought the sliver was beneath him -- specialist and all. I explained that the sliver was beneath me and I was tired of not being able to sit comfortably. So we reached a compromise - of sorts. The surgeon, on a Thursday (day 5 of the sliver) said if I would wait until Monday, he would take it out. Mumbling audibly, that the sliver will have worked its way out by then. I wanted to assure him that it would not since it was working its way in a whole 'nother direction, but the door was closed and the conversation was over.
On Monday - voila - I presented myself, butt, sliver and all to the surgeon's office and he condescendingly said, "Okay, let's take a look." We walk into a small office with his nurse and he said again, "Okay, let's take a look." I look to the nurse and say, "Is there a gown I should put on?"
She says, "No just come over here and pull down your pants."
Over here was like a mound of leather and metal - similar in shape to a small, office size igloo with a kneeling bench not unlike a church pew. She directs me to drop trow and kneel on the lowered rail, and then to bend over the hump, head down, and hold on to some handles on each side.
Odd, but hey -- I just want my sliver out. But then! But then - up we go - into the air - butt first, a bit of a swivel here, a twist and turn there -- I felt like I was riding a mechanical bull, sober, with my bare butt in the air. (Not that I've ever done this.)
The doctor asks me to point to the site of the sliver - I do, and he says, "I can't feel it." I say, "Well, I can, and it's right here."
He said that he would prefer doing the extraction in a surgical center or hospital where he can give me a general anesthetic, and then do exploratory surgery. All during this discussion, mind you, my head was pointing south and my bare butt was pointing north.
I said that I really, really wanted the sliver out today. I said I was good with a local and could he just make an incision and take a look.
"Okay," he said. "If that's what you want, let's do it. By the way, if we are going to do it, you don't mind if I use this as a teaching experience do you?" All I wanted was my gosh darn sliver out -- put it on YouTube for all I care, I just want it out. (I didn't say that aloud...just to myself.) And into the room marched numerous people -- who and how many, I don't know.... remember, my butt is up, my head is down. Then someone slides a paper under my face and said, "Can you sign this waiver of liability?" I started to lift myself so I could take a look at it and she cautioned, "Don't move. You can sign it from down there."
As we got ready for the long-awaited incision, there was more riding of the wild mechanical bull to get my butt in just the right location. The surgeon poked around the general area and said again, "You know, I really can't feel it. If I start cutting around and don't locate it, we will both be disappointed, and you will have a large, ugly scar on your butt."
To which I replied, "I don't care - my butt modeling days are over." And suddenly, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I don't know why I said that. I tried to pull my foot out of my mouth (figuratively, although on this wild mechanical bull contraption I probably could have literally put it there) - "Actually, I never was a butt model. So let's go ahead." The tittering resumed. Whew.
Again the surgeon said, "this will be exploratory and you may be disappointed." And I said, putting my index finger on my butt directly over the splinter I could feel, "if you cut right here, right under the spot I am pointing to, neither of us will be disappointed and you will have succeeded in removing my sliver."
He did and within seconds, he said, "By golly, you were right - there it is, exactly where you said it was. How long do you think it is?"
I said, "a half inch."
The nurse measured and it was exactly a 1/2 inch. To this day, I swear it would be so much easier for everyone if doctors just listened to what their patients had to say since most of us understand our bodies pretty well.
I heard him say that the area around the sliver was infected. But I was too exhausted and relieved at that point that I zoned out. The wild mechanical bull contraption took off for another ride and then someone began doing stitching.
Ahh -- so here is where the infamous sliver saga may not be over. I know, after numerous dog bites as a dog foster mom, and after 5 years in a trauma unit - never, ever stitch in an infection. But he prescribed antibiotics so I just hoped they would kill any and all germs and various and sundry bacteria.
On the plus side - as soon as I got home, and the anesthetic was wearing off, I Googled my prescription to see if I could imbibe in alcoholic beverages while taking it (since with some you can't) and YES!!! Since we had not discussed pain meds, a large arctic chilled, vodka martini was in order.
Stay tune, if you dare or if you care.
At least I am no longer the butt of many jokes.
It’s all about the butt....
This whole splinter in my butt saga reminds me of a situation that happened a few years back when I worked as support in the trauma unit. I had been paged that there was a police officer shot and in the trauma unit. As I rounded the corner, I saw bundles of SWAT gear tossed near the door of the unit; you could almost smell the testosterone; officers in SWAT uniforms were milling about. As I entered the unit I gave an officer the “what’s up?” look to which he replied, “Officer took a bullet to the flank.” I nodded, he walked out and I walked in.
The surgeon was working on the officer, and I gave him the “what’s up?” look. He smiled and mouthed: “He was shot in the butt” while pointing to his butt. I nodded and walked out of the unit and the Charge nurse was at her desk giving me the look, so I mouthed “he was shot in the butt” – pointing to my butt. She nodded and turned to the triage nurse across the room at the public entrance and mouthed, “he was shot in the butt” pointing to her butt. And with that – we all knew the situation and got back to our regular duties. Without a word spoken. (Yes, I know, we still violated HIPPA but in a sense, we all needed to know since if it was more serious – we would shift into a different mode of operation.)
Why did I think about this story?
I called my doctor first thing to see if I should come in or go to a walk-in clinic to have the splinter in my butt removed and get a tetanus shot. They said to come in. As I walked up to the registration desk and gave my name, the lady said, “Ahh, I know….splinter in the…..”
“Butt,” I said. She just shook her head and said “ouch.”
The assistant came out to fetch me and as we walked back she said – “splinter in the…”
“Butt,” I said.
So everyone I dealt with that day already knew “splinter in the butt was arriving.”
As I sat on the exam table, she brought in a vial and needle and I said, “Oh, is that my tetanus shot?” And she said, “No, this is to numb the spot so we can get the splinter out.” OUCH – I thought.
Fast forward – the splinter just kept heading in deeper – we could feel it but the PA said she didn’t want to cut deeper in the doctor’s office. She bandaged me up and told me to keep an eye on it since there was a good chance of infection and to come in immediately if I saw it starting to get infected.
All well and good except I can’t see it – it’s on my butt – the sit down part of my butt. At home I tried standing on the tub to see if I could see it in the mirror of the medicine cabinet – I caught a glimpse before I almost tumbled head over heels into the tub and figured more serious injury could occur.
I tried jumping up and down to see if I could see it in my dressing room mirror – but again – I could only peek at it on the up part of the jump and the down part come too soon. Doesn’t look infected in the one second look.
Of course – you know I live with 7 dogs. First thing about that is that this makes a floor sliver even more deadly. The second thing is that privacy is in short supply. They all want to see what I’m doing – which is ½ the reason I got the darn splinter in the first place. The nurse said to “keep it clean”….well, duh!
So as I was getting ready for bed, I was in the bathroom and took off the dressing she put on. I lined up my large Band-Aid and the Neosporin, and was washing my hands with Thieves anti-bacterial soap so everything would be nice and sterile when, in dashed Fred, a little doxie, and he stretches up and licks the site of the splinter and I thought, “I’m gonna die!”
This is the end of the blog post. Most of you already know how I got the splinter from following on Facebook, but for those who do not, and are curious, carry on below:
It was a peaceful Sunday morning. I was luxuriating in my bed and wanted to check something on my new phone. (New, because my other phone melted – whole ‘nother story.) And I got the message that my phone wasn’t connected to wifi. I thought “Dang! Don’t tell me my new phone is a lemon!” So I trudged downstairs to use my computer instead and found out that it wasn’t connected to the internet.
All y’alls know what that means…..a trip under the desk to unplug and replug the router.
So I get down on the floor and sit in front of my desk. Note two things:
As I sit, six of the seven decide it’s hop on mom time; they start jumping on me, some getting toenails stuck in my sweater so they are yelping and pulling yarn threads out (of my new sweater I might add – also, toenails are getting clipped today).
There was such a cacophony of jubilation and excitement, that I decided to slide closer to get my front under the desk and free from pups to work on the various wires and components. They could fling themselves at my back while I worked.
Only….drum roll….this slide was the slide that picked up the splinter….and so it begins
….with pain in the end.
Ann is a modern day Erma Bombeck - enjoying the foibles of her own life and that of living with 7 dogs and 2 hens.