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Here's my little story. It really happened. It did, I swear. How do I know, because it happened to me.

Let's go back in time to my freshman year in High School. I was what, thirteen, fourteen. However the hell old you are your freshman year. I started feeling a bit ill. Stomach ache, shooting pains in my side that would come and go, running a fever off and on. My Mom was one of those parents that if you weren't dying you didn't stay home from school. I obviously wasn't dying since the fever and pains would go away when given Tylenol, so off to school I went every day for two weeks. Yes, I know, you are wondering what this has to do with anything. It's called the back story, people.

Two weeks goes by, I'm sitting in health class listening to some random BS and I get this shooting pain in my side. This pain made all the others seem like a bee sting. I felt cold all over, I broke out in a sweat and I knew I was going to harf. I didn't even bother asking to leave. If I would have opened my mouth the lunch I had eaten would have come back to say 'Hey'. I dashed from the room, the teacher yelling behind me to come back. I made it to the bathroom in time, barely. From there it was a trip to the school nurse and from there I was on my way to the doctors office.

The doctor went through everything from tubal pregnancy (which wasn't possible since I was as pure as the new fallen snow at the time) to a cyst to food poisoning. I didn't care what it was. I was in pain, I was dry heaving by this time and running a major fever. He couldn't pin point it so off to the local hospital I went. I'll speed this up a bit by saying that after a pelvic by a really hot resident and blood tests they figured out it was my appendix. Off to surgery I went and they yanked it out. Three days later I was home recuperating on my couch.

Now, for anyone that has had abdominal surgery, you know it sucks. You can't move, you walk like you've been ridden hard and put away wet. A week or so later the little steri strips that were on the incision come off. I'm walking better but this fever comes back. My side starts hurting again and the doctor says I must be doing too much and to take it easy. Call them if the fever isn't controlled by Tylenol. Another week passes. I still feel like shit, but I chalk it up to this being my first surgery.

It's night, I feel like I have to go to the bathroom so off I waddle. I'm sitting there doing my business when I look down and see this little itty bitty piece of dry skin hanging off my incision. I just can't leave things alone. So, I snag it and pull it off. Next thing I know out trickles this white stuff. I freak. I suddenly envision my intestines oozing out of this little hole. I start screaming, waddle out with my pants around my ankles. The whole time this stuff is still oozing and now it's taking on this rotten egg smell.

My Mom comes running, she freezes in her tracks as I continue to scream something about my intestines falling out. She gets me to the couch and lays me down. She quickly calls the doctor on call and he tells her it is probably just a bit of infection and not to worry. Stick me in a warm bath, press on the site and it'll all come out. Call in the morning and make an appointment. (Yes, I hear the sounds of his quacking now).

Off to a hot bath I go. Still oozing rotten egg smelling slush from my side. I get settled into the bath, put both hands on my side and push. Up into the water comes a steady ribbon of white crap. I repeat this over and over and over. The ribbons of infection never stopped coming out. I finally got out of the tub when the water got cold. The problem now, I smell like a rotten fuckin egg. It's everywhere. The fan has been on in the bathroom but the smell still hangs in the air. I try and shower it off, but it won't go away. Could it be my imagination? I did imagine myself rotting from the inside out.

Back down to the couch I go. The couch has now been layered with towels on top of my sheets. Thanks a lot Mom. She hands me another towel to put over it and tells me to lay down. By this time we only have five hours until the doctors office opens. She gives me a few Tylenol a glass off water and off to bed she goes to get some sleep. I spend the next five hours sopping up whitish green pus from my side and cursing the day I was born. She calls the office they refer her to the surgeon that did the surgery. She calls the surgeon who tells her she should have called last night because this was serious. No shit it's serious. I'm still leaking puss almost eight hours later. We head to the hospital another towel is pressed against my side.

I now know the rotten egg smell isn't in my mind. Not only did my Mom roll down the car window in the middle of January, the person I sat next down next to at the hospital got up and moved to another seat. They call me back, the doctor comes in with this pleasant smile on his face and says, "What seems to be our problem today." By this time I was a pissy teenager and am annoyed by his shit eating grin and happy go lucky attitude. I pull the towel off my side and drop it on the floor with a wet little splat. I just look at him, point to the towel and say, "That's my problem." My Mom knows my temper, she pats my hand and tells the doc that it seems my incision is a bit infected. Sure Mom, it's just a *bit* infected.

Talk about understating the problem.

He lays me back on the table, pokes and prods on the incision. The whole time I can feel puss running down my side and the room is starting to reek of rotten eggs. He makes all these mmmhmming sounds and finally says he's going to have to lance it to get the infection out. He leaves and in comes a nurse with this tray a few minutes later. I'm starting to get a little upset as she starts piling all these needles and shiny sharp instruments on the try. Next thing I know she's coming at me with this huge needle and jabs it into my side. I about came up off the table. That jab is followed by seven others around the site of the incision. She pats my arm and says the doc will be right back in.

In walks the doc, surgical mask in place, little green booties on his feet, one of those gowns over his nice clothes. He pulls on some gloves, snags this wicked looking scalpel and tells me to relax. Relax? Last time someone came at me with one of those I was in LaLaLand and didn't know about it. He drapes this sterile sheet over my waist, rubs some red crab on the incision then starts cutting. I don't feel any pain, but what I do feel is worse. The smell off rotten eggs has gotten so strong that it makes me gag. I can feel the wet pussy stuff running down my side as he continues to cut and pull and poke and prod and irrigate the wound with water. It is no longer an incision it is a wound.

A big gaping wound in my side that is spewing forth bloody green and white puss. He finishes cleaning it up and puts a bandage over it. No stitches, no steri strips a fucking big band aid. Here's where the fun part comes in.

It seems that the bottom of the incision healed, the top of the incision healed but the middle didn't. That left a breeding ground for infection. So, now I have to let it heal from the inside out. What this means is every day I have to take these giant q-tips the length of a pencil and peroxide and clean out the wound. As time passes the amount of q-tip I should be able to fit in should decrease until it is healed completely. So, for the next three weeks I walk around grossing people out by making the gaping hole in my side talk.

My sissy brother was a pussy we found out. He almost fainted when I turned around with a Q-tip sticking out of my side. That's the quickest he has ever run out of the house. The experience sucked. Having a gaping wound in my side sucked. I couldn't stomach eggs for almost a year because of the smell of the pus.

So, next time you go to cook yourself some breakfast and you break that egg over the frying pan. Think of me. Think of how smelled and enjoy your breakfast!

~Brandi

credit given to original author if known

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