I should just know by now that when I think something will go one way, it always always always ends up going another way.
My wonderful Timmy and I are house-sitting for one Michael "Hamster Pants" Hansen, and of course we have Ares the beagle to look after. The whole weekend started off with Tim competing in a grappling/Thai boxing tournament, and that went great. Tim went 1-1 in his grappling competition, and even pulled off some high risk moves like his "Flying Arm Bar". He lost his Thai boxing match, but it was to a friend of his, and I know he was okay with being able to see a buddy of his. But the week went downhill for me from there.
I ended up getting what is called a Bartholin Cyst. I'm not going to go in to major medical details to prevent you from getting grossed out (you're more than welcome to look it up if you choose), but the jist of it: i had a cyst that ended up clogging a duct, making it very sore, inflamed and infected. The crap thing about it is, is that you have no way of preventing these things. Some people are prone to getting them, and I guess I'm one of them.
It was absolutely excruciating pain for longer than I should have put up with. Tim had to help me walk to the bathroom, get up and out of bed, and I would become so drained of my energy after every movement I made. If I shifted my weight, the pain would flare up, and all I could do was collapse back on the couch to catch my breath. (I think I now know what it's like for men to get kicked in the junk...because the pain would make it all the way to my stomach). Tim had been telling me to call the hospital and make an appointment, but a) I was afraid to (I had been reading about what they would do to get rid of the abscess), and b) because I'm not in school I don't have health insurance. After a few nights of waking up screaming, Tim said that I had better make an appointment or he'd take me in there whether I liked it or not.
Tim had been wonderful to me this whole time. He made me breakfast every morning after he helped me to the couch. He cooked me dinner every evening and tried to spoil me as much as he could in between. He helped me wash my hair when I couldn't stand up in the shower, he brought me countless glasses of juice and water, he let me have control over the remote, and the week would have been much worse without him.
After spending too much time in pain for much longer than I really needed to, I went in to the hospital, was pushed in by wheelchair with Timmy right by my side. As I was afraid of, the physician had to drain the abscess by making an incision. As soon as she saw what she was dealing with...she didn't even mess around.
She started the procedure to drain the cyst right away, cleaning out the area, injecting the anesthesia, and anti-anxiety medicine. My legs started shaking so bad, and I began crying so uncontrollably that the physician's assistant placed a warm washcloth on my head, and they both took a break from the procedure for me to relax. Once they started though, they gave me a washcloth to bite down and scream in to.
I had never known that I would experience anything like that. I know that I never would have made it through without the quick hands of the assistant, my doctor Dr. Julie Becker, and of course, Mr. Tim Burton.
Now I simply have to recover and get well in time for Christmas. All Timmy has to do is carefully watch me, and enjoy his freedom of the TV and XBox. And it's time to truly enjoy breakfast at Timothy's.
