I was in in absolute agony. Even talking about the lump on my leg was enough to bring tears to my eyes — and yet I had to talk about it. Like the pus in my leg itself, I needed to get it out of me or it would just fester. I disgusted some more of my colleagues before classes started and then stumbled my way through a homeroom, an 80-minute class, and a 50-minute assembly. Halfway through the assembly, I realized that even though I wasn't sitting down and putting pressure on the lump, the mere act of standing was causing me pain. I was distracted and found it impossible to focus, constantly shifting my feet and clenching my jaw.
Enough was the proverbial enough.
I sent an email to my administrator telling her what was up. I had developed a nasty infection, for two days I had been in excruciating pain (I believe I described myself as "a hair's breadth from tears"), and I needed to see a doctor. I had one afternoon class, and I would happily leave a sub plan, but I needed to go.
So go I did. I made an appointment with a dermatologist at what is the "best" hospital in Beijing. (By "best", I mean "most expensive". It is true that it is a bastion of Western medicine and English-speaking doctors, but it's not the only one in town. But it happens to have direct billing with my insurance company, so I was sold.)
Of course, the dermatologist was Chinese. As I explained my issue, I started crying. What can I say? I was at an 8 on the pain scale. (I think my 10 is after the bone graft in my chin. It hurt. A lot.) She freaked out. Oh no! There was a whitewoman crying in her office! She told me to stop crying. It didn't help. This was not "Don't cry over a silly boy" or "You can get a new pet goldfish." These were response-to-stimulus tears.
I told her I needed the thing lanced and I wanted it cultured to see if it was MRSA. Oh, but it takes 5-7 days for a culture! So... all the more reason I needed it done NOW. And, but, maybe only the central part is soft enough for a lancing. Maybe she can't get it all.
Lady. Do you see these tears? I don't give a flying rat's ass how much of the pus you can get out as long as you get some of it out and relieve the goddamned pressure!
OK, OK. She can do that. But she thinks that maybe my antibiotic pills aren't enough and I need IV antibiotics. What. Ever. Lance the bitch on my leg.
Obviously, part of the problem is cultural. Chinese medicine of the Western sort is madly in love with IVs. Why take five days of pills when you can take three days of an IV? Well, that might be true if you really don't have to be at your job in order to get paid. Maybe it's true if you want to relieve the monotony of your life by spending 1-2 hours in the clinic for each drip (at twice a day, that 2-4 hours of my life a day). And maybe it's true if it doesn't take at least two tries to get a line in. But it's not true if there are other things you'd rather do: teach, grocery shop, eat, sleep, maybe spend a few minutes on Facebook. It's further not true of you don't relish looking like a junkie. But I think the other part of the problem is just in the language. When Chinese speakers learn English, they end up doing a lot of direct translation. The problems is, politeness is Chinese comes across as indecision in English. They do not say, "Please do this." They say, "I think you should maybe do this." Which makes me say, "No, I think not."
Anyway, she does say that yes, she will give me a lancing, she just felt the need to harangue me about the IV medicine first (no she didn't actually say that second part, I figured it out). So we went into the treatment room (each room has a separate purpose instead of each patient getting their own multi-purpose room).
As I was removing my trousers and climbing onto the table, she felt the need to tell me that I should avoid fatty and spicy foods. Really, woman? You're pulling out TCM (traditional Chinese medicine) now? Not helpful. We are long past the time when TCM will help. So shut up and get out your scalpel.
Then, she gets what I can only imagine is a needle of Novocain (I imagine because I am lying on my stomach with my face buried in a pillow). She says she'll go slowly, but holy crap, it hurts like nothing else and I burst out into tears. Full-on, body-wracking sobs. So I get another round of "don't cries" which are just as useless (and thus, annoying). No one thinks to hand me a tissue, so I take a small amount of pleasure in wiping my snotty nose on their linens. Yes, they're covered with the waffle-weave throw-away sheets, but I know some of it has leaked through and they're going to have to send it all to the laundry.
And then she removes the needles and pokes me in a slightly different spot — with just as much pain. She seems surprised by my reaction, like it shouldn't hurt anymore. I know the Chinese think all Westerners are delicate flowers, but I think she seriously underestimated the level of my pain.
Finally, it seemed to not hurt quite as much anymore, although the tissue around the lump was so inflamed and angry, no amount of Novocain was going to dull the entire area. I assume she made some sort of cut, and then she started squeezing.
I had been half-joking when I likened it to squeezing a really big zit, but it turns out that's exactly what it's like. Exactly.
Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze. "Oh, but I am only getting clear fluid." I had no idea what that meant, and I was still wracked with sobs, so I said nothing. Then she said it again. I asked what that meant. Well, it meant that she wasn't getting the pus out since the cyst was too deep.
You know, she didn't want to cut too deeply so she wouldn't leave a scar. I told her I didn't care about a scar; she could cut as deeply as she needed to. Oh, well, actually, now that I mentioned it, she really wasn't equipped (or skilled enough?) to cut as deeply as she needed to.
Oh.
The next time, she thinks maybe I could go to a surgeon.
This is a testament to just how badly I was feeling, because while the thought, "Then why didn't you just send me to a surgeon? We're in a stinking hospital!" flitted through the back of my mind, I said nothing. I just kept crying I still have no idea if it was pride or idiocy that kept her from sending me to a surgeon in the first place. (But I think it would have saved me a few days of healing if she would have just 'fessed up at the beginning and sent me to a surgeon. It still rankles.)
But, back to the pus-letting. If the pus doesn't come out, then there won't be any relief for my pain. And I cannot continue the way I've been. So she keeps squeezing, and I guess something happens. She hits a vein, so to speak. The pus starts to come out. Maybe there is an additional incision or the pus sorta found its way out on its own (as sometimes happens with zits, too). But now we're in it to win it, so there's more squeezing going on.
And it goes on, and on, and on.
Remember, the area all around the actual infection is red and inflamed and sore. And that part didn't get any Novocain. So, there's still a whole lotta pain. The tears are subsiding, but I am still rather tense. It's becoming more manageable, however; either she is actually relieving some of the pressure in there or I'm just becoming numb. I do want her to stop, though, and she's not stopping. I think she needs to get all the pus out because you really don't want it hanging out in the body to become more infected, but this is ridiculous. Now I'm really annoyed that she didn't just send me to a surgeon in the first place.
Finally, she stops. They put on a Band-Aid (I think it might actually be brand name). She gives me a baggie full of these little iodine cotton swabs that will release the iodine into the tip when cut as well as some Tegaderm dressings. (I highly doubt they will be free.) she also gives me a prescription for some bacitracin ointment (I could get it locally for a lot cheaper, but that would involve finding a place that sells it and language barriers and and and — CVS and Walgreens or anything similar don't exist.) I also get some ointment that is supposed to soften up the hard tissue around the cyst so it can get lanced. But! I should put that around the wound, not on it. And change the dressing three times a day, swabbing it with iodine each time.
And away I go. I go up one floor to pay, where I see there is a surgery unit. Seriously? One floor up and she couldn't send me upstairs? God. Mother. Fucking. Damn. But I pay my 20% co-pay (¥500 or $75) and grab a cab home.
As we turn the corner, I see one of the Western grocery stores. Well... Crap. I could've bought some cheese. Oh well. Next time.
I head home and get in around 3:15. I take one of my Percocet. (Dermatologist woman didn't even offer pain meds; I knew there would be severe pain after the procedure, I'm not sure why she didn't figure that out.) I send an email to my administrator and department chair that I'm feeling a little better and plan on being at work the next day, and crash.
I sleep until about 7:00. Then I fumble around making some food (mashed potatoes, the ultimate of comfort food) and am back in bed, turning out the light at 9. I sleep all night long.
Being infected takes a lot out of girl.
- Do you really care this was posted using BlogPress from my iPad?
Location:Beijing, China
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