I can’t even get sick like a normal person. I referenced in prior blogs everything from a rare, eye infection to a strange breath problem when I was little. The peeper disease, known as Orbital Cellulitis, and most commonly found in children, was the treat I woke up to St. Patrick’s Day, 2014. Worst week-long Irish hangover, without alcohol, in history.
As the dragon-breath story goes, one of my sisters (who will not be named) shoved something up my nose. Everyone is foggy on the details like why or how long it stayed nestled in my sinus, but I developed chronic halitosis that could melt paint.
After a year or two (again time-frame is a guestimate) bags of breath mints, dental exams and other unsuccessful attempts to resolve the oral stink, my Mom took me to the ears, nose and throat doctor. This is definitely one of my first vivid, childhood memories. The doctor took one look up my nose and picked up a pair of long tweezers. He then proceeded to carefully pull out a rotten, moldy, human secretion covered tissue, construction paper or what might have been a lost pair of underpants, out of my nose.
The instant relief was magnificent. No more smelling like a pig pen 24/7. Unless of course I showed up at school with pig poop on my saddle shoes which left me to suffer roughly for an 8-10 hour day.
One would think ass-breath and last year’s mutant eye socket would be enough for a lifetime. Nope. Exactly 364 days later, I drive myself to the emergency room on the last day of a business trip in Texas with a self diagnosis: appendicitus. No need to join the mile-high, ruptured-organ club.
The doctor and nurses agreed and order the cat scan and blood work to confirm the diagnosis. I waited for the doc to come back with the plan which hopefully would align with my thoughts on a quick outpatient, laparoscopic surgery and flying home on the 4:30PM flight the next day. She walked in and shut the door with a solemn look on her face. She explained it was not my appendix but the CT discovered a pelvic mass. Total Terms of Endearment moment.
The net-net, without gory details, is I had complications from having my tubes tied. I should have known there was something real to the level of pain that drove me to stick frozen meat down my pants and continue with my weekend plans back in November. I am not a wimp and if it’s stylish enough for Lady Gaga, then it works for me.
The great news is everything could be resolved. I’ll admit, until I had a handle on the situation I was a little fearful of the worst. Not to be overly dramatic, but just like the country song by Tim McGraw, Live Like You were Dying, I took a close look at my life. I have a few new private goals and remembered the three reasons I started writing this blog in the first place. https://alisonguzzio.wordpress.com/2012/09/07/the-top-3-reas/
This small set back only ignites a fire in this middle-age recreational athlete. 13-day post-surgery visit was a success and I have clearance to start back to a normal exercise routine. First tennis match of the season Tuesday night, one month to the Spartan Race in Austin, TX, five months to the third attempt at the Dewey triathlon and eight months until the Philly Triathlon. I can do this and no doubt, with a great team of family and friends by my side, will have some dirt on my teeth, sand in my pants, skinned knees and war stories to share. Stay tuned!