Topic 89: My Ailments

Carol:

Wouldn’t You Rather Hear About…

 Even though it’s against the little rules Megan and I established for ourselves with the daily theme essays—stick to the assigned topic--I have been having such a lovely time visiting with my high school girlfriend and her husband, I just refuse to write about Topic 89, “my ailments.” Wouldn’t you rather hear about our trip to the Grand Canyon?

It was a lovely, crisp morning as we set off on the two and a half hour trip up to the Canyon. Marc had the day off because of the Martin Luther King Holiday, so he drove our hybrid electiric vehicle, a smooth, beautiful, quiet ride. Thank God because I have a couple of little problems on car trips, pesky little physical things, you know. One is that my ears have become very sensitive, so changes in air pressure or road noise really drive me crazy. Just rolling down the window to get a little fresh air is enough to make my ears start throbbing. The other is that I have a sensitive stomach that doesn’t take well to twists and turns. I don’t talk about it much—who wants to hear someone complain about an upset stomach—but it’s always a relief when Marc drives so I can sit and nurse the discomfort in silence.

The ride to the Canyon itself was lovely if a bit uneventful. We saw a small herd of antelope just before turning onto Highway 89 at Chino Valley. I almost missed them. They blend in with the vegetation as they hunch over to graze; and, well, I have been having eye problems. Chronic allergies leave my eyes red and irritated even at this time of year. Cottonwood or Juniper season? I am really  a mess then. 

Isn't the Canyon beautiful today?

The Canyon trip. We were quite surprised, and delighted, when we pulled up to the Ranger Station and found out that it was a free day due to the MLK holiday. And, even though most people had a three-day weekend, the outer parking lots weren’t crowded, so we decided to drive straight to the Village on the chance we could find a parking space near the beautiful, historic  El Tovar Hotel where we would have lunch.

We found a great spot right in front of Bright Angel Lodge, an easy walk for the hotel along the Rim Trail. I was so excited to see our Canadian friends take their first view of the Canyon for the first time that it distracted me from the minor but persistent pain in my left leg, the residue of a deep vein thrombosis I got traveling back from England about 8 years ago. I was able to avoid a hospital stay by staying in bed for a month, and I was on medication for six months. I am really careful now when we travel even on short trips to move around and drink lots of liquids, but sometimes the leg swells up below the knee and starts to ache. 

 I know Megan insists on the importance of adhering to the posted topics for our daily theme essays as part of the writing challenge. I hope she doesn’t get grouchy with me for not writing about my ailments. But, after all, wouldn’t anybody rather hear about the Canyon?

Aren't our Canadian friends cute?

Megan:

My Second Belly Button

In addition to periodic bouts with strep throat, and a broken arm as a child, my other ailments have all been connected by virtue of being both disgusting and embarrassing. In reverse chronology, here is a list of my weirdest and humiliating ailments.

I got conjunctivitis from the prison library books, and for weeks I had to smear thick goo all over my eyes 4 times a day. The goo was administered as thick eye drops and for some reason turned my taste metallic. The first time I worked with my friend Sean the Northern Irish Guy, I had just put in the drops when he walked into the library. “What the hell’s the matter with you?“  At the same time as the eye infection, the skin on my scalp and forehead began to peel away. I thought they were connected and that my ancient flat might be filled with dust mites, but the skin condition lasted much longer than the infection. Using Google, I self diagnosed myself with Seborrhoeic dermatitis. I did research, tried all sorts of shampoos and finally gave up wearing dark clothing. It persisted for two years and then as soon as I left the job in the prison, it went away. 

 

Moving back a few years, one week before I was to move to England for the first time, I developed a Pilondial cyst. After suffering for several days, I finally told my mother and went to the doctor once I could no longer sit down. I’ve been going to the same doctor since I was 3, but it was still pretty uncomfortable to lie sideways on a table with my knees tucked up to my chest, while the doctor effectively lanced the cyst and then packed the wound with cotton. The relief was immediate but the doctor told me several things: 

1. Surgery would be required. 
2. The area was infected. 
3. I needed antibiotics to get rid of the infection before I could have the surgery. 
4. The packing and dressings on the wound needed to be changed twice daily. 

All of that was manageable except that I was about to move to England for a year. My father made frantic calls to the study abroad program coordinators to make sure I would be able to see a doctor once I landed. Everyone was very helpful and accommodating but the worst part was that I spent my 21st birthday on an international flight, sitting on a donut shaped pillow. 

And finally (or initially), due to complications from being a Meconium aspiration baby, doctors put a central line through my navel. That left a deep, indented scar on my lower abdomen that I’ve always referred to as my second bellybutton. I wandered through life showing and telling everyone about it until my second year of college when it changed. After 20 years of just sitting there, one day the scar reddened, hardened and then opened. I’m not going to lie here and say I wasn’t completely panicked. I asked my friend’s parents what they thought, but they brushed it off as a skin infection. I said, "But it’s open. My second bellybutton has opened and now there is a hole in my stomach." I made an appointment with the university healthcare and they referred me for an ultrasound to make sure the infection hadn’t spread to my heart. I was told to drink 64 oz of water before I came in, and I did and then had to wait and hold it for a long time before a nurse collected me. She asked how far along I was. I said, "I’m not pregnant. There’s something wrong with my second belly button."  

"Oh," she said, "then you didn’t need to drink all that water." The ultrasound revealed no problems in my heart or belly, and once again I got antibiotics for the infection, which went away.

I don’t show off my second belly button anymore. In the course of whatever that was, the scar changed. It migrated off center. It no longer looks like a bellybutton. It looks like a badly stitched knife wound. No, you can’t see it.