Cyst saga II

Epidermoid cysts LOVE me. If you are a long time reader of this blog, you've read my 2016 cyst escapade, but in case you missed it or you're tuning in now, go here, here, and here, because we are about to embark on another. 

Several months ago, a pea-sized lump appeared just below the notch of my sternum between my breasts. I panicked, which now in thinking back, why? Why, after having been through the above, would I panic? But panic, I did.

Madison: "It's a cyst."

Duh. I felt foolish. I quit worrying. It just sat there.

My dermatologist appointment for my yearly skin check was last Wednesday. I love Dr. M. He has a great sense of humor (read the above here, here, and here), and he puts up with my bullshit. But his office could use my help. 

For the last three years, they've charged above and beyond my copay, and every time--EVERY TIME--the office mails it back a good six weeks to nine weeks after my visit. It annoys me, and when I've tried to reason with the money collector, last year the girl told me, "Who cares? We'll send your money back if we overcharged."

Everyone who knows me can't believe I walked away from her. But I did--seething.

Both my daughters go to Dr. M. and now, a month ago, my husband. None of them--NONE OF THEM are charged anything over their copay. Same family. Same insurance. Go figure. It's an airport patdown, a shakedown, and I keep bending over.

But I like Dr. M. 

So, I returned this February, and he checked me over from head to toe very thoroughly, and in the process of the examination, after he told me to "lay down," I corrected his grammar and gave him a lesson on lie and lay. God help me, but I did.

I became my mother.

He retaliated by squeezing my cyst.

No, that's a joke. I think.

He did squeeze my cyst. He grabbed my fat stomach and squeezed and squeezed, and cyst goop poured out. He didn't tell me he was going to do this, and when I felt him doing it, I did NOTHING. I blame old age. Even though I had not forgotten any part of my 2016 cyst escapade. But apparently, I had a small window of memory loss.

Dr. M: "I'm doing this because when I do the surgery later this month, it'll be smaller."

He wiped me with gauze, finished examining me, and then I signed an Ipad saying he could charge me millions of dollars to freeze something on my shoulder. At that time, I mentioned the payment issue and said I was going to charge him interest in keeping my payment so long. He told me to speak with his billing department. We parted ways.

I was charged $223.06.

Her: "And you have a deductible of $650.00 for the surgery. Do you want to wait to schedule that?"

Yes. Yes, I did. I left there seething once again.

After running some errands in germ infected places, I returned home, where I washed my cyst with hydrogen peroxide and put on Bacitracin, covering it with a bandaid.

Thursday morning, I woke up to a yellow and purple cyst and area. Friday, I was in pain and took off my bra by noon. Saturday and Sunday I went braless because the cyst was so painful. But there was no fever. Monday, Madison had her cyst behind her ear removed by Dr. M.

He did a great job. I can barely see it when I clean and wrap it. Madison said she told the nurse about my cyst.

By Tuesday, the cyst looked red and swollen.

Madison: "That's nasty. You should call them tomorrow."

Darcy:

Wednesday, I called the office and pushed the line for critical care. I left a message at 8:00 a.m. By 4:50 p.m., having never heard a peep from Dr. M.'s office, I was calling my neighbor's dermatologist for an appointment. They didn't answer.

Really?

This morning I called Dr. M.'s office and requested an appointment. The nice girl who answered the appointment line told me she'd get me in with the nurse. Uh-huh, I've been down this road.

Me: "Great! See you in an hour!"

It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The office staff couldn't have been more different--cheerful and delightful. I was checked-in, called in quickly, and when the nurse saw my wound, now red and with some protruding spots, why, yes, I took a photo.

That's on my stomach. It is not a nipple.

Nurse: "Okay, let's get you in a gown, and I'm going to go get Dr. M. since he squeezed the cyst on Wednesday."

Me: "We're blaming him?"

Nurse: "Absolutely."

I waited. Dr. M. came in, and without looking at it, apologized. I accepted it. Then I reminded him of the 2016 cyst escapade. I told him I wanted an antibiotic if he planned to lance it.

Me: "I know you don't remember, but I was sick. Very sick. For three days. I can't do that again."

Dr. M.: "Okay, so this is maybe more than staff bacteria on your skin, and me opening a hole for it to dive in."

He took a look.

Dr. M.: "Oh, boy. That's infected. I'm so sorry. Let me lay you back. That's correct, right? Because I'm putting you down. If I told you to do it, I'd say lie. Lie down?"

I squeezed his arm like my mother once did when she passed Hulk Hogan in a restaurant during his troubled times.

Me: "It brings a tear to my eye that you took my lesson to heart, but please, I am so sorry for correcting you. That was wrong of me."

Dr. M.: "Are you kidding? Ask my staff, I'm constantly correcting everyone's grammar. I'm the Grammar Police at this office. I loved it. I love learning."

Me: "Yes, but my mother always did this to doctors, and it annoyed the hell out of me, and now I'm doing it."

Dr. M.: "You're afraid you're becoming your mother? It's fine, but I'm going to have to lance this cyst. Make a big hole. I'm sorry. It's my fault."

I signed the Ipad and kept my lips pressed together. Dr. M. numbed me, then he cut me, then he numbed me again because I felt him slice me, and then he squeezed.

Dr. M.: "Oh, boy. There it is."

I looked. Green goop sat on my stomach. Yucky, bacterial, green goop.

Me: "Yeah, that's infected. I'll need an antibiotic."

Dr. M.: "I'll give you one."

He squeezed and pressed. 

Dr. M.: "Oh, there came some fat. You didn't know you'd get some liposuction today too, did you?"

Me: "Squeeze harder!"

Then he scraped. Supposedly, he got the cyst wall too. (Read above...I have my doubts). Then he and the nurse packed it with the packing gauze and covered it. I'm not to shower.

Oh, boy.

There will be a hole. I am to remove the packing and shove in some prescription cream. The wound will heal from the inside out. (Read above...it did before, fingers crossed it does again) I took the antibiotic as soon as I got it. The pain is miserable. I have to recline without a bra and hold my saggy boobs up because of PAIN, PAIN, PAIN. 

I pray this is the end of this saga. No 2016 repeat. He promised me I could go on vacation for Spring Break and swim. He'll see me back in a month.

I only paid my copay after explaining everything to the money girl--the same one who got me in to see the nurse today. 

I made my next appointment for a Thursday. Apparently, that's the day to go. Here's hoping the magic lasts!

In case you're missing the Connie foot photos

Years ago, I had a cyst removed from the back of my neck. It got infected, and after a round of antibiotics, a dermatologist removed it. Later, another cyst appeared on my upper back, and until it too got infected, a dermatologist didn't want to mess with it. 

After the infection, a new dermatologist lanced it, squeezed it, and within months it filled back up. I went several more years with it like that, and while the revolving door of dermatologists ignored it, the thing drove me nuts. 

Epidermoid cysts run in my family. My mother had one removed from her neck after it opened on its own, oozing liquid without her knowledge. The only telling sign was a terrible odor only she noticed and attributed to dirty hair. She blamed it on aging and washed her hair fifty times a day before I discovered the rupture, and she had the thing removed. 

My brother has a golfball-sized cyst on his back that no one seems terribly concerned about, and Darcy had one removed from her arm last year. I suppose there are worst things that run in families.

At the end of our trip while still n California, the cyst grew in size and hurt. Knowing the signs, I had my GYN brother in law take a look at it, and after some probing and poking at it, he told me it probably should be lanced. Of course, by the time I got home, it was the weekend of the fourth of July, and no sane dermatologist was working.

By the time I got into the PA at the office where Darcy had her cyst removed, it was bigger, red, and sore.

I had assumed, having been through this twice before, I would be given an antibiotic and told to come back in two weeks to have the thing removed. 

The nurse took a look at it, hemmed and hawed some, and told me she would have to ask "him" what he wanted to do about it. I told her I wasn't seeing "him" the dermatologist, but "her" the PA. She looked at my chart and told me she would talk to "her" to see what to do, returning a few minutes later with the female PA, a pretty blond woman who was not the type I'd have guessed to be caught dead around something like a nasty, infected cyst. 

Her: "My worry is I'll put you on an antibiotic that will take a couple of days to kick in, which puts us to the weekend. If the cyst gets worse and starts leaking, you'll end up in the hospital, and I hate to see that happen. I want to discuss this with the doctor to get his opinion."

I didn't object, and off she went, returning in a few minutes with "him". I like this dermatologist, Dr. M. He was recommended by our pediatrician, and after he removed Darcy's cyst, I made an appointment to see him for my yearly check. Then, he said, much like the parade of dermatologists, I'd seen before, "if that bothers you, we can remove it." 

Now, Dr. M. poked at the cyst and pushed on it and around it.

Him: "While I don't think it's infected as of yet, it is getting there. My concern is that if I give you an antibiotic, and it gets worse we will be at the weekend, and you'll end up in the ER cursing me up and down."

Me: "So what I'm hearing is that you aren't planning on giving me your home number to call you over the weekend."

I told him his PA had said the same thing, and after a round of high fiving, they decided to lance my cyst for a small price of 300+ dollars. Dr. M. gave his PA instructions on what to do while she tried not to roll her eyes, and off he went. 

I removed my shirt, got into the paper vest, and laid face down on the table. The PA shot me several times with tiny, prickly needles to numb me, and then she went to work lancing and squeezing. She didn't get excited about the stuff oozing from the cysts as the last lancing troupe, which had then included the nurse and my mother, but she did apologize for pushing so hard on my back.

Her: "You'll probably be bruised back there, and I'm sorry for that."

I didn't tell her that I thought her pushing sort of wimpy but instead drifted into an almost slumber that she kept interrupting by asking me if I was okay. After four times of that, I told her I was fine, that she didn't need to keep asking me, and she finished the job, packing the wound with gauze. She said she'd see me in two days to remove it, sent off an antibiotic to my pharmacy, and left the nurse to wrap it.

Later that evening, I ran a fever of a 102. It lasted all night, and in the morning, the office requested I return. I called my friend SueG, and she picked drove me. I was very woozy and made her come in to retain whatever information might be given. By the time the PA came in, my fever was breaking.

She took off the bandage, poked around the wound, and told me she thought she would have "him" take a look at it.

Dr. M. appeared, and together they poked and prodded, deciding to leave it be as only blood was leaking. The packing was left inside the wound, and I was to continue on the antibiotic.

When he found out SueG was my pediatrician's brother, he plopped down next to her, and they chatted because he'd worked with her brother before choosing dermatology. Then he patted me on the leg and left.

I went home again, and I was miserable. The fever returned and lasted throughout the entire night. By morning I was running a temp of 101, and I drove myself back to the doctor's to have the packing removed. The PA was not in the office, so the same nurse removed it, poked around on it, and then told me she felt she should go get "him." 

Dr. M. came in and asked me if he could squeeze it hard. I told him to go for it, and when he did, apparently, the cyst spewed goop the packing had held back. He told me he was going to have to do the whole thing over again because the hole wasn't big or deep enough, and he left so I could get undressed and back into position.

Him: "I'm not charging you for this second procedure, by the way."

Me: "That's big of you."

Him: "You might want to be kinder until after I've poked you with the needles."

I had to go through the numbing, the squeezing, and more packing. Dr. M. kept showing me everything that was coming out, and he was more enthusiastic and vocal than the PA. 

He apologized for the deep hole he was making and for his squeezing. We both agreed the PA, while efficient, probably hadn't been strong enough in her squeezing. 

Dr. M. irrigated the wound and thought maybe I'd escape surgery as sometimes the cyst walls come out with the goop. He wrote a script for pain medication, despite declaring I was a "tough one" because he didn't want me to track him down over the weekend. I was to remove the packing on Sunday.

I left his office feeling better. The fever had broken during his procedure, and while I ran a low-grade one later that night, I was feeling myself by the next day. 

My SIL Susan was the lucky one who got to do the honors of removing the packing on Sunday, having gotten into town the day before. She gloved up, and got to work, carefully removing the gauze that was stuffed into the wound. Then, upon seeing the sight, she got very vocal.

Susan: "OH, MY GOSH! WOW. THAT IS THE BIGGEST HOLE. WOW, THAT IS DEEP! Want me to take a picture so you can see it?"

She washed the wound and then stuck in the antibiotic that he told me to shove down into the hole as it would "heal from the inside out." By the next day, it had done just that.

Susan: "OH, MY GOSH. IT'S ALREADY CLOSED. WOW. THAT'S AMAZING. THE HUMAN BODY IS AMAZING."

By the end of a week, it was scabbing, and now it is to a point where I'm only covering it at night. I can honestly say that the three days I dealt with the darn thing was the sickest I've been in a long time.

I worried the wound would turn into a Connie situation, and that probably didn't help. Thankfully, with the second procedure and the excellent nursing care I received from my SIL and my daughter, I will soon be back in the pool and the Gulf of Mexico, two places I had to forgo this summer. I see the PA on the first of August, and a decision will be made regarding the surgery of the casing. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.