Narritive

                                    It's Everywhere

           When I was about 16, my mom worked at 4 in the morning, so I was responsible to get myself ready for school and on the bus.  On occasion, I would call her at work and beg to stay home.  I had tried this a few times and she would say, "Get your butt out of bed and go to school!"  I've always been the kid who caught every cold or virus that people were passing around, just by looking at them.

            One morning I woke up to get ready for school and something wasn't right.  I could feel this little knot on the lower left side of my back that felt like it had its own pulse.  I made the obvious call, "Mom! I don't feel good, do I have to go to school today?" I whined.  "No, I guess not if you really don't feel good," she replied.  Probably because I was crying hysterically.

            I laid on the couch for awhile and as the day grew, so did the extreme pain in my lower back.  I had to go to the restroom and as I stood up, I immediately fell to my knees and couldn't help but burst into tears.  The pain was like getting stabbed with a machete, the knife twisting and turning, deeper and deeper into my back.  At that point, I started to panic because no matter how hard I tried I couldn't stand up.  Eyes red and puffy, tears running down my face, tingles overcoming my entire body.  After a few minutes, I made myself get up but could only make it half way, walking hunched over with my head almost between my legs.

            I made it to the restroom and looked in the mirror, the little knot I had noticed that morning had become the size of a golf ball.  It felt as if the knot were to bust, it would relieve all of my pain.  My mom came home from work and did her usual check up, yelling up the stairs, "You okay kid?"  Already being in a hysterical state, I could only reply with sobs and whimpers.  She darts up the stairs and demands to know what's wrong with me, with the look of panic in her eyes. "Mom, I can't move! I don't know what's happening to me!" I pleaded.  She immediately put me in the car and took me to the ER.

            Every bump on the way felt like a grown man was kicking me in the back with steel toed boots.  As I walk in, hunched over, my face red and blotchy, the nurse greets me at the door.  She sends me straight passed the waiting room and into an exam room.  I have been in hospitals quite a bit and when you don't sit in the waiting room for an hour, there is something wrong.  As I lay on the stiff bed waiting for the doctor, the nurse took some blood work and left us to wait for the end result.  My amazing mother right next to me the whole time saying, "Everything will be okay, take deep breathes."

            The doctor finally arrives, "Well, the knot is a pocket filled with infection.  Which is causing the pressure in your back.  In your case it is caused by MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus).  The good news, you got here just in time! Left untreated MRSA can spread to your bones, in some cases resulting in amputation.  Or to your internal organs which can be fatal," he told us.  As we begin to bombard him with questions, he interrupts, "I need to make an incision to push the infection out. You will need anesthesia, I'll send in the nurse."

            I begin to prepare for dissection, as the nurse walks over, "Count backwards from 100 sweetheart and it'll be over before you know it," she says softly.  I do as she says and the next thing I remember is waking up in excruciating  pain with my mom still by my side.  I began to ask, "Are they going to do it yet? I just want to go home!"  She informed me that they had already done it and it went great.  I sit up and the lower half of my body felt numb, yet the pain was still there and much worse than before.  After about an hour and 3 popsicles later, they let me go home.

            They arranged checkups every other day, to make sure the MRSA was gone and to change my packing.  Packing is a long, skinny, strand of gauze, that is placed inside the incision to absorb infection.  Getting the packing put in was like using a piece of sand paper to clean an open wound.  Oddly enough, getting it taken out was an instant relief, like crawling into bed after a long day.  My mom slowly nursed me back to health, cleaning my wound and replacing my bandages, tending to my every need.  After about a month I was able to return to my normal routine.  I wouldn't want to relive this horrible, but memorable experience.  To this day I still have the scar and I am extremely thankful to have overcome something that has taken arms, legs and even lives.