The Tale of My Tail End or How Many Words Can I Use to Describe a Part of Anatomy (Warning: Graphic Language Used)

One of the reasons for my relative blog silence lately is that I have been recovering from surgery. While it wasn’t necessarily major surgery, it was an invasive procedure that doctors estimated to resolve in about a week, but instead, took over 6 weeks. It’s a little embarrassing to describe, but I’m sure we can all be grown-ups about it.



For several months, I experienced rectal bleeding for no apparent reason. By apparent, I mean that I knew nothing had been up in the poop chute and I there were no discernibly difficult bowel movements to cause aforementioned bleeding. At first, my primary care physician assumed it was a result of taking Naproxen, an anti-inflammatory prescription I used when I injured my ankle. But when I stopped taking the drug, the bleeding continued. It never coagulated or stopped, so I became concerned. And I was tired of shoving gauze in there. ..


I went back to my PCP and she suggested an anuscopy. Believe me… not NEARLY as pleasant as it sounds! An orifice that is by its very nature designed to be exit-only, does not joyfully accept the insertion of cold steel shoehorns and a tiny camera. When this adventure into my dark parts was complete, my crack medical team determined that I had a mass in my rectum that was irritated and bleeding. Now, if I had been poked with foreign objects, I’d be a little irritated, too, but my point is…I left the office that day with a surgeon referral.


After a few less than blissful encounters with insurance people, and the rescheduling of the surgery, the day finally arrived. My neighbor drove me to the hospital in what was essentially the middle of the night…I had to be there at 5 a.m. for a 7 a.m. procedure. … and another friend arrived just as I was being prepped. I felt anxious, but mostly relieved that it was about to be over. I remember noticing the clock in the operating room striking exactly 7:00 and I thought to myself, “Oh, wow! We’re on time!” and I was out. No counting backwards, no deep breaths, just …out.


I awoke to a perkier than necessary nurse requesting that I open my eyes and breath deeply. I felt woozy, a little disoriented and my ass hurt like hell! The nurse explained that the mass was successfully removed, but was rather large and needed to be removed via an incision in my right buttock. The plan when I went in was to enter the rectum, retrieve the mass and then exit the rectum, but evidently, the surgeon’s surprise at the sheer volume of the growth sent him cutting holes in my ass cheek! Be that as it may, I was informed that no sutures were used on the incision, just the medically sound and always infallible Super Glue was applied to keep the skin together. I knew at that point that I would rue this day.


Several days of discomfort passed and when I called the office to schedule a follow-up visit, I advised them that the incision site had not stopped bleeding. The office suggested I come in first thing the next morning. This did not bode well for me…or my derriere. The surgeon, who resembled Dr. Oz a tiny bit, roughly accessed the area and declared that I, indeed, had an open wound. His assessment was not surprising, but his treatment was. “We’re just going to clean it and let it heal. Take sitz baths, keep it clean and dry, come see me again in 2 weeks.” I wish I had a job where I didn’t have to take responsibility for my mistakes like that guy! So. That was that. While I was not 100% compliant with the sitz baths, I did do my diligence in keeping the area as clean, dry and undisturbed as possible. However, when you are the sole caretaker for an 83 year-old and a 5 year-old, rest is not something that comes easily. The wound continued to open over time until it completely exposed the underlying tissue. Its size accommodated my thumb, both in length and width, so I certainly wanted to be careful with region.


This development became more than uncomfortable…it inhibited certain physical activities. I think you know what I am trying to say. No? Go ask your mother. The Prince is a gentleman – patient, understanding, compassionate – but still harbored concern over my booty and the status of healing. However, he wanted no part of seeing it or discussing it at length. I don’t blame him.


So after 7 weeks, I am completely healed, pathology results were good – no sign of cancer, so YAY! – and I no longer have a pain in my ass. Unless, of course, you count that 83 year old and 5 year old …. :)