What caused my PTSD to become full-blown…

What caused my PTSD to become full-blown and a condition that affects my everyday life was a “tummy tuck”, which is a routine surgical procedure, which went totally “south”… My surgeon had made several mistakes which he refused to take responsibility for. I spent the next year and a half going to the ER at least twice a week. Problems healing, oozing, fluid building up between the skin on my tummy and the muscle wall of my abdomen. Having them drain this fluid twice a week for over a year but still not admitting to me that there was something wrong… My surgeon even told me that he didn’t dare put me under the knife again since he believed I had fibromyalgia, which has absolutely nothing to do with a surgical wound that doesn’t heal… But that’s a different story… Also told me to drink a glass of red wine every evening since it was good for the blood… ehhh?…. I kept getting the runaround every time I’d visit the ER. Guessing that since my surgeon was head surgeon of the hospital, that didn’t exactly make things easier for me… Was finally told that they wouldn’t do any more draining of my tummy and that my body would take care of it itself… 6 months later on a Saturday I was feeling very sick and also had a temperature of nearly 104° F (40° Celsius) Drove to the ER, was taken to a room but since there had been a very bad car accident they didn’t have time for me and I ended up falling asleep in the room for nearly 3 hours… When the doctor that was on call finally came to my room, apologizing for the long wait, he told me to just go home and come back Monday morning if I wasn’t feeling better…

Late that evening while sitting at my desk talking on the phone with a friend of mine, I felt as well as heard something “pop” on my stomach. I looked down and saw a blackish stain spreading on my shirt and could also smell an extremely foul stench… I lifted my shirt and saw black thick fluid oozing out from a part of the scar near my belly button… Told my friend bye, I need to go to the hospital, grabbed a towel, pressed it to my tummy and ran out to my car. Drove myself to the hospital and leaned against the emergency doorbell. Same doctor whom had sent me home earlier that day was the one that opened the door. He took one look at me and grabbed the nearest gurney and helped me get up on it. Yelled for a nurse to come STAT and rolled me into the nearest vacant examination room… Soon the room was full of staff buzzing around me, taking my temperature, blood pressure, blood samples, “goo samples” and whispering amongst themselves. By that time, I was in tears not knowing what was going on. Doctor told me that they were going to admit me to the hospital and I remember barely being able to talk from crying so hard telling him that it was no use admitting me to the hospital since my surgeon had told me that I had fibromyalgia… Remember doctor more or less screaming “You don’t have any FUCKING fibromyalgia… and off I went to the ICU, where I spent the next 2 weeks. The day after I’d been admitted to the hospital when the attending doctor came to check on me I told him that my surgeon would just send me home again. He looked at me and said. “You have nothing to worry about, he’s on vacation and won’t be back for at least 3 weeks and besides, it’s high time we did something about what we’ve done to you…” I seriously could have gotten down on my knees and kissed him, if I hadn’t been hooked up to so many machines!! I have no idea how many tests they did on me but when the lab results started to come in, I knew it was serious as a whole flock of doctors and nurses came running into my room with a tray filled with little cups of pills in every color imaginable… I had multiple infections, staph infection, streptococcus, gangrene and other infections I can’t even remember or spell… Rushed to emergency surgery, where I refused to let them put me under as I seriously thought I’d never wake up again if they did, so they gave me a spinal block (or whatever it’s called) and I was awake for the whole procedure. They re-opened my tummy and “cleaned” out all the goo and gore and dead tissue… Leaving an open wound the size of a large grapefruit, to heal from the inside out…

I spent the next 3 months in the hospital. Thankfully I had a private room, which meant I could have visitors whenever I wanted. Something both my son and I was grateful for, since he could be there with me as much as he wanted. I spent nearly 3 months in the hospital until they felt it was safe to send me home. Hospice nurses came home to me twice a day to clean and dress the wound. several months later when it was finally healed and I was at the doctor’s office for my final check-up he asked me how I was doing. I told him that I felt more or less OK but that I really missed my old immune system, since all of the medication I had to take due to the infections, had totally wiped out all of my defenses. He then told me that I should be very grateful that I had had such a strong immune system, as none of the doctors thought I was going to survive…

Those words where what REALLY made me understand how serious things had been. Up until then, I hadn’t had the time or luxury to let my emotions get in the way of what I needed to do to heal. Now that I was healed, it all came crashing down inside of me “what could have happened”… Add to that, all the previous shit which is the story of my life, I crashed… I became a basket case, a bundle of raw nerves, intrusive thoughts that I just couldn’t get to shut up, couldn’t be around people, scared of my own shadow, couldn’t sleep… All the old crap from my earlier years came crashing back into my memory and daily life. Wasn’t safe anymore, would jump out of my skin at the slightest sound I wasn’t prepared for or which was out of the norm. Couldn’t sleep in my own bed and would wake up running from my bedroom. The couch was safer but still, I couldn’t sleep well during the night. Was easier to sleep a few hours during the day and stay awake at night.

I was already seeing a therapist for my childhood crap every week prior to my first operation and when everything came crashing down around me after I had physically healed from my surgery, they had no idea how to deal with any of it, other than give me more medications… This is when I understood that if I was going to be able to survive on a level of more than just existing, I needed to take matters into my own hands and do what “I” felt “I” needed to do in order to LIVE… I bought my house out here in the forest and slowly day by day, week by week, year by year I started to heal and also live. I was also able to wean myself off of almost all of the medications I had been taking for years… Yes, I did isolate myself more or less completely. My only contact with the outside world besides my son, was once a month when I would drive into town and do my shopping for the next month. I also had my computer and joined several PTSD on-line lists, writing and chatting with others that had the same or similar problems.

Those lists I belonged to and the people I got to know and became on-line friends with did more for me than all the years I’d spent with the so called professionals in therapy. Talking to others that knew first-hand what I was going through. Bouncing ideas and thoughts with others that shared similar demons is what helped me heal… I am eternally grateful for those lists and friends I made through them. I wouldn’t be where I am today; if it weren’t for the support and friendship they gave me…