I discovered my cyst in a land far far away. I was traveling in Latin America, alone, at 23, just learning Spanish. I thought I had ridden too many old buses and had bruised my tailbone.
Some new friends I had made at the hostel wanted to go check out these hot springs, and convinced me to go. The cab ride there and back were unbelievably painful, but that little trip probably saved me. That night, the cyst burst, and as much as I was scarred and trying to figure out what had happened, it already felt better. My Swiss friend brought me to the little town hospital and translated for me that I needed to see a doctor. So a doctor who only spoke Spanish wrote those two little words down for me: Pilonidal Cyst. And prescribed me what must have been a military strength dose of antibiotics.
I was able to continue traveling for 3 months and did not think of it much again. Until this summer, it started to grow, I had almost forgotten how to treat it. I went to the doctors after 3 days of excruciating pain and they tried to lance it, but failed. I was screaming in pain and puked after from the anxiety I felt about it all. Plus I then had to drive myself home.
After that I called my parents, and my mom is a trained nurse, so she rushed over and helped. I went back, and saw a much more sensitive doctor, and as my mom laid on top of me to keep me from squirming, I had it lanced for real. The pain went away almost immediately. Now a month later, it flared up, and I am reading all about the surgery and have contacted a specialist. I am still not sure what will happen next, but I am oh so grateful for this site. People just can’t know the pain that this is.