If you follow me on Instagram, then you probably have seen little bits of what happened to me last month. I'm gonna tell you the full story and why I have been absent for quite a while now.
It all started on the 3rd of July on a night out with my best friend in the city of Brugge where I was having one of my annual benders. If you're not familiar with the term 'bender,' then let me save you the trip to Google and explain it to you. A 'bender' is simply a wild drinking spree. My benders usually end up humorously and peaceful. Just having a blast and giving it all on the dance-floor like I always do. On this unfortunate night though, I felt the need to be extra and dance on my knees at one point because...
But little did I know that there was a big piece of broken glass lying on the ground as I dropped my beautiful legs down at full force. At that moment it just felt like a little piece of glass in my leg so I just casually pulled it out to then find a massive cut in my leg. As I was slowly processing the situation, I started noticing people gathering around me as I was sitting on the floor. My best friend was panicking and a stranger was trying to keep me calm while we waited for an ambulance to arrive.
My horror story starts at the 'AZ Sint-Jan Hospital' in Brugge. I call this my 'horror story' because of the following events. I had one deep cut and a skin tear injury which they had to stitch up. Now, I had consumed a lot of alcohol and a fact about anesthesia is that it's barely effective when there is too much alcohol in the bloodstream. In other words, I felt everything. The needle going through my skin, the thread being pulled from side to side, everything. I felt like a doll being sowed by kids. It felt rough. It felt long.
The next few days were rough. I had to stay at my Mom's house for my leg to heal and rely on my family for help because I wasn't allowed to walk. As the days went by I started getting more and more depressed because I am someone who is very active. This injury either forced me to cancel some of my summer plans or push them back. The worst part was that there wasn't any improvement with my leg even after almost a week. We had already been to my family doctor twice and she explained to us that the work that 'AZ Sint-Jan Hospital' did on my leg was quite sloppy. After a week of pain that kept on getting worst, my Mom rushed me to the emergencies. There, they opened up my stitches and discovered chunks of old blood hiding around my knee. I had basically been bleeding internally for days. With no time to waste and no anesthesia, the doctor had to start pushing out the big chunks of blood out of my knee. This pain was worse than when they were stitching me up in the first hospital. I had never experienced such a pain before, and I have been through a lot of emotional and physical pain in my life, but no pain could compare to what I was feeling. I kept on shouting. I don't think I've ever shouted that loud before. The torture felt like it would never end. They then started vacuuming inside my leg which hurt a lot less but because I was still in shock, the touch of the vacuum tube making contact with everything inside my leg made me flinch.
I was allowed to go home after I got stitched and I thought my nightmare had finally come to an end. So there I was in the back seat of my Mom's car on our way home from the emergencies for the second time. Suddenly, I felt this wet feeling around my knee and spotted a small red spot. I was well aware that it was blood and thought that it was absolutely normal but as I kept staring at that red spot, I noticed it slowly getting bigger. Sigh. It had only been 20 minutes since I was released from the emergencies and I already had to be brought back for the third time.
You know what they say, "third time's a charm," which is true. After needing surgery and spending the night at the hospital for observation, I physically felt a lot better, but this whole experience was starting to get to me on a mental level. You'd think that after all that things will get better but no, you have to pay for the consequences. Literally! Medical bills are expensive!
All this could have been avoided if the 'AZ Sint-Jan Hospital' in Brugge cleaned my wounds properly the first time but most importantly, I am the one to blame. I will never drink this much again because I don't want to go through something like this ever again. I am thankful that I still have both my legs and that I'm still alive. Now I'm just working through the mental and physical scars of this experience. Day by day until I can properly laugh about this.