After the Disney trip, we resumed life. Scott was working and I was home with our children. In June 2009, M turned 1. We had a Mickey Mouse themed party. We invited a few close friends over and our parents were there. With all that had happened in the last year, I could hardly believe it had actually been a year since M was born. I was finishing a round of antibiotics again for the wound on my ankle, which seemed to finally be healing.
With my increasing mobility in mind, we started thinking about ways to become more active, but that would not tax my ankle too much. Scott and I decided that biking would be a great low-impact way to keep working on strengthening my ankle and doing physical therapy. I had sold my mountain bike after E was born. Since my birthday was approaching in July, we chose to buy a new one. We tested bikes, did research online, and ended up purchasing a bike from a local bike store. We started riding a couple of times during the week after Scott got off work, and also on weekends.
In August, nine months after this all started, E started Kindergarten. It was a great time in our lives. Our precious girl had entered into a new phase of her life. The wound on my ankle had been doing well. Scott’s job was still tough, and finances were still tight, but his work was starting to show signs of rebounding. God continued to provide for our needs. We were trying to keep riding our bikes as often as we could, which ended up mostly on weekends once school started. After one afternoon of biking, I noticed that my ankle was aching a bit more than normal. I sat down in the recliner to prop it up. In a sort of reflex move, I put my hand down on my ankle to try to massage it. That’s when I noticed that the wound felt warm. My heart sank. I quickly asked Scott to come feel it. His eyes widened and he told me he thought it would be a good idea to call the Wound Clinic in the morning. I knew I needed to call, but I couldn’t shake the sense of dread I felt. I prayed and prayed for God to take this all away. His answer was “no”.
I woke up the next morning and called the Wound Clinic. I was expecting them to tell me to come in again and go through another round of antibiotics or something. Instead, the nurse put me on hold to speak to the doctor. When she came back to the phone she told me that they had done everything they knew to do to help the wound heal and that I needed to call my orthopedic doctor to see what he thought. I sort of panicked. I couldn’t help but wonder what the orthopedic doctor could do since he had been the one to refer me to the Wound Clinic in the first place. But I called the orthopedic office and they set up an appointment for me to consult with my doctor. It was set a couple of days later for Thursday, August 20th. E was at school and I got someone to watch M while I went to my appointment. Scott had to work, so I went alone. It must not have been a big deal to me that I was going alone, otherwise I would have gotten someone to go with me. The only thing I can imagine is that God made it okay with me.
I walked in to my doctor’s office, signed in, and was taken back to a room. While I was waiting for the doctor to come in, I was trying to occupy my thoughts with what E might be doing at school, or how Scott’s day was going. I was saying quick little prayers for them and for myself. I had no idea what the doctor was going to say or what our next step would be. After waiting only 5-10 minutes, my doctor came in. He said, ”Well, I hear you’re still having trouble with that ankle. You know what that means, right?”
No. I had no idea. But I was starting to have that sinking feeling again. He must have noticed that I was starting to get nervous. I think I felt my face flush.
“Obviously your body doesn’t want the hardware in there. Your body is rejecting it. We’ll need to take all of the hardware out. You’ll need to be in the hospital for a few days. How’s Tuesday?”
Wait. What?
How’s Tuesday?
How’s Tuesday?!?!
A million thoughts start zooming through my head. Among them are thoughts about getting my children taken care of; what Scott’s going to do about work; how this could be happening; next week is only the second full week of Kindergarten... Why couldn’t Scott be here?
The only thing I could muster to say was that I’d have to call the doctor back and let him know if I could get everything worked out at home that quickly. I think he could tell I was fighting tears. He just told me to let him know by the end of the day and that this needed to happen as soon as possible. He then hurried me out of the room to go check out.
I left in a daze. I walked to my car, got in, and closed the door. I immediately rummaged through my purse to find my phone. I tried to call Scott, but he was in a meeting. I had to talk to someone, but I really needed to get home. I started the car, pulled out of the parking spot, and headed toward home. I was scared. I was disappointed. I was frustrated. Worried. Angry. You see, so many things along this journey had already been going wrong. Many complications and setbacks. The initial recovery time for the broken leg had been double what they estimated, mostly because of wound issues. I had had an open wound on and off for what felt like forever. I felt that I had missed so much of M’s first year of life and now I’d be missing some of E’s first year of school. I was trying to hold myself together long enough to drive home. But I needed to connect with someone. I needed somebody to tell me it would be okay.
While stopped at a traffic light, I picked up my phone again and called our friends, Jim and Pansy. I was hoping that Pansy would be available to talk, but Jim answered and Pansy wasn’t home. He asked if he could help. God, in His infinite wisdom, had definitely ordained that phone call. I was able to tell Jim everything the doctor told me without breaking down into sobbing. I know that if Pansy had been able to talk to me, I wouldn’t have been able to make it home. I would have pulled over and completely come unglued. As it was, I made it home before the tears flowed.
After I finished my call with Jim, I waited until I got home to call anyone else. I didn’t think I’d be able to make it through another call and be okay to drive. I don’t remember the order of the calls, but I called my mom, my precious friend Beth, and Scott. Each time I had to go through what the doctor said, it became increasingly more difficult. But between the calls to my mom and to Scott, we talked through the logistics of the hardware removal, and we ultimately felt that Tuesday would be the best time. The last call I made was to the orthopedic office to set up the procedure.
So on Tuesday, August 25, 2009, every last bit of hardware was removed from my left leg: 1 rod, 1 plate, and a 20-some-odd screws. My surgery had been done late in the day, several hours later than my scheduled time. But, I was very happy to wake up and hear that the surgery went exactly as planned. Finally, something had gone smoothly. I was placed in the first room they had available. A semi-private one. (Remember my roommate from the experience after having the metal put in? Scott and I didn’t want a repeat of that experience.) First thing the next morning, Scott requested a room change to a private room. We moved into one within an hour. Almost as soon as we got set-up in our new room, a man came walking in. He said he was the physical therapist and it was time to get me up and walking.
Say what?! Didn’t he realize that I just had surgery last night?
Yes, yes he did. Now let’s get up and walk. We tried to walk using one of the now infamous boots. It hurt the incision sites too much to continue. His next brilliant idea was for me to take the boot off and walk with his support.
Again, say what?! You’ve got to be kidding.
No, no he wasn’t kidding. So we put on my feet those hospital socks with the grippy things on the bottom. To my astonishment, it didn’t hurt when we started to put some weight down. We walked out of my little room, down the hall and back. It was awesome! I was already hurting less than I did just the day before, right before surgery. I wanted to jump for joy. But of course, I didn’t.
Later that morning, my doctor came in to check on me. He was pleased with my progress from therapy. That was when he told us the reason I would be in the hospital for a few days. He said rejection of hardware in your body is the result of an infection. During the hardware removal, they had seen some signs of infection on one of the screws. They had taken a tissue sample to the lab and it takes a few days before they can see if anything grows in the petri dish. He then told us that an Infectious Disease doctor would be coming in later to talk to us.
Excuse me? INFECTIOUS DISEASE doctor?!?!
Later in the day, the Infectious Disease doctor came in during his rounds. He said rejection of hardware like mine is almost always due to staph infection, and the testing of the tissue sample would indicate how aggressive the infection is. He said he would know a course of treatment as soon as the results came back within a few days. If anything grew in the petri dish, the sooner it grew, the more aggressive the infection.
We waited and hung out in the hospital room with a few visitors, nurses, my PT guy, and my doctors passing through. At the end of my last full day in the hospital, my Infectious Disease doctor came in to give me news on the infection. There had been no growth in the lab dish so the infection was not aggressive.
Woohoo! Praise God that this was good news!
Then the next part...the treatment. Six weeks of IV antibiotics administered through a PICC line in my arm. It would be 2 times a day for about an hour each time. The antibiotics were in these pressurized IV bags that looked like frosted glass Christmas ornaments.
I was well aware that things could be worse, but this was not going to be a picnic with a now 14 month old boy at home and a 5 year old girl going to and from school. Also, I had already received the antibiotic, Vancomycin, during my stay in the hospital and had a reaction to them. I turned red from head to toe in splotches. And the splotches itch like crazy. I remember waking up from anesthesia in the recovery room because I was itching from this medicine. I asked if there was another antibiotic I could take. The Infectious Disease doctor told me this was what they had to use. How can I take a medicine that I reacted to? Did he not know how badly I had reacted?He said that because of the reaction, I had to take Claritin 30 minutes prior to starting the IV antibiotic. An that there shouldn’t be any issues if I just take Claritin.
Nice. So reassuring. “Shouldn’t.” (What I didn’t know at the time was that the doctor told Scott if the Vancomycin didn’t work, I would be facing amputation as a viable option to keep infection from spreading to the rest of my body.)
The nurse who put the PICC line in was a pro. I didn’t even know what she was doing after the injection of numbing medicine. The next morning, the nurses taught me how to flush the PICC line with saline and also with blood thinner to keep the line clean and prevent infection. Then I had to learn how to hook and unhook the IV bag to the line. I could take showers, but had to be very careful not to pull the PICC line out or make it irritated. I have to say that it was annoying having this little tube hanging out of my arm. I was worried that M would pull on it or I’d get it snagged on something. I knitted a few small sleeves to go around my arm and keep the PICC line hidden and protected.
During the six weeks with the PICC line, a home health nurse had to come out once a week. She drew blood from the PICC line, checked the PICC line, cleaned it, took my temperature, blood pressure, and asked if I had questions or concerns that needed to be addressed. During the third week’s visit, my temperature had spiked to 104* F. All the lymph nodes in my head and neck were swollen. I didn’t feel poorly, just warmer than normal. The nurse suggested that I go see my regular doctor. My General Practitioner wasn’t in that day, so I saw his partner. He told me that my body was obviously fighting something off besides what was in my ankle. I asked him if the IV antibiotics would take care of it. Of course, he said, “No.” He prescribed an additional oral antibiotic to take. I was beginning to be frustrated with the amount of drugs that were going in my body. I was concerned about what all this was doing to me. I kept waiting for some sort of nasty reaction to start.
Fast forward a couple of days. I was still doing the IV antibiotics with a pre-med of Claritin. I had added the oral antibiotic to the regimen. I started itching, nothing out of control, and I didn’t see anything that would be causing the itching. However, the next day, I noticed some strange splotches here and there. The itching was turning into a burning feeling. Over the next few hours the burning, itchy splotches were appearing everywhere. I realized I was having a full body reaction. I was beyond uncomfortable. I called my infectious disease doctor (which, by the way, when you have multiple doctors, sometimes it can be completely confusing as to which one to call when there’s questions or trouble. Scott and I debated for about 30 minutes on exactly who to call). My doctor and I talked on the phone for around 10 minutes. He finally told me to stop taking all current medications and start taking Benadryl. I was thankful it was Friday. Scott would be home to take care of the children so I could take the Benadryl and be in a Benadryl haze all weekend without interfering with his job. The doctor said we would figure out the next step about the antibiotics on Monday.
I slept most of the weekend, but it was nice to have a break from all the antibiotics. On Monday, my infectious disease doctor changed my IV antibiotics. This new antibiotic was much more expensive than the previous one, so insurance companies like to try other options first. Since I had reacted so badly to the first one, our insurance would agree to pay for this new one. We were thankful for Scott’s job providing insurance. As a bonus, this new medicine was only once a day and took just 30 minutes!
On October 6, testing showed that I was free from infection and the PICC line came out. I was overjoyed and wanted to throw a party. We had to find a way to celebrate this milestone! This whole ordeal that lasted almost 11 months was finally coming to a close. We had a little family celebration, with just the four of us and it was wonderful! I don’t even remember exactly what we did to celebrate, I just remember feeling really light and happy for the first time in a while. There wasn’t anything looming over our heads.
Stay tuned for the wrap-up.....
This is wonderfully wien and a testimony to your faith, courage and God's mercy. Love you and always praying!
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