WOW.

So I actually DO have a reason for having neglected this blog so thoroughly.

Starting mid-September, my leg (the one that had the graft in May of 2010) started hurting more than usual, and getting more warm and swollen.  I had xrays and blood tests and even a bone scan.  Nothing indicated an infection of the bone, but nothing was entirely "normal" either.  We were in the middle of investigating possible causes, while I fought increasing pain.  The following bullet list is a short summary of what transpired after the bone scan.

• Sunday, 10/30/2011
  At some point before this, I acquired a small, innocuous looking scratch on my graft, close to the edge that is stuck to the front of my tibia.  It didn't hurt, didn't look infected, didn't cause a fever... and I have no idea where or when or how I got it, because I can't FEEL the skin where the graft is.  Not sharp pain, that is.  I can feel pressure, sure, and heat, but no sharp sensations.  On Sunday, Derek and I noted and commented on the scratch and what appeared to be a bruise beneath it.  Just a little pink, and a little warm.  I already had an appointment scheduled for Monday, to discuss pain control options.

• Monday, 10/31/2011
  By Monday morning, my shin was huge and hot and red, I felt like I'd been run over by a Mac Truck, I had a fever, and was genuinely sick.  Sick enough that after drawing cultures and other labs, my doctor tucked me into an ambulance and sent me away to the City.  By this point, every breath made my leg feel like it was being smashed.  I was in tears, shaking and sweating.  I will pause here to say this:  Whoever decided that paramedics can start IV's and administer Fentanyl at their discretion... they are something along the lines of "hero" to me.
  
  We got to the Hospital, and I was taken straight to a room.  NO ER, no triage, nothing.  Just up to a room.  More cultures were drawn, another IV line was started, and a circle was drawn on my leg marking the edges of the red, swollen, hot skin.  I was then sent for an X-Ray, which I assumed would come back normal - the last one had.  But no, it did NOT.  It showed fluid and air building up in the deeper tissues, indicative of a fast-moving infection.
  
  Then I met my surgeon, Dr. J.  I had him and his resident assigned to me, another surgeon, Dr. A, as well as Dr. M, Dr. C, Dr. M and Dr. F, plus their interns.  It was a herd.  I wish it could have all been done by just one person.  Less intrusive that way.
  
  7:30 that night I was in surgery.  The operation went fast.  They didn't have to remove anything terribly important, and left the incision (about 6 inches long) open and packed.  I woke up in recover at about 9:00 and I swear, I had NEVER been so miserable in my life.  My temp was up over 104, I was pouring sweat, covered in goosebumps, shivering so hard it was more like convulsions, crying so hard, throwing up, and my leg felt like a combination of fire and being crushed, more intensely than I could comprehend.  It was almost midnight before I was in good enough shape to see my hubby.  They said I was septic, and that's why I was so miserable.  I had a great night nurse who kept my double room just for me, and took care of me so well.  Next morning my roommate arrived and I could. not. do. it.
  
  I don't like PTSD.  I don't like that an other's simple presence when I'm not feeling well or perceive that I am vulnerable, is enough to send me into full-on flashbacks and panic attacks and terror and my brain goes into lock down mode.  There is no reasoning to make it stop, there's no gentle tones or persuasive words.  I spazz out in a world-class manner.  So my good ol' nurse got me moved to a private room in a different unit.  The staff THERE were great too.

• Tuesday, 11/1/2011Tuesday morning, I found out that I was now on Vancomyacin, Rocephin, merepenem, and flagyl.  And I got my PCA pump.  Oh that wonderful device with the stupid nose flap.  Hospital brought me in a laptop to use... mostly it just sat there playing music or shows off of Hulu.    That afternoon, I went back into surgery for more debridement and dressing change.  Late that night, I was taken to a procedure room and sedated for a dressing change.

• Wednesday, 11/2/2011 I continued to complain of pain on the inside of my shin bone - not where the abscess was.  And in my ankle.  It kept getting dismissed.  Temp was staying mostly normal.  They told us the organism was susceptible to the meds I was getting (e. Coli - and NO, I don't know how anyone gets e. coli in their leg, but apparently it's not as far fetched as I thought).  I pointed out a second area of possible infection.  They agreed.
  
  They wanted to unpack, debride, use pressurized water to cleans, and then repack my wound.  And I flipped again.  NO WAY.  Not with me awake!!!  They ran around and around with me about it, until Dr. J finally asked what the real problem was.  I explained the flashback it was conjuring.  And from then forward, it was sleep-city.

• Thursday, 11/3/2011 Thursday morning, I went to a procedure room and was given conscious sedation for my dressing change.  I kept complaining about the area near my tibia that hurt, so they ordered an ultrasound to look for free fluid... and boy howdy, did they find it.  Nice little abscess under the skin but mostly fluid buildup around the bone.  The took me to the OR, knocked me out completely, did a needle aspiration on the new abscess and tried to get the deeper fluid, and then aggressively cleaned the initial incision and performed a delayed closure.  They left a lot of drain tubing in place.

• Friday, 11/4/2011 Was still on the Fentanyl PCA.  Dr. M wanted me to go home... I knew I wasn't ready.  Dr. F, from infectious disease made a plan with my husband - I would go 24 hours with IV fluids but all meds would be oral, unless things escalated, before I would be allowed home.  Surgery liked the plan, but said we should wait till Sunday, so they could pull the drain before I left.  So we left THAT as our plan.

• Saturday, 11/5/2011 1/2 of the drain was removed.  I was taught how to do my own dressing changes, shown what to watch for.  There was some iffy blood work, but they decided it was contaminated by skin, not by actual blood-borne pathogens.  I was off the PCA.  Miserable, but off the pump and ready to go.

• Sunday, 11/6/2011 Sunday, they pulled the rest of the drain, said what to watch for, how to care for things.  At that time, a secondary abscess just medial of my tibia was noted.  It was felt to be small enough that antibiotics alone would address the problem.  After much waiting around, I got to LEAVE.  To go to MY HOME.

• Monday, 11/7/2011 I did my dressing change as ordered - I even filmed it for documentation. The rest of the day, I spent sleeping.

• Tuesday, 11/8/2011
  Because I was uncomfortable waiting a week to see my surgeon for a recheck, my family doc agreed to take a look.  He did so, and called the surgeon.  They had me go NPO immediately in preparation for seeing the surgeon on Wednesday.
  
  Unfortunately, that night, I took a shower.  My first since the surgery.  They had finally given permission and it felt SO SOOO GOOD.  A sponge bath just can't even compare.  About 7:50 PM I was all relaxed and sleepy and fell asleep on the couch.  I woke up screaming at the TOP of my lungs at 8:05.  My head was the WORST pain I can imagine.  Searing and pressure and throbbing with my heart beat and made worse by sound and light and trying to lay flat and turning my head or moving or coughing or talking.I was screaming too much to call 911, and my husband was at work.  They got there though.  I rode lights and sirens (and lots of IV meds pushed and some crazy EKG monitors - finally a nicely documented run of SVT). 
  
  Doctors started talking meningitis, encephalitis, and big scary bad words.
  
  They still don't know what caused it.  Spinal fluid came back indicative of SOMETHING, but non-specific.  CT didn't show any large abnormalities.  So I got me a room with a room mate and the pain and the PTSD fed off each other until they ended up moving me up to the cardio floor, into the only private room left in the hospital. 
  
  They had me on Vanc, Rocephin, and Merepenim.  They switched the Rocephin to Timentin, and the merepenim to Erdepenim.  They also added in Acyclovir.  I had to have two lines again, because the meds couldn't mix together outside the body.

• Wednesday, 11/9/2011
  Finally, things under control enough that I SLEPT.  And SLEPT.  And then SLEPT some more.

• Thursday, 11/10/2011 Home sweet home.

• Wednesday, 11/16/2011 Recheck with the surgeon.  He informed me I needed my secondary abscess drained.  He recommended a standard I&D, under anesthesia.  I consented, and planned for Thursday to be a nightmare.

• Thursday, 11/17/2011 So much for a nightmare.  The day went well.  Operation was really fast and smooth, recovery was smooth, they are hopeful that maybe this could be my last trip to the OR for this problem.
   
• The weekend went well, but the defect was growing worse.  And today, my surgeon has prescribed honey.  Like from bees.  That's what I put in the wound.  I thought he was crazy.  But it turns out it's more widely known than I thought.

So THAT, is where I've been.  If folks have an interest, I'll put together a picture tour similar to what I did with my hand for you all that time.  But right now?  I am going to SLEEP.

Leg Update.

Have had a few people wondering how my leg is doing... so I thought I'd post an update.  I am 5.5 months post-op, and almost 33% of the way through the "active healing" phase.

The graft is doing well, after I split it open a while back.  Other than the scars from that, it looks pretty good.  It's turning colors, and is closer to the color of my regular skin.  There's something going on with one of the muscles in the front of my shin - it hasn't functioned since I bruised and split things. 

Yes, I bumped the contrast a little on this, so you could see the outlines of the muscles.  See that big gap in my shin?  That's not supposed to be there.

It's hard to sit idly by as adhesions form between the graft and the muscle facia, since I know eventually they'll tear free.  Surgeon sais absolutely no efforts are to be made to stretch or break them until after that 18 months, though, so... I watch.  The medial edge of the graft is adhered to my periosteum.  THAT part of it actually really hurts.  Very sensitive to the touch, very uncomfortable if it gets pulled on.

But over all, I am thrilled with how well it is doing.  It is healing, I have TWO functional legs, I am alive.

And as a friend said the other day... it's starting to look like a leg again.  :)

Scheduled Post #1

Today was the Big Day. As written on my pre-op orders, my surgeon performed, on "the lower right extremity," a "deep structure, muscular, and vascular reconstruction followed by a partial-thickness skin graft." I would imagine that right about now, I am in my hospital room either asleep or wishing I was. I'm receiving some pretty heavy duty antibiotics to fight the three bacteria that grew out in very large quantities on the last culture, and have formed obvious colonies in my wound. I've got a couple big whitish-yellow ones, and a couple big greenish ones. Or I should say, I had those. The surgeon removed them.

I can honestly say that while I doubt the next few weeks will be all that enjoyable, I am quite convinced that it is the right decision.

I'm not proud, but the wound was self-inflicted a long time ago. Toward the middle of January, actually. We are now pushing the middle of May. That's five months spent trying to deal with one stupid cut. I'm going to tell you a little bit more about it, just because I want to write it out for my own sake. And maybe some of you will read it and get the guts to stand up for yourself more effectively than I did.

The cut was deep - one of the deeper ones I've ever made. My bone was exposed, a muscle cut through nearly all the way, and an artery severed completely. My husband came home and found me with that and several other cuts, sitting on the floor in a daze. He called 911 - I think I asked him to. I had lost a lot of blood, and was scared. Very scared.

The nearest emergency room happens to be one we don't prefer, but when one calls 911, one loses the option to choose. Fortunately, they allowed me to call my regular physician to come in and do the repairs. He did an excellent job - I was able to walk when he was finished, despite the muscle damage.

I was admitted to the psychiatric unit of a different hospital. While there, nurses changed the dressing on my leg daily. After about a week, I noticed that one cut did not look quite right. I pointed it out to the nurse, and she assured me it looked fine. I know my body pretty well, and knew it didn't look "fine," but I let it go. The next day, it looked even more "off." I pointed it out again, with my husband present. She said that all wounds heal differently and it looked fine to her. The next day, the same thing. 12 days after the original injury, the sutures were removed. The wound looked swollen, was hot, and just a tiny bit pink. But I had no fever and there was no visible pus. I insisted, again with my husband and two nurses present, that it felt very much infected and asked that they please have a physician look at the wound. The nurse practitioner barely pressed on one end and the whole thing split, revealing the infection I had told them was present.

It took a month for the wound to close. Most of that month, I was in the psychiatric unit. I was accused of wound tampering and told that I was the reason for the infection. Cultures grew out bacteria normally found in fecal material, as well as some found in dirt, and some found exclusively in certain species of pet birds. In other words, the infection came from someone who just didn't do a good job of washing his or her hands.

After the scar was fully formed, my leg would frequently swell and get hot just below it. I was assured that that meant nothing. No problem. When yellow fluid began draining from the corner of that scar and from several others, I was told again that it was normal fluid and there was no issue. I let it go. Again.

Nearly a month passed, with constant drainage, swelling, and pain. I was assured by physicians (not mine - he was not yet cleared to see patients following a horrid accident) that it was fine. Told I was being a hypochondriac. My chart was noted that I was suspected to be a Munchhausen's patient. (Munchhausen's is a disease where patients make themselves sick in order to get attention from doctors. For the the record, I loathe having to go to the doctor. For anything.)

I woke up one morning with a leg that was grossly swollen, red, and hot. I had a fever, ached from head to toe, and couldn't stand even the brush of my pant leg against my leg. I emailed my doctor, and waited for the clinic to open. I was given a 2:30 appointment. When we got there, the doctor let us know that a surgeon was on his way over to look at it. Two hours later, I was wheeled into surgery and the abscess was drained. A wide, eye-shaped hole was left that went all the way down to the bone and muscle, to allow all of the "fluid" to drain. Wet-to-dry dressings were applied, that I changed out twice each day. After two weeks of no visible healing happening at all, the surgeon decided he'd order a wound V.A.C. Meanwhile, I noticed that there were little black spots forming inside the wound, around the edges mostly. He assured me that these were just dried spots of blood.

And then the whole thing turned black. As if someone had dumped tar into the wound. And the black started to spread. The surgeon took two days to believe me over the phone, and I came in a day early to get the wound V.A.C. put on. He was shocked to see that it really was black. Rather than do anything, though, he applied the V.A.C. (henceforth referred to as Slurpy) over the top of the eschar. He said he believed it would take care of itself.

Four days later, when I went back in for the dressing change, the necrosis and infection had spread dramatically. Went in the next morning for yet another operation, and stayed in the hospital for 6 days. The day I went home, the doctor applied a special dressing that contained silver. He said that would help kill off any micro-organisms. It started to sting and burn as soon as it was applied, and within two hours, I was in nearly unbearable pain. The doctor did not believe me, said that it was normal for it to burn a little. A nurse brought up Munchhausen's yet again. I asked to either be transferred or released so I could seek a second opinion.

By the next morning when I saw a physician in a wound clinic at a different facility, the reaction between my body and the silver had enlarged the hole in my leg considerably. I was in absolute agony. I was angry, tired, and barely able to think. The dressing was removed, taking with it all of the granulation tissue that had formed during my 6 days in the hospital, as well as the facia over one of my muscles. Fortunately, the exposed nerve stayed intact. The nurse dumped saline into the wound, over and over. Each time, it briefly stung but the agony lessened. By the time she was done, it felt just like it should - sore, a bit of stinging, some aching... nothing even remotely unbearable. The wound doctor looked at the wound and photographed it. Noted that my tibia was exposed. Noted that there were areas of necrosis that went deep into one of the muscles. Noted the exposed nerve. Noted the end of a vein that had been severed by the last surgery. And then referred me to a plastic surgeon.

He took more photographs, looked at the wound more. Talked to me about the fact that he was pretty sure the wound would not heal without significant intervention. Scraped away some colonies of bacteria. Burned away a bit of necrosis. Flushed everything out with saline. Put Slurpy back on, with a normal slurpy sponge. And scheduled today's reconstruction and skin grafts.

The point here? If you know, and I mean absolutely know something is wrong in your body, don't let a doctor or nurse blow it off. I did, and here I sit five months later, waiting to have major surgery and praying that everything can be achieved in one operation. I am on narcotics, and have been for the last three months. I have three types of bacteria that are not antibiotic resistant, and yet continue to colonize the gaping hole in my leg. And if that first nurse, the one who said all wounds heal differently, had listened... well, I wouldn't be in this situation at all. Had it been treated correctly way back in January, all of this would have been avoided.

Speak up folks, and be loud.

But That's So Selfish (Plus a Leg Update)

Forgive me if I include a very brief leg update for the curious: Still scheduled to be admitted the morning of May 11th, will go home 5-7 days later. The psuedomonas turned out to be susceptible to Cipro, so I'm taking very high doses of that and Augmentin up until that morning. A "colony" of bacteria was removed by the nurse today, which will be cultured and verified as something that either Cipro or Augmentin will kill. Slurpy's working well. Pain is decreasing. There are several small eschars (areas of hard, dead tissue) and several obvious colonies of bacteria, but over all, the wound is looking better than it has since the original surgery. Talked to the doctor about some concerns I have related to the PTSD. The result? He understood. I will have a private room. I will not be catheterized and I will not be required to use a bedpan. Over all, a very productive day.

Okay. Now that that's over with, the meat of this post.

Selfishness. Defined by Webster's as either "concerned excessively or exclusively with oneself: seeking or concentrating on one's own advantage, pleasure, or well-being without regard for others" or "arising from concern with one's own welfare or advantage in disregard of others." Certainly not a trait most of us want attributed to ourselves. In fact, I don't know that I've ever met someone who said to me, "I wish I could be just a little more selfish."

I have noticed that many people, myself included, seem to say "yes" to almost any request made of them. I want to give. I want to help. I want to be selfless. If it benefits someone else, I am all for it. Even if it hurts me. I have always used Galatians 5:13 & 14 to justify myself in this attitude. I've convinced myself that i have to "do it all" because... well, because that's the unselfish thing to do. Look at those verses with me for just a moment, will you?

It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that's how freedom grows. For everything we know about God's Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That's an act of true freedom. (taken from the Message Bible)

I could use this passage to try to convince you that we should do everything others ask. After all it says "serve one another in love." Right? We should serve others. In love. Because that's what we're told to do.

Let me ask you something though. Have you ever been SO busy that you cannot remember what it is you are supposed to do next? Maybe not. Have you promised someone that you'd be there for them, only to walk away with the sinking realization that you have another equally important commitment? I think that sometimes in our efforts to serve God, to love our neighbors, we fall terribly short. Not for lack of willingness. Not for lack of "yes" answers. But because we don't say no. We get so wrapped up in doing, going, and helping, that our own lives start to fall apart.

Look at Luke 6:41 & 42

"Why do you notice the little piece of dust in your friend's eye, but you don't notice the big piece of wood in your own eye? How can you say to your friend, 'Friend, let me take that little piece of dust out of your eye' when you cannot see that big piece of wood in your own eye?! You hypocrite! First, take the wood out of your own eye. Then you will see clearly to take the dust out of your friend's eye.

I always looked at that passage as sort of applying to them. You know, those other people who sit in church with you. But you know what? It's talking to me. The reason I didn't think it was? Well... I am pretty sure I would notice if I got a big piece of wood in my eye. Even if it was metaphorical, like getting entrenched in sin. Or failing to meet my commitments. Or failing to manage my finances. Becoming unsubmissive to my husband. Wouldn't I?

Maybe. If I had time to pay attention to that sort of thing. You know, in between all of the loving my neighbor that I have to do.

Face it. We cannot obey the commandment set forth in Galatians if we don't take heed to what's written here in Luke. Maybe that's why Luke comes first in the Bible? We absolutely, positively must take heed to ourselves. We have to take care of ourselves before we can take care of anything or anyone else. There is no way we can be of any earthly use if we are falling apart.

I am a very good example of this one. I got so caught up in wanting to "be better" and help people that I didn't even notice myself slipping back into the very dangerous, very scary habit of self mutilation. The mess I made is still being cleaned up (see the note at the top of this entry). And right now? I just need to let myself take care of me. I can't take care of others, can't see past my own mountain to help them. And that hurts. But truth doesn't always feel good going down - sometimes, it's bitter, like medicine. Right now, my truth is that I can't really do much for anybody else. I hate it. Loathe it. Want to deny or ignore it. Or both. But I can't. I have to heed it, or I'll wind up with not just a big stick in my eye, but an entire log jamb. And that would certainly help my neighbor, right? Well... maybe not so much.

A little bit further in Luke, it we see what exactly it was that Christ came to do. We are called to be Christians, or Christ-Like. So maybe we ought to read what He did, so we know what we ought to be doing. Read Luke 19:10 with me:

The Son of Man (Christ Jesus) came to find lost people and save them.

Well, that's simple. If we're to love people, and be like Christ, we should be out finding lost people and saving them.

I will be honest. Right now, I feel selfish. I am not out finding lost people and saving them. I am barely getting through my days, battling a systemic infection, fighting to keep my leg, looking at my 3rd urgent surgery in so many weeks. Praying that this one the last - the surgeon isn't sure it will be.

Am I a bad Christian for this? Am I failing? I've stepped back from some of the "helps" things that I usually do. I spend less time now "reaching out." I am asking others to help me. I am trying to force myself to let them. Everything in me is screaming out "THIS IS SO SELFISH."

But then I read this in Matthew. Matthew comes before Luke the way we arrange our Bibles, but this account is after the commandment to love, and after we see what Jesus came to do.

Read Matthew 14, verses 22 and 23:

As soon as the meal was finished, He (Jesus) insisted that the disciples get in the boat and go on ahead to the other side while He dismissed the people. When the crowd dispersed, He climbed the mountainside so He could be by Himself and pray. He stayed there alone, late into the night.

So. There you have it. Jesus, who was perfect, drew away for a time. He spent time alone. He prayed, and He didn't do it for just a little while. He did it late into the night. He didn't just happen to find Himself alone, either. He sent everyone away. He took care of Himself. I don't believe that He would have been able to do what He did if He didn't take this time, alone. This time to be restored and refreshed and rebuilt.

And so, while my flesh screams "SELFISH SELFISH WOMAN" my Spirit whispers, "Wisdom. This is wisdom."

Think about it... can you find a way to apply any of this to your own life? If so, please leave me a comment. I'd love to hear from you.

Prayer Request (Again)

So I'm asking that you pray for me. There is some necrosis in the new wound, showed up this AM and has spread since. Also an area of obvious infection despite the IV antibiotics. Now my knee is becoming increasingly painful and is starting to swell. Temperature is going up in spite of the fact that I am surrounded by ice. Please pray that these negative processes cease and my leg begins to heal. If it looks worse in the morning, I will be requesting a transfer to a larger and more advanced facility.

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

>So, Slurpy is good. Yes, I said Slurpy. I have named my V.A.C. unit. It makes the most inappropriate slurping sounds, and generally when all else is silent. So Slurpy it is. It's been great not to have to deal with the dressing changes, and to not have to smell the infection. It's also nice that all of the yuck that comes from the wound is being sucked into an air-tight container and I don't have to do anything with it other than turn it in to the nurse at my next appiontment.

That's the good - Slurpy is working out well. Chugging along at a continuous negative pressure of 175mmHg, with high intensity. It is helping to control the pain (although right at the moment, I am up instead of napping due to pain).

Now for the bad. The eschar hasn't receded or anything - still black, still hard, still leathery. Worse yet, I had to do a change of dressing (add more) on Friday night because even more tissue had died. And today, I'm looking at possibly doing again. I wasn't supposed to have to do anything at all with it until I saw the doctor on Tuesday.

The ugly? I think I'm looking at surgery, again. So much more flesh has died. And there's a lot that looks like it will die soon - it's red, raw, peeling, hard, hot, and mottled with white and yellow.

But the best? My God has promised me something. He said that by the stripes of Jesus, I have been healed. I have no fear. I know this will resolve. I know that my leg will heal. That I will continue to have two fully intact and fully functional lower limbs.

For those of you who have a certain... unusual curiosity (like myself) here are links to a couple photos of the way my leg looks today:

This one gives you an idea of how much of my leg is impacted by this.

This one gives you an idea of how... icky... it looks.

You'll notice that there are red lines around the wound - those lines are where the living tissue meets the dead tissue. It's bright red there and extremely sensitive. And that's all I've got to say about my leg today.

Today's Appointment.

Today did not go how I expected. On Wednesday, I was told that I'd be having all the dead flesh cut out today. Using only a local, and no sedation. This would be okay as far as pain goes - I can handle that. But it would have caused horrific flashbacks.

Today, w showed up and the surgeon informed us that the "line of demarcation" (which is the line where the dead flesh meets living flesh) hasn't clearly defined itself yet. So he put the wound vac on without removing any of the dead flesh. Meaning no pain for me! Well, some, but not much.

I'm a little confused by this, as it does say in the little instruction book that if there is necrotic tissue with an eschar present, the wound vac should not be used until the eschar has been completely removed. BUT... I will trust him on this one. His plan is to see me back in clinic on Tuesday, and if the necrosis (and the related eschar) have grown/spread, I'll have to go back into surgery. He wants to avoid that at all costs, so we will see how things go on that front.

Meanwhile, I did talk briefly with him about the reasons he cannot remove the dead flesh with a local or even spinal anesthetic, and he's agreed that if it comes down to removing things, I will be put under general anesthesia.

So I am very grateful for today's outcome.

The wound vac itself is silly - it's like having to carry around a purse. And it makes little gurgles and slurpy sounds. And there's almost no pain in the wound itself since the vac was applied. It fits perfectly inside my boot - I just leave the top a bit looser so the hose isn't digging into my leg at all. It's weird walking - I can feel the hose brushing my leg, and I'm just not used to having things like that hanging down inside my pants. :) The doctor was optimistic, I think, and I am going to choose to go with his optimism.

His one concern was the fact that there have been five cultures done on this wound (well, two on the original and three on the surgical one). The original cultures showed 5 kinds of bacteria, one exclusive to parrots and one "hospital bug." Obviously, someone doing my wound care didn't do a good job of washing his or her hands. Anyway... the post-surgical cultures have been growing only tiny quantities of unidentifiable organisms. In other words, no obvious infection. However, the surgeon agrees with me that it acts like infection and more importantly smells like infection. So I'm on some very high-dose antibiotics right now in an effort to stop the spread of tissue death. My God, He is God. I know I will be well and whole again. I know I will keep my leg. I know I will return to full health.