#2021sofar

Sometime in February 2013, after a few months of foot pain that I attributed to my regular neuropathy, I looked down one night and realized my foot looked deformed. It’s funny. I remember other life changing dates, Dec 13, 2012 and August 3, 2013 that were part of the year from hell, but not the exact day that I had Charcot. However, from that unknown date, my wayward foot and I have been through a lot. That single day profoundly affected my life beyond compare. There have been numerous bouts with pressure sores, multiple trips to the wound clinic, and not a single day where I didn’t express my extreme hatred for the boot.I had never heard about Charcot. It was always watch for sores, etc, for diabetic care. Nobody told me that the neuropathy could lead to… ugh.

Everyone kept telling me I was lucky I still had my foot, and I would parrot that back out. I was never so sure.But I did what I needed to do to keep it.It was almost a year since my last sore. I have worked hard to keep the callous on the bottom down, to keep it healed, and dang it, it was looking good. Then about 2 weeks ago, I got a sore. Not on the bottom, but on the side. And it went downhill from there.

I have wound care supplies that the clinic had ordered for me, so I could change dressings myself. I dressed it and made sure my retired wound care clinic nurse saw it and knew what was up. The following Saturday, January 16th, when I changed it, it was worse and there were a couple new sores on the side. She said it was time for help. I agreed and planned to call my doctor on Monday and get a referral to the wound clinic. Well…Sunday morning I woke up sick, vomiting and feeling weak. No fever, no body aches, no chills. Maybe it was just something didn’t settle, isn’t that what we all say? Basically slept til Monday. Felt better, but slept all day Monday, too. Called doctor. Had crackers and chicken noodle soup. Had not thrown up since initial time Sunday. Tuesday I woke up and felt pretty good. Had toast with peanut butter. Didn’t last long. I didn’t throw it up but I felt horrid all of the sudden. Foot is oozing. Yucky oozing.  Called doctor again. Went to sleep. Woke up to message that said I needed to go to ER.

End up going by ambulance. Sister was going to take me, but didn’t think I could walk all the way across hospital. I no sooner got on gurney than I tossed my cookies again.

At ER by about 4 pm. That’s important, because the next 16 hours or so is a flurry of activity. My foot is infected. Not a little infected, big time infected. A little before midnight, I am on my way to Erie in the back of an ambulance. At least this time, it didn’t break down.  By 1 am we are there and I’m getting acquainted with Derek and Abraham my very nice nurses. By 2 am I am visited by the on-duty doctor. She is very nice. She looks at foot which is not pretty and says she has seen much worse. Also, x-rays from Titusville show infection is NOT into the bone. Yay. They did maybe show a couple of pockets of pus under the skin.  She schedules an MRI.About 4 am I’m in the MRI machine. They are much more details than x-rays.About 5:30 am, the doctor comes back in. It isn’t good. This are multiple pockets of gas, commonly known as gangrene, almost to my tibia. There is no way to treat it that will save the foot. The vascular surgeon and podiatrist will be in to see me.

Well… fuck. I’m in shock. 

Of course, it’s up to me, but it’s the problem foot or the rest of me. I call home and let them know the news. Oh yeah, that’s right. Stupid Covid – no visitors, so I am all alone.And scared shitless.About 6 the podiatrist is in and explains in detail what is going on. Gross, gory, I won’t go into it. For the next two hours I worry.

Vascular surgeon comes about 8 am. Come on, it’s no choice and it really can’t wait. They book the OR. She and I have a… um… discussion about what my level of consciousness will be. It’s a bit heated. Remember the heart cath with no sedative at all… hey… Beth, hold your beer. At 9 am it’s off to the ER. I am freaking because I have not really had much explanation of what’s going to happen.I meet the anesthesiologist. I explain my very rational, irrational fear of anesthesia. Hear are my alternatives. This won’t work, that won’t work, forget this…. Gee thanks Doc. We come down to the anesthesia or a nerve block. Risk there is nerve damage. In my brain, that’s a lot less than the irrational fear. I go for that. He agrees. My anxiety drops.He does the nerve block on the femoral nerve and the sciatica.   

I get wheeled into the OR, leg feeling nothing. Me, wide awake.What a trip.

The end result is that from Saturday the 16th – foot doesn’t look good, but not the worst I’ve had – to Wednesday the 20th… amputation.

Life moves fast. 

After a shit ton of IV antibiotics, they did a below the knee revision amputation on the 25th.  No signs of infection.  Yay.  Following a stint in rehab at the Titusville Hospital, I am home again at my mothers.  I have a way to go, but all is looking good for a prosthesis and an active life again... without that damn boot.  I am okay with this.  This is good.  For the best.