Saga of the Foot - Part 4

Wow. You came back, even after what I showed you last post? I commend you for your bravery. Unfortunately, it doesn't get better. Sorry about that. 🙁

And while I'm at it... WARNING! There will be more disturbing images of my foot in this post!

Okay... I was off to see a new wound care professional. When asked if I'd been treated previously for the wound, I said yes, but refused to give any information about "the school nurse." I wanted a completely fresh assessment of the wound without it being tainted by the doctor that had started giving me nightmares. And the new doctor's assessment brought a heightened set of old anxieties.

His theory was that a chronic infection had latched itself to the hardware in my foot. As it was explained to me, infections that became attached to hardware were next to impossible to cure. If that was the case, they could TRY to remove the hardware and any infected tissue, but the aftermath for someone with Charcot foot is that the interior of the foot would simply collapse. His advice...? Lose the foot and get a prosthetic. 

My very first second opinion opened with amputation as the recommended treatment plan.

However, he wasn't about to have me run off to have my foot removed. Instead, he set up a consultation with an affiliated orthopedic surgeon... who was on vacation for the rest of that week, of course.

I count the surgeon as my second second opinion. He used the words "cautiously optimistic" several times during my visit, meaning that he was hoping there'd be a chance I could keep the foot, but he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. What's more, he deemed my case so serious that he wanted me on the operating table THE NEXT DAY! 

There was a present waiting for me on the day of surgery: a nerve block. Once applied, I could feel absolutely nothing below my knee. I was gloriously pain free for that time! Mind you, they told me that it would only last for 12 hours, so when it didn't wear off after that, I panicked and thought they'd damaged the nerve. A few phone calls later, I learned the time limit was actually 40 hours and calmed down.

The results? Well, the surgeon cut away the entire lump on the underside of my foot. There's no picture, but I can make up for that with a description. I had a hole that was a perfect circle on my sole that was 2 inches in diameter. The inside looked like ground beef. And in the depths of the wound, the surgeon found... MRSA! That's the super bug I've described previously. The special specialist and the school nurse had all failed to go deep enough to find the infection. I was put on oral antibiotics for 21 days. Daily wound care nurses would continue. And with any luck, I would heal properly... unless the source of the MRSA was the hardware. If that was the case, this thing was never going to heal.

DRAMA ALERT! DRAMA ALERT! DRAMA ALERT!

In the weeks that followed this surgery, my life exploded. My ex planned to go to a gaming convention with friends. Her life became all about this event. A month before she was to go, she did something that finally made me realize that being with her was a monumental mistake. With this realization came a series of phone calls to have friends come rescue me from her. (Remember, no details about that nightmare relationship beyond how it affected my foot unless it's asked for.)

While I was coping with the twin disasters that were my feet, our apartment became such a catastrophic mess that she didn't even notice when I packed all of my belongings! Mind you, it took me the next 30 days to finish packing what few things I owned because of the giant hole in my foot. And it wasn't until the day before she left - with everything paid for and her solidly committed to going - that she finally asked if I'd be okay without her for a few days. 

Oh... There was one other thing that made my plan to leave her without advance warning acceptable in my eyes. She'd been telling me that she was going to leave her engagement ring behind because she "didn't want anything to happen to it." Translation: she was going to cheat on me and didn't want the ring around to remind her that she was supposed to be in a committed relationship. I took the ring with me when I left.

At a new location, I had to rush to find wound care. I got that taken care of with remarkable speed, leading to my third second opinion at yet another wound care clinic. They'd try to heal the wound, but they were a lot less optimistic. Their opinion was that it was probably best if I had the foot amputated and started the healing path in that regard.

Then came the podiatrist I had to see for basic foot maintenance. He was second opinion number four! He said that even if it healed, there was a better-than-average chance that it would happen all over again.

Finally, second opinion number five. I went to see a new orthopedic surgeon. By that time, I'd been trying to heal the crevasse in my foot for a year. Brace yourselves again. You'll get the picture of what it looked like at the start and what it looked like just before the amputation.

What it looked like at the beginning.

What it looked like a year later. And that

blurry, handsome devil in the background

is me. Try not to swoon.

Simply put, I wasn't healing. Not completely. If ever there was any progress made, it would be undone in short order. "Two steps forward, two steps back." It was a no-win proposition.

There was one good thing about this horrific scenario. I'd had a year to get used to the idea that I was going to lose the foot, which is a lot better than most people. I also had people around me with twisted senses of humor. So this is where the real jokes start to fly!

But they'll have to wait. That said, I've tortured you with two really grotesque pictures of my ex-foot. I know I've been teasing you with the beautiful, scantily clad young woman. Well, here she is!

Her smiling face, anyway.