Black Hole
One year ago this week, I was released to resume all activities after spending the summer and fall dealing with my very own personal black hole. The problem began in April when my neuropathy symptoms changed. I had been diagnosed with 'neuropathy of indeterminate cause' back in 2020. For me, that means my feet are numb. (Note: if you tell a doctor ( any doctor: family practice, neurolgist, cardiovascular specialist, orthepedic surgeon)that your feet are numb they will grab the biggest needle they can find and stick you again and again, intent of proving you wrong.) Suddenly I was getting stabbing pain in my left foot. Not all the time, but it was very disruptive. I made an appointment with the neurologist, but they could not see me until August. Then, in July my varicose veins got out of control and became very painful and my leg swelled considerably. I made an appointment with my cardiovascular specialist, but it was ten days out.
On July 10th, the pain became unbearable. My mom was turning 90, and we had family coming in town. My cardiovascular appointment was in five days. I just need to get through the weekend. That morning, I could not stand at the sink long enough to shave. Denise wanted me to go to the ER, but I said no. I just needed to sit down for a few minutes, so I lay on the bed, hoping the pain would ease.
Then Denise saw my foot and snapped a picture to show me. Even I could not ignore that, so we went to the ER. I figured some antibiotics, probably a tetnus shot, and I'd be good to go. I hated the idea of missing a day of work to sit in the ER, but I knew I had to get it checked out.
As soon as the intern looked at my foot they admitted me. I ended up with IV lines in both arms, getting blood draws every six hours. In addition to the infection in my foot, I had a DVT, so I was on blood thinners. My fever spiked to 103 for days. I had an MRI. The good news was the infection was not in my bone, but they were uncertain if my toe would survive. Then they issued a Sepsis warning. Denise was with my mom. I was going to call her, but my nurse convinced me she would call if I took a turn for the worse. No one wanted to ruin the party. The next day, I had surgery to clean out the wound. Denise brought a book for me to read that I never opened. I could barely eat or sleep but had no energy to do anything but lay in bed. They were drawing so much blood that thy were running out of veins to stick. I ended up in the hospital for 8 days. Those days are lost to me. I really did not understand how sick I was and do not remember much about the stay.
Before I was discharged, they inserted a pic line. I needed four weeks of at home IV therapy. Five IVs a day (two were 90-minute infusions; three were 45-minute infusions.) I started at 6 a.m. and finished at midnight. I could not drive, or exercise, but I could work from home. Three weeks in, I developed pneumonia. The ER thought about admitting me to the hospital, but in the end let me go home with a Z-pack. (I was on so many antibiotics that my body was starting to rebel.) I had a home health care nurse who came weekly to do more blood tests. I had lost thirty-five pounds since I got sick. My blood work was so abnormal I got a call to stop all the antibiotics immediately.
The 4 weeks were up, so I went to see my Infectious Disease specialist expecting to be released from care. I was still running a fever, so he admitted to the hospital again. I almost cried when I heard the news. A new scan at 2 a.m. The bone was infected now. Another Sepsis warning posted on the door to my room. New antibiotics, new IVs, but I still had my pic line, so no more hunting for veins. Another surgery to remove my little toe and much of my fifth metacarpal. This stay was six days. I was discharged to six weeks of at home IV therapy. This time it was only one IV a day. I had a special boot to wear to protect the amputation site, but I was allowed to drive and go to work.
Three weeks in I got Covid and they could not give me the antiviral because of the meds I was taking. At the end of six weeks, near the end of October, I was finally told I could return to any activity I chose. I had not written a word in four months. I had not exercised in 4 months. It felt daunting to return to my routine. I ended up needing physical therapy because my gait had changed and I had lost so much muscle mass.
It is still weird to look back upon that time. I was never on death's door, but I was hanging around the front porch for a long time and never knew it. I cannot look back and reflect on what I learned, because I was so far removed from what was happening to me that I did not learn anything except gratitude for everyone who helped me. The patient care associates, the nurses and doctors, the folks who took out the trash. They fed me and bathed me and changed my sheets and were kind as they jabbed me and poked me and stuck me with needles. (My neuropathy ends above my ankles. The rest of my body feels everything.)
I did learn one thing. I look at the bottom of my feet every day, now. I do understand that if I had tried to make it through the weekend with my family, I probably would not be here today. I took things about as far as you can and recover. That was dumb luck and blessings.
Be kind to someone this week. We all need kindness and grace.
To read more blog posts or learn about my novels, visit www.jeffersonblackburnsmith.com
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