It's now 131 days since the accident and I have to go into the big machine at the big hospital, but not for my leg, ankle, foot debacle, this time it's for my annual MRI of the brain and spine to check out how the MS is traveling.
In a way, I'm as nervous as shit on a stick because I have been wondering if there has been a flow on effect since the accident and it's hard not to be nervous when you have to have an MRI, they are an anxiety inducing machine by their very nature, and sometimes because of what they reveal.
The big horrible machine and head cage that goes whirr brrr bzzzzt bang pop
I dose up on Valium and and hour later I'm scooting back out of their and into the back of the Transit and home again, jiggety jig. They never tell you anything after the scan, that's for the neurologist to advise whenever he has time to see you. The worst part is over, so I just try and forget about it.
My leg however, I can't forget about. The pain hasn't relented at all and I have another pointless physio appt via Telehealth which just infuriates me, then my Myotherapist, who I have been seeing for some time, comes to see me and has real concern for the kind of pain I'm describing and the colour of my leg. It's now going hues of purple and red and it feels like it is on fire. It doesn't look like my other one, hell it doesn't even look like it belongs to the same body:
He gives me a remedial massage, just very gently because I'm like a firecracker when anyone touches me, ready to explode upon touch. He can't go anywhere near my leg for fear I might punch his fucking lights out and that is highly possible because it is quite literally a burning, searing, hot painful mess and touching it is like someone has sliced you open with a Stanley life and wants to finger your flesh.
We seek out a different approach to Physio and I'm sent in person to another place, and this guy comes with a really impressive resume. He works for one of the leading AFL teams in Victoria as their sports physio.
But, Dr M, may be a phony I quickly deduce because he starts making me do things I don't want to do, things that cause severe pain and honestly, does he really know what to do for a dude who had his foot fucking ripped off?
He makes me stand facing a wall, and stand up on my toes, the pain is so bad I almost crumple in a heap and he declares that is enough for the day. Rather than trying to punch his nose into his brain cavity, a killer move I learnt in Martial Arts that would most certainly lead to his death, I hop on my crutches and go home and take large amounts of drugs and pass out.
In retrospect, my leg is definitely still broken in many places and this Physio did not exert due care in his approach to my rehabilitation. Shortly after this visit the pain gradually escalates to a new level of unbearable, and while I try to grin and bear it for Scotty's sake, about three days later according to my trauma diary it becomes totally unbearable and we go to my GP and do a CT scan to see if there has been any new damage. I can't remember what it reveals but nothing significant comes of it and I'm just given more pain meds and told to rest.
It's now the 22nd of May, 194 days since the accident, and my patience is starting to wear thin with everything and everyone. My foot is swollen so badly, and the redness has hit nuclear levels and has been diagnosed as an unfortunate side effect from chronic trauma injury and subsequent surgery(s) as something called Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS).
The treatment can range from physio (more pain), ketamine infusions (more wild hallucinations) and in severe cases amputation. But my Myotherapist finds an acupuncturist in the city, Dr Y (code name Panda) who lists CRPS as one of his specialties and I start seeing him immediately. It provides a level of relief that I can live with and I start seeing him twice a week. His consults are $250 a session, so without insurance I would be totally screwed and that leg would have been chopped off long ago. Thank my lucky stars yeah?
We have another outpatient appointment in Geelong and I am so keen to find out what the plan is, but it turns out the plan is nothing. Wait and see. The doctors there are so anxious about any further surgery and the risk of infection that they just want me to wait.
But I can't wait, and I ask them to chop my foot off.
Scotty turns white, and we leave and not much is said on the way home. He is clearly distressed about something but I am in so much pain that I can't work out what is wrong. Turns out he doesn't want me to chop my foot off at any cost, there has to be another solution in his opinion.
In a distinct opioid haze of pain, confusion and more pain I can't think of anything else. Chop it off. Chop it off. Make the pain go away is all I can think. Sleep, drugs, more sleep, waiting, waiting, more pain, days turn into weeks. I go see Dr Panda again and his advice is to change surgeons.
What a fucking genius! I have top private defense health cover from my early days working in a private government sector plus the insurance from the TAC should cover this. I immediately start reviewing ankle surgeons.
But of course it's mid pandemic and people are dropping like flies, hospitals are crammed to the hilt with people dying from COVID, the state is in and out of lock-down like crazy and no one is taking new patients. My only options are to make a booking for months down the track and hope there are cancellations.
I am majorly depressed, there is no question about it. Scotty doesn't know what to do and I start keeping my pain to myself, trying to shield him from what is really rapidly turning into the absolute WORST time of my life.
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