I'm not sure what to make of this news, something doesn't feel right, scratch that, nothing feels right. My ankle feels absolutely fucking annihilated and I can't imagine walking on it is going to help any, but that's the plan so what choice do I have? These guys are the professionals, the trained medical specialists and they surely know better than me, the guy in pain with no end in sight.
There is a new plan for my rehabilitation and it involves casting a custom orthopedic so that I can start weight bearing and walking a bit.
I'm not sure what to make of this news, something doesn't feel right, scratch that, nothing feels right. My ankle feels absolutely fucking annihilated and I can't imagine walking on it is going to help any, but that's the plan so what choice do I have? These guys are the professionals, the trained medical specialists and they surely know better than me, the guy in pain with no end in sight.
I'm sent to the orthopedic place across the road and they take a custom cast of my leg. It isn't pleasant. My left leg still looks like it belongs to another body.
X-rays are taken, a cast is made, and I'm given and fitted in this weird corset looking ankle orthopedic device that feels kinda supportive but very restrictive and tight. It makes the CRPS hurt like crazy. My big toe and second toe on the left leg have now curled up and I can't straighten them even if I wanted to. I have very limited movement at all and any movement causes serious pain.
I'm sent home and both Scotty and I feel sort of strangely relieved, like some progress has happened despite the pain which I'm still largely under stating to him. We chat and laugh about the whole thing on the way home and my weird undergarment I'm wearing on my left leg.
I'm feeling optimistic so I sit up front with him in the Transit, but if you have ever driven or sat in one of those cars you will know they have a bench seat up front that doesn't have any movement, you sit kinda bolt upright which means my leg is bent at the knee and hanging straight down. The CRPS blows up and the swelling feels like it's going up my leg into my face. I grin and bear it and fidget around pretending I'm adjusting to the new boot wear.
We get home and I gingerly get out of the car using my crutches and the lightest of light weight bearing I can manage in my new footwear and attempt to walk inside.
I don't even make it inside before I hear an almighty crack and pain once again, becomes all I know. I don't know what to do except crawl back inside and assume the fetal position. Shoes off, garter device off and the ankle has distinctly blown up. The swelling is absolutely noticeable and Scotty tries to calm me down but I'm inconsolable again, not the first time since the accident.
We email the outpatients and I take drugs again, and wait for a reply. I know something bad has happened but I don't know what just yet.
The next day the swelling is worse and the pain has multiplied by a factor of ten. Drugs and more drugs and a new phone call and another appointment is made for the following day back in Geelong.
I don't remember the next few days because it is just excruciating pain. I secretly think I have broken my leg again and hope they want to chop it off this time because that's all I can think to relieve the pain. No-one is on my side with this decision so it's best kept to myself for now.
We get to outpatients three days later and another x-ray reveals I have indeed fractured my tibia, again, up around where the pin sites are located.
Rage.
All I know is pain and rage. I want to sue the bastards who put me into that stupid fucking orthotic brace and make them pay for my pain.
Scotty is numb. He doesn't know what to do, and that is is worst mode of operation.
They aren't going to do anything about this new fracture at all. Too much risk of infection for more surgery and besides, I have so much metal-ware in my leg holding it altogether there isn't much they can do for the new fracture except, yep, wait.
I'm fitted with a moon-boot this time and sent home with more pain killers.
The take out notes from that meeting is that due to non weight bearing for such a long time my bones are very soft and prone to more breakages. The long term plan is to fuse the ankle which should reduce the pain but this can't happen while the bones are soft. It could be a few years like this.
I can't believe what is happening to me. I can't believe this is the best medical advice I am getting and my desire to cut my foot off increases exponentially but it goes unnoticed because I'm not talking much and I have mostly just shut down with pain.
There are a few people able to visit, one of them a good mate Bear, and he is very good at calming me down and telling me not to cut my leg off because it will never grow back and a one legged Dan is a one legged Dan for life. He is very pragmatic. I know he speaks the truth and I just try and get on with it.
The acupuncture sessions continue and provide relief from the CRPS better than any of the meds I am prescribed and Dr Panda is also a great source of relief mentally. He knows what I am going through and also concurs that amputation isn't going to end the pain, it's all the nerves in my leg that are severely damaged and chopping it off won't fix that, it will just manifest somewhere else. He advises me again, find another surgeon.
Dr Panda is an orthopedic surgeon and a GP as well as an acupuncturist and I develop a relationship with him as a secondary source of medical expertise and trust what he is saying to be true, more than anyone else treating me at this point.
As it happens my second appointment rolls around with a different surgeon, Dr T.
It is now August 9, 272 days since the accident and I'm in a Dr T's office in the burbs, and I already hate him.
He looks like a vampire. He is whiter than a vampire, his hand is cold when I shake it and it is like a limp fish.
He has a disinterested disposition and lacks any sort of empathy and agrees with the current approach. He reviews my x-rays and appears to think about the possibility to line his pockets with cash while making a futile recommendation to do a small very minor surgery to remove the screws around the new fracture to allow them to heal, and insert a new screw from the back of the leg to support healing in the new fracture.
He would propose we do this quite soon. But it's my choice, you know...(rubs hands together in glee).
Little does he know that I have decided from the minute I saw him I would sooner operate on myself in the shed with a drop-saw and cut my own leg off and seal it with a butane torch than go under his knife.
What a waste of my fucking time! What an asshole. Dr T can go fuck himself.
I got back to Dr Panda and report back on my experience with the Vampirous Dr T and in a very curious way he writes something down and hands it to me, and tells me that he didn't really tell me what he just told me. What he has told me is a surgeon's name. I am to contact them of my own accord as someone in the public sector and see what he says.
It is curious because I can't quite work out what is transpiring here but reading between the lines, it's not what you know, it's who you know.
I go home and sleep for a bit as acupuncture really knocks me about. I take some more of the new slow release pain meds I have been prescribed, Targin 10/5, which takes the edge off the bone pain I feel.
I start looking into this new surgeon and he appears to be very well regarded. He is also in the top end of town and works at one of, if not the, best private hospitals in Melbourne, The Avenue.
I get it now, Dr Panda knows this fella, must work with him when he does surgery, and he is the guy I need to get in touch with to sort this shit out stat.
I fill out the online form and tell the story as best I can including the current status, the TAC cover, my desperate need for expert help and sit back and wait. It feels like a step in the right direction, more-so than anything else that has happened to me in the last 12 months. I'm skeptical but hopeful simultaneously. I need this.
Please get my query, please call me, please. Or I'm going into the shed and performing surgery on myself akin to what happened to that guy in the first Saw movie.
Ain't nobody wanna see that.
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