It's the 10th of August 2021, 274 days since the accident. I start to make small steps towards recovery, I can't really weight bare on my left leg but I can use the Spin cycle in my moonboot without turning it on.
I start to think about exercise because I've been immobile for so long and feel incredibly weak. My left leg is totally emaciated and looks like a chicken bone. I get some help via a PT who comes around to my house and helps me do upper body weights.
I'm absolutely piss weak but even starting out with some light dumbbells sitting on my weight bench feels better than nothing. The blood pumping through my body gives me a sprig of hope in a dark year and I commit to doing this at least twice if not three times a week.
I even note in my Trauma Diary that I start having days off of the Targin medication which is great news and Dr Panda consultations continue to provide relief from the CRPS which is just amazing.
Darren, my support worker comes and goes fairly regularly and just having a new face around is great and he is from Glasgow as well so gets on really well with the big fella and for the first time since this kicked off (so many puns) Scotty is able to go to his yard and do a bit of work without worrying about me, that simple fact alone, that lifting of responsibility on him provides me with a huge sense of relief and for the first time I start to think positively about .... well anything at all.
Darren is very encouraging, keeps me going, keeps doing weights and I feel so much better for it. The fact that Physio has been such a shit show and so everyone just gave up on me is really bugging me. Trust me, when you have an accident like this, even doing basic exercise in your hospital bed in any way shape or form is really good for your mental health and should be encouraged. I don't care if that is lifting a water bottle up and down repeatedly. MOVE> Do Something.
With Ds help I even take Bonnie to the beach for the first time! She is elated, barks at everyone and everything and wants to eat seagulls out of the sky.
It's the 19th of August and we are back at the Hospital in Geelong for a CT and a review. Nothing good comes of it, the synopsis is to fuse the ankle in 12 months time, amputate the foot at the leg just below the knee (Scotty goes a deep red colour and almost kills the surgeon there and then) or just leave it and see how it goes.
It's just not good enough. Neither Scotty or myself are satisfied they are doing enough. There is too much pain, there is little progression and an absolute resistance to try anything different or do anything else.
I want out. And an out presents itself.
It's the 30th of August 2021 and I am about to meet the new surgeon that Dr Panda told me to look up, Dr DS.
We both immediately like this guys vibe. He is tall and fit looking not that it matters, very Australian, not that that matters, but confident and barely lets us speak, not that that matters.
He is well informed, has casts, ankles, feet, charts, frames, special shoes, ankle reconstructions all over his office. This guy knows his shit.
He is very interested in my case and looks at my x-rays, asks very few questions but they are the probing right kind of questions and he has a sense of empathy about him. And he has a plan.
He doesn't believe the metal-ware in my leg is doing anything to help my situation. He points at x-rays and shows us huge deficits in bone between my tib/fib and my ankle and the plates in situ are not doing what we think they are doing and there is a very real possibility it is infected and won't grow back like this.
He wants to take me on.
Right there, I could start crying again, the sense of relief is so overwhelming I can't speak, just grunt and nob and look at Scotty with big round eyes swollen with pathetic man tears and ask him to decide for me.
I think Scotty feels the same and although his usual gruff deep voice is thin and shimmery we consent to push on with Dr DS.
Of course this man is the busiest surgeon on the planet and we are going to have to wait but I can take it, I have a plan to move forward. He is going to take all the existing metal-ware out of my leg as soon as possible, and while I am under and he has my leg opened up like a chicken maryland he will take numerous samples from flesh and bone and send them off to the best infectious disease specialist on the planet and if there is any sign of infection he will cure it.
Then he will fuse my ankle at 90 degrees.
That should make me frightened but it doesn't. You have to understand that right now in my mind I only have 15 Digits. The last 5 on the left leg are nothing to me. They don't exist, they haven't for over 280 days now. I can't put my foot down without excruciating pain, I have to protect my whole lower leg from making any contact with anything, this includes sleeping. I can't even cover it. So why have it? It's fucking useless to me. That's why I advocated my amputation this whole time. I feel like without it, I'd be better off. Get a good prostethic and start rehab without pain. All of the yesses.
But Dr DS turns to me and looks me straight in the eyes and says, "I promise, this isn't that bad yet, I will have you up and walking in a year". End of.
I'm sold, book me in Danno.
So I'm back home and now starting to feel determined to get better for the first time in a year. Without the heavy pain meds, with the exercise regime I'm starting to stop thinking about jumping off the Westgate Bridge or head into the shed and operate on myself, and starting to think about how I might just get back on the Indian FTR yet. Better than that, I might be able to walk again.
Weights, spin bike, rest. Repeat.
A couple more weeks pass like this and the phone rings, it's Dr DS and he wants to book me in for surgery.
I tell him I have to have my six monthly infusion at Cabrini Hospital soon and he says to proceed with that and we will get me in and do this straight after, nothing to worry about.
It's the 8th of September now and Darren has come to take me to a different hospital for my Infusion of Ocrevus. He can't come in because of the pandemic but I am not worried, this is just routine now, go in, get hooked up to an IV drip and sit back and try and sleep for seven hours while the medication slowly drips into my bloodstream. Easy. I have surgery coming up and Dr DS is going to fix me, everything is going to be alright.
Dr DS rings the next day when I am wiped out after the infusion and tells me to stop taking my meds and be in hospital for 7am on the 17th of September 2021. The metal-ware is coming out. We are moving forward.
I'm elated.
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