Joan’s Summer on Crutches (and beyond)

My Wednesday, May 23rd stared with getting the boys (aged 17 and 14) out the door for their next-to-the-last-day of school.  Plans for the day were double checked.   My surgery was scheduled for 1:00 pm, so Son17 would have to pick up his brother after school.

This was my first surgery.  I was feeling a bit apprehensive.  I had a brief crying jag the day before  (I watch too much Dateline NBC, and was haunted by the story about how surgical patients’ faces could catch fire during surgery because of the anesthesia).  Luckily, Husband was there to talk me down off the edge and reassure me that people DO wake up again, and that my face was NOT going to catch on fire.

We arrived for the surgery Center and filled out the mountains of paperwork.  Interestingly enough, I had received a phone call the previous day telling me how much my Co-pay would be and asking "if I would be able to pay the Co-pay in full" before surgery.  That was something that I had never encountered before.

The waiting room was amusing.  An orthopedic supply rep stopped to talk to my husband, looked at me and said "ahhh, softball right?  He told you so…"  It appears that I am quite the topic of conversation in the break room.

Back in the pre-Op area, I was dressed in a gown and booties and  hooked up to the IV.  Husband and I settled in to wait.  Doctors, anesthesiologists and nurses all popped in to say "hi" and "he told you so."  Hmmm…it must have been a slow week for gossip.

My nerves overcame me as they wheeled me into surgery.  I didn’t have my contacts in, so everything was blurry.  As they took me into the freezing cold room, I couldn’t see anyone’s face, but I do remember a small person in black scrubs springing forward to get me onto the OR table.

Note to OR staff - while black scrubs may look cool, they are not the correct color to wear in this situation.  The words "Angel of Death" kept reverberating through my mind.

My anesthesiologist was one of Husband’s favorites.  She made sure I knew exactly what was happening at all times, but, my God, things moved quickly.  People were practically running to get things done.

Son14, has had multiple surgeries, and he told me to take big breaths when they put the mask on my face and try to fall asleep.  So that it what I did…

…That hour and a half in surgery was over before I even knew I was out.

I woke up in the recovery room with no pain, except for a sore throat from the breathing tube.  Although my left leg was the one operated on, my right was enclosed in an inflatable sling, which was more annoying than anything.

I had no nausea, and was giving some soda for my throat.  After a relatively short time, I was moved to the second stage recovery and joined by Husband.

I didn’t talk to Doctor after surgery (Husband did though) and after an absolutely delicious snack of hot tea and saltines (I’m serious - they tasted wonderful), I was free to go.

My orders are to keep it elevated, use crutches at all time (no weight at all) and make a follow-up appointment for 10 to 12 days in the future.

There was some concern about how much my toes were swelling and how purple they were when I put my foot down. But, my blood pressure is always low, and my digits are always some strange color.

Off we went with a prescription for Nucynta pain pills and Fragmin blood thinner (I had a blood clot in the same leg when I was pregnant with Son14) and a flashy lime green cast.

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My HR manager the drove me to the ER, and the ride was a bit frantic as I spoke to my husband on the phone.

He wasn’t quite sure whether I should go or not, because he knew that they couldn’t help me (that would come from the orthopedic surgeon).   He also let me know that there was surgery in my  future, eight weeks on crutches, and months of physical therapy.

My HR manager later told me that, although she has never met a sailor, the words coming out of my mouth would have made one proud.  She  could not hear the other side of the phone conversation, and had no idea what my near future held.

It was a quiet night in the ER, and I got in within a half hour.

The ER doctor and his nurse had just started to examine me when my husband came into my room.

"Hello Husband."  I said.

"Wife"  he replied while shaking his head.

The doctor and nurse did not know what to make of us.  I had already self-diagnosed myself (much to their dismay) and my husband told them which orthopedics group he wanted my information to go to.  I think that they assumed I had done this on purpose and was there for narcotics.

When I explained what Husband did for a living, the entire atmosphere changed into a much less serious one.  They realized that they were not going to have a hysterical, drug demanding diva on their hands.  I think that they enjoyed having us there, because there was a lot of laughter.  We knew what we were in for,  had no questions, and I was in no pain at all.

I am glad we went to the ER, because the paper trail was started and the X-rays were taken.  I also left with crutches and a boot; but refused the prescription for Vicodin (which I’m sure NEVER happens in the ER).

You might think that my husband would be upset or full of "I told you so", but he isn’t.  (OK, I let him say it once).  On the drive home from the ER, he said that it was just my turn to get hurt.  As a black belt in martial arts, he has had his share of surgery for broken bones, and I was always the one driving him home.

"I knew you were going to tear it," he said.  "But what kind of a controlling  <jerk> would I have been if I would have forbidden you to go."

Sleep did not come easily to me that night, and I actually slept on the couch because he had to work the next day, and I didn’t want to keep him awake.  (No work for me - I called in sick for the first time since October of 2010 - what a way to break my streak of good health).

At work the next day, Husband questioned the anesthesiologists to find out which surgeon they would use.  When a consensus was met, he called the surgeon’s cell phone and asked him to see me.  Doctor’s response was "No problem, send her on over today and we will work her in."

Not every doctor will react like this, but some (like this one) are  just plain nice.   Husband has worked at his job for 20 years, and has never asked for a favor like this.  I am so grateful that we know how the system works, and the people involved.

I drove right over, had to wait an hour and a half (I would have waited for 10 hours without complaining) and saw Doctor.

We chatted, he felt the back of my ankle and scheduled surgery for Wednesday, May 23rd - three days after the tear.  Once again, I already knew what was going to happen, so there were no surprises.

At this point, my foot still didn’t hurt.  It was uncomfortable, but the boot made it feel snug and protected.

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The count down to my complete Achilles tendon rupture actually started three weeks before the event.

I work mornings as the accounts payable clerk in a large retail/warehouse setting where I sit at a desk.  My afternoons are spent doing housework, running errands and walking the bike trails that run through my backyard while my children are in school.

One of the busiest times of the year at work is the Memorial Day/Graduation season.  During the month leading up to my ATR, I was asked to work full time hours and jumped at the chance to make extra money.  My afternoon walks (two to seven miles on average) came to a halt and all of my exercise ceased.

While at work one afternoon, our Human Resource Manager asked me if I would play on a company slow-pitch softball team in a charity tournament.  I laughed it off, and told her that the last time that I had played softball was in college (some 20 years ago and there was a keg of beer on 2nd base) so I doubted that I would be much help.

I told my husband about the request when he got home that evening, and he immediately said "don’t do it - you’ll rupture your Achilles Tendon".  I just laughed.

No, my husband is not psychic.   He is an RN, who works on the Orthopedics Team in the main operating room in our city’s largest hospital.  He spends his days helping put weekend warriors back together.

When our HR asked me again the next day, I told her what my husband said.  I also told her that I couldn’t do it.

Numerous times over the next three weeks, I was asked to play.  The rules stated that each team must have four females and our team only had three.

I finally said, "I’ll think about it".   And, that was all it took - other members of management started asking me to join, and I finally relented.

The night of my first practice (5-20-2012) left me nervous inside.  I told my husband that I was scared to go because I didn’t want to look like a fool.  After all, I was 43 years old and hadn’t played seriously for 25 years.

I spent the hour before I left home stretching my muscles and considering backing out.

The last thing that he told me as I walked out the door was - "Don’t  rupture your Achilles Tendon".

It was a warm, beautiful Sunday evening.  It was nice to be outside since I hadn’t been on a walk in almost a month.

After warming up, playing the outfield and hitting almost every pitch with ease, I relaxed and thought  "I really can do this."

After an hour and a half of drills, we broke into two teams and started to scrimmage.

My first hit at bat was a beautiful fly ball into right field.  I could have easily made it to second base…But, I couldn’t even make it to first.

As I ran towards first base,  a jolting pop shook my entire body and I felt a sharp smack on the back of my left ankle.

I thought "why did the catcher hit me with the ball?"

Then I thought, "but, I see the right fielder running after the ball."

Then I realized,  "Oh Crap, my husband was right".

There was absolutely no pain.  But, I knew that I was in trouble because my foot would not work.  I couldn’t feel the ground beneath it, and it flopped around when I lifted my leg.

Sitting in the dugout, with my shoe off, foot purple and store management crowded around me; I had to make that awful phone call.

"Honey", I said.  "I did what you told me not to do.  Meet me at the ER."

I can’t decide which is worse, the fact that he was right; or the fact that, although I was participating in a work related activity; I was there on a volunteer basis.  So, there is no compensation for my injury or my lost time from work.

I should have listened to my husband.
Joan

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