Five Hour ORIF Surgery

Finally, I got the call. My doctor told me that barring any sort of catastrophe, I was scheduled for surgery on October 7th.

Now, it had been three weeks since I broke my ankle, and I was starting to feel crazy in my knee-high cast. I asked my doctor if the surgery would impact the healing that had already taken place.

"Any calcium build up that's occurred, we'll have to shave away in order to install the hardware", was the answer I got.

Don't get me wrong. I was ecstatic that the surgery was finally happening. But those three weeks of laying around in a heavy cast felt like time I would never get back. They meant nothing, a purgatory of sorts- neither contributing or detracting from my healing process. It felt like a bit of a blow.


On October 7th, my boyfriend drove me to the hospital at 5AM. The OR surgery waiting room was already filling up with people. Around 7AM, they called my name, and my boyfriend helped me make my way to the OR Surgery.

Once inside they had me change out of my clothes into a hospital gown. They gave my clothes to my boyfriend, and he had to leave.

Then they cut my ankle out of my cast, and let me tell you, it's really scary having a weird saw drilling that close to your leg, no matter how "safe" they supposedly are. The doctor came and looked at my leg, and told me that my surgery would probably happen around 11:30 .

After the cast was removed, a PT came by, and had me show him how I was using my crutches. This felt horrible, mostly because my ankle felt so strange being out in the open like that without any support.

The PT left, and I was allowed to put my leg back into the lower part of the cast for support. I was shivering, partly because I was scared, and partly because it was freezing, so a sweet nurse got me a blanket and helped me elevate my leg so that it felt comfortable.
I drifted off into a light slumber, and woke up around 10AM.

The next doctor I met was my anesthesiologist, and she was basically the best.

She was so caring, nurturing and explained everything to me in such a great way that it really made me feel a little more comfortable. She saw right away how scared I was (despite my making little jokes and giggling nervously), and kept reassuring me that I would be ok.
They were putting me under, and administering a nerve block into my leg, which would keep me from feeling anything. I know many people are against getting anesthesia, but personally, I was ALL ABOUT NOT FEELING OR SEEING MYSELF CUT OPEN.

And then, they wheeled me into the surgery room.

And then…

Well, I don't remember anything else. I don't actually remember being in the surgery room, or even how I got there, to be honest.

I woke up around 5PM, in the recovery part of the OR. It was fairly empty- perhaps the other patients I was admitted with had shorter surgeries?
It felt really strange waking up there, and I never got to talk to my surgeon or anyone who had actually been present for my surgery. I had no idea how it went, but I presumed well, since no one had anything to say to me.

My boyfriend and best friend came into see me and bring me my clothes. My boyfriend had to run to make it to work, but he later told me that my surgery took about 5 hours (in my head I thought it would only take 1-2 hours?), during which he though he saw one of my doctors take a lunch break? Haha, can you imagine. All the doctors working on my ankle, and then clocking out for 30 minutes to eat lunch?

Anyways, my best friend was tasked with bringing me home. I was so groggy from the pain meds and anesthesia that it was quite an undertaking. On the car ride home, I started feeling super nauseous, and when we got to my house I made it about halfway up the stair before I threw up. Luckily I had nabbed a puke bag from the hospital, so at least I had that going for me.
Throwing up made me feel better, and I made it up all the way to my door before I realized I had locked myself out. Luckily one of my other friends had a key to my place, and after a few phone calls, we were inside.

Laying down in my bed felt so good. I couldn't feel any pain yet (yay nerve blocker), and the painkillers gave everything a soft edge. My best friend and I watched some silly movies (that I drifted in and out of consciousness for), and then fell asleep.

Waiting for Surgery

I made it back home from Ohio in one piece, and had my follow-up appointment.

It basically consisted of me waiting for 6 hours. I got my x-rays taken, and got to see an Orthopedic doctor, who basically told me what I already knew, that I would still have to get surgery. Other than that there really was nothing new I learned from my follow-up. They couldn't even tell me when my surgery would be, but they said that they would call me a couple of days before, to let me know.

And so I began the waiting game.

I work from home anyways, so despite feeling cloudy, I managed to finish all my work everyday.
I watched a lot of Netflix and Hulu. I cried a lot. I researched vitamins and bone-healing diets. I felt guilty. I played the what-if game.
What if I hadn't tried to play kickball?
What if I had worn better shoes?
What if I had gone to the ER instead of the Urgent Care?

It's those sort of questions that will drive you nuts. What if, what if- what if all of this was meant to happen. What if life was trying to show you something?

Eventually that's what I tried to accept. That this really happened for some reason.

I wrote a friend of mine who had fallen off a 20 foot ledge and broken multiple bones, including her collarbone and pelvis. She was in the hospital for a month, and wheelchair bound for 3 months, before starting her rehab process.
The one thing she told me (and what I've been told by other people who've experience this sort of injury) is that it was something that transformed her in a positive way. She told me that she doesn't look at life as this fleeting thing, but appreciates everything she does, every step she takes. She takes care, she watches where she walks.

In this life, so many people are distracted. The urgency to get from point A to point B makes it impossible sometimes to enjoy what lies between point A and point B.

Having been laid up for almost a month, the things I miss the most in life are the simple things.
Being able to go walk and get a cup of tea. Being able to sleep without having my foot elevated.
Taking showers. Making myself food.

I've had to learn how to ask for help, and as someone who is super independent, that's been really hard. Nothing is simple anymore. Every action requires thought and work.

One thing is for sure, after this ordeal, nothing will ever be the same again.

Traveling with a Trimalleolar Fracture and serious FOMO

On September 17th, my boyfriend and I woke up at 4AM so that we could get to the airport in time for our 6AM flight. A sleepy friend drove us to the airport, and we arrived there around 4:30AM.

I was ready for the most stressful airport visit of my life, but lo and behold, there was a silver lining to my broken ankle.
Going to the airport with a broken ankle is actually the greatest thing ever, because basically you get to cut every line and get the best seats possible. WIN!

When we got to the airport, we were checked in at a special curbside check-in, where I was also issued a wheelchair. This took about 5 minutes. Then we got to go up the elevator and into a special security line, which also took about 10 minutes. I didn't have to go through the scary X-ray machine, and instead they patted me down, which just wasn't that bad.
It took about 15 minutes from us leaving the car to get to our gate. Insane. My ankle had actually sped up our process.

Southwest really is a great airline when it comes to helping those who have a physical disability. You're allowed to board first, and , as promised, I got to sit in the front row, which gave me plenty of space to rest my leg.

Don't get me wrong though. I was far from feeling comfortable. The fact that I couldn't elevate my leg, meant that blood was rushing to my ankle, and the dull, throbbing pain I felt was only slightly helped by the extra painkillers I was taking.  Luckily, I was so exhausted from sleeping until 4AM that I slept through most of the trip and pain.


My time in Ohio was bittersweet. My boyfriend's parents and family are so amazing, and were incredibly supportive of my injury, and catered to my every need. They even rented a wheelchair for me (way funner than crutches). My boyfriend's mom took me to get my hair washed at the salon, which was amazing, because other than a quick rub down with a wet towel, I hadn't been able to take a shower since my injury

As much as support as I was getting from everyone around me,  I could feel myself feeling more and more depressed. I missed being able to take walks with my boyfriend, and the pain and pain meds exhausted me. Every little thing took so much effort, and I felt guilt that I was keeping everyone from having a good time, because they had to take care of me constantly.

One day, I just stayed in bed all day long, because I was so exhausted and just wanted to sleep. I love visiting Ohio, it's so beautiful and my boyfriend's family is the best, so it was very hard to be confined to my crutches and wheelchair, and to feel so down.

My mood lightened a little bit after I found a blog that made me feel a little bit better.

After searching through a LOT of dark, sad stories, I stumbled across Travels and Tripulations. Kenda, the author, has so much insight and deals with her injury in such a good way, that I read this blog whenever I feel down. Her healing journey actually inspired me to write this blog. It's important to stay positive during your recovery time, and with everything that's out on the internet, it's easy to get down.
Kenda's experience has been really similar to mine, and I think it's very important to find support when you're going through an injury such as this one. Plus- the rest of her blog is a kick-ass travel blog, including her travels post-injury, which is super inspiring.

The thing is, Ohio isn't going anywhere, and when I feel better, it's still going to be there. I may have been out of commission for this trip, but there will be many more to come, and I will appreciate them SO MUCH more.

The Day After My ER Visit

The day after my reduction procedure, I had to go back to the hospital to meet with my Orthopedic doctor.

My boyfriend had to work, so my friend D. drove me to the hospital and waited with me. Now, at this point my ankle was feeling pretty sore, so I was taking a Vicodin every couple of hours.

Additionally, I started taking Arnica and had started researching a vitamin regimen that promoted healthy bone healing, and I think that helped with the pain and swelling as well.

This follow-up visit consisted of A LOT of waiting. We got there at 11, and left around 5, so yeah. It was a full day of waiting.

When I wasn't waiting, the doctors were taking x-rays and telling me how bad of a fracture I had.
It basically ended with them telling me that I definitely needed ORIF surgery, and that I would have at least one plate in my ankle.

Fun!

I guess I haven't mentioned this yet, but I was scheduled to fly to Ohio the following day with my boyfriend for his cousin's wedding, so my big question to EVERYONE was if I was ok to fly.
I had googled "flying with cast", and had run across a myriad of horror stories that usually ended with amputation, so I figured I should just ask the doctor instead.

The doctor's cleared me to fly, and told me that I should just watch out and make sure that my cast didn't feel to tight at any point.

Now, the one thing that DIDN'T happen, is that I didn't get scheduled for surgery. The doctor's wanted my swelling to go way down, and asked to see me again the following week, after my return from Ohio.

And with that, they let me go, and my friend brought me back home.
Did I mention I live up two flights of stairs? I've gotten REALLY good at going up and down stairs on my butt.

Once I was back home, I called the airline I was flying on (Southwest), and told them of my dilemma. They told me that they would have someone waiting for me who would take me via wheelchair to my gate, and that I could sit in the very front row of the plane, which had extra leg-room.

That reassured me a little bit, but I was still a little stressed out about traveling with the world's biggest cast on my leg.

Speaking of that cast, it was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. My toes felt REALLY cold all the time, and sometimes they would tingle and feel somewhat numb. Googling this didn't help, because according to the internet every symptom you have means that you're about to lose your foot.

DO NOT GOOGLE.

I think it's pretty common for your foot to feel weird- the nerve tissue in your foot is so connected, that breaking your ankle affects all parts of it, including your toes. Luckily, I had a friend who had experienced a trimalleolar fracture, and after texting him, he confirmed that he went through the same symptoms and it was totally normal.



To be continued.

Post-Reduction Procedure aka I am Wolverine.

When I come to, I'm talking about X-Men. Specifically I am talking about Wolverine and how I am now just like him.

True story. The room is now almost empty, except for a nurse and two doctors, who tell me everything went well. I look down only to see that my right leg is encased half-way up my hip with heavy plaster.

"Did you guys break the rest of my leg while I was under?", I slurred. Words are hard, post-anethesia.

"With a break as bad as yours, we have to make sure your leg is completely immobilized, and the only way to do that is by immobilizing your knee as well", the doctor answered.

I tried to lift my leg, but it felt as if it was dipped in cement. This was going to be fun.

It was around 10:00PM at this time, and the nurse wheeled me to the X-Ray room, pushing my gurney against the wall. And then she left.
Now, if you're ever put under anesthesia and given pain meds at a hospital, I would advice you to give someone your phone, because if you don't, you may or may not send out mass texts to your friends with pictures of you in all your hospital glory (pale as a sheet, with tubes going into your nose) with captions such as "Don't I look pretty?". Except for the captions actually read more like " Dnnt Il ok prwty. Yay drugs.

Finally it was time for my X-ray. My technician was a super sweet, smiling lady, and after I laid down, she smiled and said, " So you're the famous Wolverine".

My reputation precedes me once again.

The rest of my hospital visit was pretty nondescript. They pumped me full of morphine and then gave me anti-nauseau medicine when I got sick. I finally felt strong enough to go to the bathroom, and the nurse commended me on my excellent use of my crutches. (Randomly enough, I'm really good on crutches).
They finally let my boyfriend come into the ER, and he waited with me while the hospital drew up my discharge papers. Around 12AM, I hobbled out of the ER into the main lobby. My two lady friends from earlier were still waiting, and both of them came up and gave me a big hug.

Then, finally we were out of the hospital.

That night, aided by painkillers and exhaustion, I finally drifted off to sleep.

Ankle Reduction and Ketamine

I don't want to bore you with a long story of what happened before my reduction.

Basically after the ER nurse called my name this is what happened:

1. Went in and they took down my info
2. I waited for 20 minutes
3. They looked at my Urgent Care X-rays
4. I waited 20 minutes
5.They made me go take more x-rays
6. I waited for 20 minutes


Then, the doctor came in and basically told me that whatever had happened between the Urgent Care X-rays and the ER X-rays (AKA THE SHADY SPLINT)  had resulted in me going from a basic fracture to the WORST KIND of fracture, a trimalleolar fracture.Yep, I had broken every bone in my ankle. Now, this is where I started to freak out. A four week sprain? Yep I could handle that. A basic fracture, with a two month recovery period? Yep, sure, I could figure it out.

A trimalleolar fracture? What did that even mean? What was the recovery on that?

The doctor informed be that I would have to have surgery, but that first they would do a reduction, which basically means the put your bones back in place to help reduce swelling.
He said that my reduction was scheduled for around 9.
A nurse helped me onto a gurney, and prepped me . They were putting me under for the procedure (THANK GOD), and so I was poked and fitted with an IV drip.

The nurse left me alone, and I immediately grabbed my iPhone and began researching trimalleolar fractures.

Now, they say that the internet is a dark place, but I never fully grasped the meaning of that until I tried to research trimalleolar fractures. There's not that much information out there, but a lot of it is bad and basically says that : "OH, you have a trimalleolar fracture? Well, basically your life is over so you should just give up, sign up for disability and live out the rest of your life on your parent's couch".

I repeat, if you just broke your ankle and are looking for information. DO NOT GO ON THE INTERNET. DO NOT GOOGLE. STEP AWAY.

At this point I had been in the hospital for about 9 hours. I had barely eaten anything other than vitamin, juice and a granola bar. And I was scared.

Needless to say, by the time 9PM rolled around I was in excellent spirits. The anesthesia doctor came in to tell me about the drugs.
"Were giving you Ketamine and Blablabla", the young (too young?) doctor explained. (Blablabla, because who knows, I stopped listening after Ketamine).
"This means that you'll still be conscious but you won't be able to feel anything. We're also giving you morphine for the pain. Now, Ketamine may make you feel a little wei…."

" Oh I know how Ketamine feels, I used to take it for fun when I was younger", I interrupted.  FINALLY all those years of recreational drug taking could be useful.

The doctor laughed, and said, " Well, then you know how weird it can get."
I nodded, and he left to go prepare my drug cocktail.

Then, finally around 9:30 PM, it was time
I've never had surgery or any sort of medical operation. So, once all the doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, orthopedic surgeons etc crowded into the little room, I started freaking out a little bit.
And by freaking out I mean crying, and breathing weird. I had stopped taking Vicodin a couple hours earlier, and the pain in my foot was insane.  The main doctor told me to start counting backwards from
100 as they started the anesthesia. I remember counting until about 40, when everything just went weird and washy and dark.


To be continued.

Two Hospitals in Two Days

After we arrived at the hospital, my boyfriend  ran and got me a wheelchair and wheeled me from the car to the Urgent Care.
Now, when we got there it was TOTALLY EMPTY. I don't know if you've ever been to an Urgent Care of an Emergency Room, but the likelihood of either of those places being empty is pretty much zero to none.

Maybe this should have been my first clue.

After taking all my paperwork, the nurse brought me to an examination chair/table thing. After waiting for a good 20 minutes, an X-Ray technician came by and took  X-rays of my foot. I waited another 30 minutes for a doctor to come and tell me that my foot was broken. NOW, at this point there was no mention of a trimalleolar fracture. He told me it was a break, and when I asked him how bad, he said it wasn't that bad, but that it was still a break, and that I would have to have my Orthopedic doctor cast it.

Anti-fun

The nurse couldn't find the right kind of soft brace they're supposed to give you and instead put my foot in a Sprain-Splint, which was made of some sort of hard plastic.

At the time, this provided a lot of support and relief to me but I later found out that it would end up causing a lot more bad than good. The hospital sent me off with a prescription for Vicodin, and some crutches.

If you have a broken ankle, DO NOT wear this kind of splint

My boyfriend helped me get home ( I live up two flights of crazy stairs), I propped my foot up, put some ice on it, and popped a lot of Vicodin. The pain was excruciating. Mind you, most people upon breaking their ankle go to the ER, and get surgery right away, or at least get some sort of reduction done. Not me though, because hey…it probably wasn't that bad of a break.

I called my healthcare provider to find out if I could make an appointment with an Orthopedic Surgeon.
And that's how I came to learn the true meaning of FREE healthcare.

My medical insurance works this way:
 In order to see a specialist you have to be referred via your primary doctor, or an ER doctor. This means I can't just call the hospital and say "Hey, my foot is broken, can you guys get me in to see an Orthopedic Surgeon?"
I had to go to the Emergency Room after all.
So, after a long, painful and very sleepless night I made my way to the County Hospital E.R. aka my primary care facility.
According to Yelp (YES, you can yelp rate hospitals), the average waiting time was around 12 hours.

I arrived at around 11AM. Now, I made a single crucial mistake when checking into the ER. When the nurses asked me what my pain level was, I (under the influence of many Vicodin), naively said, " Oh, probably like 6 ….7 tops."
Now, and I can't stress this enough. If you want to bypass the 10 hour wait time, you better start crying and telling them that your pain level is 11 and that you feel like you're going to throw up. I saw someone do that, and they didn't have to wait at all.

The thing about a County Hospital is that EVERYONE goes there. The uninsured, the kind-of insured, the freak accidents, the "I may have the flu"'s, the "my kid put something up her nose"…. basically everyone. The place was packed. I waited for 7 hours to be seen.
I made friends with the people around me, I mean, we're all in this together, and many of them were still waiting to get in to see the doctor when I left (which was around midnight).

Two of my new friends were ladies that had  recently been paroled from prison, now living at a half-way house in Pasadena, while my neighbors across from me, a 6-person family, were all feeling ill with the same symptoms. It was fun. I let the parolees use my cellphone to check their Facebook and read some gossip. They got me water to take my Vicodin with.

Then, finally, at 6PM the ER nurse called my name.

To be continued.

A Great Reason Never to Play Sports Again

I guess I should start this off by telling you a little about myself. I'm a 29-year old lady living in California. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I eat super healthy, and I get down with yoga and walking/hiking (meaning I'm not really into hardcore workouts, but I do like staying in shape).

Now, I wasn't always this way. Until I was 23, I was a wild child party queen, who probably got most of her calories from booze and late night pizza. Thinking back on my teenage years and early twenties, I can't believe that I didn't break anything before. I made it through most of my life relatively injury-free. How many times did I get drunk and stumble, only to wake up with a few bruises here and there, never once having to go to the hospital or see a doctor.

On September 24th, 2014, I made the super smart (not) decision to play kickball. Mind you, I haven't played sports in over 10 years, and my hand-eye coordination is… well it's questionable. I'm good at stretching and I'm good at walking, but running around a baseball diamond, not so much.

The game started out ok. I was on third-base and didn't really have to do much, so that was cool. When it was my turn to kick the ball, I felt pretty confident in my ability, and I made it to second base. When the next kicker( batter? kicker?) kicked the ball way into the outfield, I ran home. And then, as I was crossing home base, I tripped.
I broke my ankle in three places because I tripped over home-base. Yep. That's right, I didn't have some crazy accident, nobody accidentally took me out, I broke my ankle because I tripped.

It was strange because right after it happened, I didn't really feel any pain. I tried to get up but my ankle wouldn't hold my weight. My teammates lifted me up and carried me to the dug out.
"You must have sprained it.", one of them said.
"Yeah, if it was broken you'd be in A LOT of pain", another cheerfully told me.

"Great.", I thought to myself, "Who has time to deal with a sprained ankle". As the game continued without me (my team won ps, and my home run counted, so wooooohooo) , I googled "Sprained Ankle" , "Sprained Ankle Recovery Time", and groaned as I read about the 2-4 week recovery process.

Meanwhile, my ankle started to swell up. I looked up and decided it was time to call for help. I texted my boyfriend (who was on the other side of town), and told him that I needed to go to the hospital because I broke my ankle. He, being basically the best human being ever, came right away.

How cute is that. Definitely just sprained though, right?

Now, for the first thirty minutes or so, I was brave. I didn't cry. But not because it didn't hurt, because OH MAN did it hurt. When my boyfriend finally came and picked me up I broke down in tears. He tried to get me up, but even the slight movement of hopping on one foot sent pain shooting through my leg.
Eventually, one of my teammates carried me to the car. Now, I have this thing about being carried. I won't let my boyfriend carry me, because he's basically the same size and height as me (around 6'), and I have a great fear that if he carries me, we'll both fall  and break everything.

SO INSTEAD, I asked one of my teammates to carry me to the car. He basically was eight feet tall and 300 pounds of solid muscle, so I figured he wouldn't drop me and he didn't.

After settling down in the car, I called my insurance ( THANKGOD I JUST GOT MY MEDICAL ) and asked them where I could go. My main hospital Urgent Care was closed, and at this point I thought my foot was sprained and not broken, so I didn't want to go to their Emergency Room. My insurance provider directed me to a different Urgent Care, that happened to be open at 3PM on a Sunday, and off we went.

It was the worst car ride of my life. I could feel every bump, every turn and it hurt like hell. At some points I thought I was going to pass out. I was experiencing some serious D-E-N-I-A-L, and kept saying things like: " WOW, I didn't realize sprained ankles could hurt this much". Finally we arrived at the hospital,

To be continued.