Coming home and another scare

The day after surgery, the 18th, I'm sure I slept a lot and have no clear memories of. Same with the 19th. My healing seemed to be going well with the exception of a fever that seemed to come on every night but would be gone in the morning. By the morning of the 20th, I was feeling pretty good. Keith was with me and we were pretty optimistic I would be going home the next day. Wound care came just about every day to treat my knee, arm and hand. They used topical antiseptic which typically numbed the area pretty well but for some reason that day, I was having a lot of pain while I was being treated. Unfortunately, my nurse that day was a jerk. Really, with the exception of this nurse and one night nurse I had great nurses. He made it a point to stress how nursing was just a step for him to becoming a PA and he felt like he was above the job. The PT's who take care of my wounds were really great women and the one working on me that day noticed my distress and decided to take a break after working on me for a bit. She sent her assistant to ask for more pain meds for me and my nurse came back to say he wouldn't give me any. He felt that one Vicodin every 6 hours was plenty and I had taken it a few hours before so I would have to wait. 

My PT decided to call it quits for the day because she felt that I should have the medicine and didn't want to cause me any more pain. Within about a half hour I started to have chills. I told my nurse I was cold and thought I might be running a fever. He came to take my temp which was around 103. I asked for a blanket and he told me no, that I needed to sweat the fever out. I asked for more pain meds, he told me no. My whole body at this point was hitting misery. My foot was always in pain but it was really escalating with the fever and I could not stop shaking. My podiatrist Dr. Dworkin came by to check on me. He told me my care was now under Dr. Schnur but that he wanted to see me. He asked my nurse for my chart and after looking it over and asking him several questions he bossed him around a bit and got him to get a few things to try to help my fever and pain. I was elated when shifts changed and I found out my night nurse was Georgia, a really sweet woman. She checked my temperature which was still high and rushed off to get me extra blankets because I must be freezing. She called the doctor to get me more medicine, drugged me with benadryl so I could sleep and told everyone to stay out of my room and let me rest. 

When I woke in the morning, I was sad to see Georgia was gone, but happy to have another favorite nurse Ashley for the day. I was still running a fever and feeling pretty awful. It was the day of my Grandma's funeral and Keith was working so I was alone. My kids couldn't visit because the night before, the doctors came to tell me that my white blood cell count was low and I would have restrictions now. No eating raw foods, no fresh flowers, no little visitors and a sign on the door to warn everyone to glove and mask up. I started getting anxious about my condition which only increased when the doctors came to tell me that my liver functions weren't very good and they couldn't figure out what was causing my high fever and none of the meds were bringing it down. They decided to try switching my antibiotics and we started asking people to pray. I thought I was out of the woods but now I was scared for my life. 

Saturday Selfie. I was trying to decide if I should skype family, after seeing that I looked as bad as I felt, I decided not to.

My sweet nurses Ashley and Sam came and asked if they could wash my hair for me. Ashley didn't have many patients so she checked on me often and stayed to chat with me throughout the day. It was such a lonely and scary day but she really helped bring some happiness to it. Dr. Dworkin also cam e by again. He said he cared about me, couldn't stop thinking about me and really hoped I would be well- the feeling was mutual, I felt so lucky to have him as one of my doctors. Georgia was my night nurse again. She took good care of me and early Sunday morning, I woke to her taking my BP and temperature which was finally under 100. I was so excited and hopeful again that I would get to go home soon. The doctors came in and told me that if I was stable all day, they would consider letting me go home Monday.  I made it through Sunday gaining more strength and was able to go down the hall on my crutches before my leg told me to quit. The problem wasn't my right leg at all, my foot made my left leg feel about 200 lbs, the longer it was down the heavier it felt. I was tired every time I had to get up and use the bathroom. I was weaning off of pain meds pretty well and excited at the prospect of being in my own home again. 

Sunday board

 I made it through Sunday without any issues and by Monday was feeling good enough to feel restless. OT came and made me go up and down the stairs with one crutch and one leg, then had me do it again when Keith came so he knew how to help me. Every step was so hard and I knew I would never take walking for granted again when the time came for me to be able to. We asked the OT just about every time they came when they thought I could bear weight on my leg again. They said it could be as long as 3 months, but hopefully closer to 2.

My nurses came and helped me take a shower, my first shower since the accident! It was tiring but so heavenly. Keith helped me into my clothes which hung on me like bags. I hadn't realized how much weight I lost but I know it was at least 20 lbs. if not more. When the time came to leave, I was a little nervous. I was used to round the clock care and I was nervous for my wound vac to leak or another fever to peak. All that fear dissipated when I got home and was surrounded by the noises and smells of my own home. 

Getting to hold my babies again!

Keith's mom had been caring for our kids since the accident. When we found out how severe the injury was and that I would need my foot elevated all but 30 minutes of the day (which was basically the amount of time I spent going to and from the bathroom) she extended her ticket. We were so appreciative and it relieved a huge burden from us-not having to try to hire help around the holidays. I tired easily but after a few days home, was able to stop taking my percoset on Thanksgiving. 

We spent Thanksgiving at Marc and Allie Issaic's. They took care of all the food and it was so nice to have a little normalcy and spend time with good friends. Over the next  week and a half, some my time was taken with doctor's appointments. I had to go to infectious disease once a week to pick up my antibiotics and had follow up appointments with my plastic surgeon. I liked to spend time with each of the kids in my bed, reading them books or playing games. 

 

On December 2nd, the wound vac came off. It relieved a lot of pressure and it was so nice not to have to carry it around with me or worry about it malfunctioning. We took a trip to Costco- my first store outing to fill a prescription and commemorate the happy occasion.

The foot after the wound vac came off

By my birthday on December 3, I was feeling pretty good and getting around decently on crutches. My friends set up a birthday lunch and when they came to pick me up, Julie presented a beautiful and delicious Oreo birthday cake. I was so touched and the lunch really lifted my spirits. When I got home, Keith took me to Mockingjay. We have a theater nearby that has reclining seats so I was able to go and elevate my leg without any issues. We both liked the movie and went home afterwards to enjoy dinner with the kids. 

That night, we started my antibiotic drip as usual around 8 PM. Joan and Keith were upstairs putting the kids to bed and I was talking to my parents. A few minutes into my drip, I started to cough. Emmett was fighting a cough so I thought maybe I was catching it. The cough started to hurt though and I was having pain and tightness in my chest. After a few minutes of that, I told my parents I needed to go, that I was having chest pain. I called for Keith and he came down to check on me. I told him how I was feeling and he decided to call the infectious disease docs who were in charge of my antibiotics. After a few minutes, I couldn't stop coughing and was really starting to struggle to breathe. Keith hung up and dialed 911. We were both panicked, knowing I was at risk for blood clots. Keith had helped his mom when she had a pulmonary embolism and said I was acting just like she was so I had him really worried. The ambulance was so fast but when they came I was wheezing and barely breathing. An EMT came to me and immediately sat me up and started coaching me through breathing. It was easier to breathe sitting up but the pain in my chest was still so intense. I was shaking and sweating and completely unable to use crutches or a walker so they fireman carried me out the door and onto a stretcher. Once in the ambulance, they hooked me up to an EKG and some oxygen. It didn't occur to me that I might be having a heart attack until that point but my symptoms certainly matched up. 

They took me to Parker hospital where the doctors and nurses were all very efficient and kind. It's a bit of a blur but they ran some tests (that iodine is seriously cold), gave me some morphine and waited until I was stable and the results all came back normal. There was no explanation for it all and they told me to follow up in the morning with my regular doctor. 

Warming up and glad to be alive

My doctor got me in the following morning and after explaining everything and taking a good look at my history, she felt I probably had experienced an esophogul spasm which mimics a heart attack. It's kind of rare but can happen with people who have a weakened stomach lining (which I would from all of the meds I had been on). I had been having a lot of reflux so the explanation made perfect sense to me. 

That night, we started my antibiotics as usual and I wasn't even worried. Infectious disease told us the antibiotics I was on didn't normally cause a reaction like mine. Within about 5 minutes though, I felt the familiar chest pain and cough. Keith immediately stopped my drip and I bent forward and tried my best to breathe through it. The reaction was much less intense but I wasn't able to calm down for about 20 minutes. Afterwards. I went to the bathroom and Keith had to carry me back to the bed, I was so weak. Infectious disease had me come in the next day so they could figure out what was going on. The nurse in charge of me told me he had seen this before and wanted to try to slow my drip way down. We were there for about 2 hours while I received my antibiotics but I didn't have a reaction which was great. Slowing down my drip seemed to solve the problem. Occasionally, I would experience a bit of chest pain but nothing severe and slowing my drip even further always solved the problem. 

 

A couple more surgeries and a gross wound pic

My second surgery was Saturday November 14th. surgery was scheduled for early in the morning which was nice because I could eat normally the day before and try to sleep. I woke up early on Saturday morning in tears. For reasons I can't explain, I was scared and emotionally overwhelmed. I truly felt that I might not wake from the surgery and could not stop crying from when they wheeled me down to the OR waiting area an hour before surgery until I went in. I was cold and shaky and couldn't really talk to Keith and Joan who came to wait with me. Joan ended up reading Ann Romney's book I had picked up at the library before the vacation. There are some funny moments in the beginning and it helped ease my tension. My nurses were also so kind to me and tried their best to make me comfortable with warm blankets and pain meds. 

I don't remember much of this day, I was out before they got me into the OR room and came to again when they were reattaching the wound vac. When I got back to my room, they hooked me up to the good pain meds and I'm assuming I mostly slept. The surgery had gone well and Dr. Dworkin let us know that he wanted a plastic surgeon to cover my wound with a skin graft to protect my bone and encourage healthy skin growth. He told us he sent a picture to the best plastic surgeon he knew, Dr. Schnurr.

Warning: Graphic Image

My foot after 2 debridement surgeries

Dr. Shcnurr told him that he could do it but wouldn't be able to get me in for at least a week, possibly two. He still wasn't sure about my toe, we would have to wait and see how my healing went. The next day, I was in a lot of pain but because it was Sunday, Keith spent a lot of the day with me and the kids were able to visit for a while. Our home teachers came to administer the sacrament which felt like living water. I was so grateful for it. Most memorable from that day was a phone call from my dad. My Grandma Pearson had passed away quite unexpectedly. She had been in the hospital, sick from Salmonella and her body had shut down over the week. My heart was broken that I couldn't be there to see her before she passed and that I wouldn't be able to attend her funeral. I have many fond memories of visiting my grandparents farm in Arco, Idaho every summer. My grandma grew raspberries and had a beautiful garden and flowers. She was an incredible cook and I loved her wit and strong spirit. I'm grateful she didn't suffer long but she will be missed.

Jay and Sue Pearson

Verl and Sue Brower on their wedding day

4 Generations- me with my dad, Grandma Sue and Great Grandma Pauline Wixom

My nurses heard of my loss and were extra kind. My podiatrist expressed his condolences and how sorry he was that I couldn't travel for the funeral.

By Sunday, my IV had been moved several times. I had been receiving constant fluids, antibiotics and pain meds which were causing my veins to blow. When a vein has had enough, the medicine will start to burn and my vein feels as if it is on fire. Cherise and one of her boys happened to come just moments before this happened for about the 3rd time that day- each time seeming more painful. I won't forget how she held my hand while I cried and massaged my good foot to distract from the pain. My kids also came right at that moment which was unfortunate because I missed some precious time with them. I didn't want them to see me in pain. At that point, Kenzie was handling everything the best. She wasn't acting out at school and when she came to visit, she was attentive and sweet. Clara wouldn't come near me. I knew I made her nervous so I didn't push her. Emmett wouldn't tolerate me very well either. I ended up bribing them with the treats so many friends brought to give me a hug. The kids would bring pictures and fill my room with their sweet noise. When they left, my room felt so empty and lonely.

Pictures from my kids

I had a handful of visitors that I really appreciated. The hospital they took me to, was not the closest to our house. It was about a 25 minute drive and with it being the holidays I knew people were busy and I recognized that sacrifice. My good friend Cherise came with a basket of goodies for me and the kids. She washed my hair a couple of times and kept me company on several occasions. My friends Julie and Daciana also brought a basket of goodies and entertainment. Jessica, a woman I hardly knew, came by with treats and a basket filled with scents to make my room smell good. My RS president came a few times, did my hair, kept me company and organized my room which was badly needed. My friend Lisa came by several times. I know there were others, I wish I could remember them all. I also had friends helping Keith and my in-laws by bringing meals and providing rides and entertainment for my kids.

My RS president Jennifer helped wash and braid my hair

On Monday the 16th, I was feeling better. I still needed a lot of help getting to the bathroom but I wasn't so heavily medicated. We thought I would be on my way home in a couple of days, after my home wound vac came. I also got my PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line which I was initially excited about because I was tired of being poked and dealing with my veins blowing. The PICC procedure unfortunately was another painful and kind of horrifying experience. The nurse started on my left arm. The left arm is preferable because it's closer to the heart, but mine had been through some trauma from the accident and was a bit swollen. I knew something was wrong when my chatty and super friendly nurse stopped talking as he was threading the catheter through my arm. I could hear the panic in his voice when he went to get another nurse. The second nurse came in and immediately clamped his hand around my arm. It was so painful and he apologized and explained that an artery had been hit and he needed to apply heavy pressure for at least 20 minutes. He pulled out the catheter and nurse #1 left. Nurse #2 started talking to me to distract me and we found out that he lived near me and was a member of the Church. He was also head nurse of the PICC department and that eased my worries. I was unusually calm as he put a PICC in my right arm. He was so fast and gentle, I didn't realize he had put it in until he told me he was done. The mess up left my arm with a lot of pain and swelling which he said would leave a nasty bruise. Also unfortunate was the fact that now that I had a PICC in my right arm, my blood pressure cuff had to go on the left. I was near tears every time my BP was taken for several days and it hurt beyond my hospital release.

Photo taken on the 21st. The circle is where the catheter was inserted. You can see the beginning of my bruising

The rest of the day went fine and Keith was with me that night when we got a surprise visit from Dr. Schnurr. He came in and abruptly said that he would like to do a skin graft and he would be available the following night. We were so excited to hear that I wouldn't need to wait and we could get my healing started. He told us he couldn't make any promises. He would take me back to the OR, clean up the wound a little more and decide if it was ready for a graft. If it looked good enough for a graft, he would use donor skin which my body would reject within a couple of weeks but would still promote healing. He would follow it with a skin graft of my own skin. If we were lucky and the wound looked really good, he would use my skin for the graft, a piece of my thigh or butt.

I remember being overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude that he was willing to perform the surgery so quickly for me and that I had a chance for a graft. I didn't really let myself hope for a graft of my own skin but Keith and I were both optimistic. Tuesday was a bit difficult. I couldn't eat and wasn't feeling well at all the last few hours before surgery. The surgery ended up starting about an hour late because Dr. Schnurr had been in surgery all day. I didn't feel nervous going into it, just really optimistic. This time, the anesthesia didn't kick in as quickly. I vividly remember getting to the OR room and having to move onto the operating table. I was surprised at how cold and sterile it was in there and was grateful to feel myself slipping into the sweet dark sleep where I had a momentary respite from my reality and constant pain.

When I came to, I was sicker than normal. On the positive side, my surgery went as good as it could have. Dr. Schnurr had covered the wound with a graft of my own skin. I couldn't seem to dwell on that though, I felt too awful. My day nurse had me order dinner before the surgery and told me she would tell night shift to put it in the fridge for me. When I got to my room, my dinner tray was sitting on my table, cold and about 3 hours old. I found that my night nurse was one I hated. I'm positive she was new and training because she never anticipated my needs, she was incredibly loud throughout the night and forgot a lot of my requests. Keith couldn't stay with me because it was so late and he needed to go home to sleep for work in the morning. It was a bad night for me, I was angry to be alone with a bad nurse and have to experience the pain and overwhelming nausea that always followed surgery.