Crazy Jacuzzi Baths & Unveiling Eve
This last week has not been an easy one. Mr. BBM ended up taking three days off of work instead of one. I simply wasn't able to get out of bed for the first two days much at all. There was a lot more pain and discomfort than I thought I was going to have. The third day wasn't much better. However, despite my surgeon's recommendation to not exercise at all for the next six weeks, I found a necessary way to get a work out anyway.
Not trusting saran wrap and tape to keep my bandages clean and dry in a shower, I decided it would be best if I bathed in the jacuzzi tub with my leg elevated above all the soap and water. Lil C helped me gather all the necessary soaps and wash cloths and a couple of towels. I figured it would be a piece of cake. I would be very wrong.
I undressed and sat on the edge of the tub with my foot barely resting on the opposite side of the tub. Once I had the water the right temp, I had to dip, letting my triceps carry me slowly down into the tub. It's a deep tub people. This was no small feat! Once down, it was necessary to quickly swing the leg towards the back of the tub, where I would normally sit and enjoy a nice soak. Not this time. Quickness was key.
The goal was to get my hair wet, washed, rinsed, conditioned and rinsed again underneath the spigot by the time the water got high enough to drown me. With one leg towering up above my body, I couldn't exactly sit up straight. To do so would be to risk pulling every muscle in my upper leg, and sitting on a tail bone that can't be tucked under some butt cheeks provides some serious hurt. Holy eroding tail bone pain!
So, with the hair finished and a killer ab workout of semi-holding myself up while rinsing and trying not to drown, I moved onto the body. Because staying cool is crucial when you're wrapped up like a mummy, it was necessary to shave the pits and legs so I could wear tanks and shorts and not scare people with crazy hairiness. Ladies, try hanging out on your back on a hard surface like a tub with one leg elevated high in the air, your shoulders curled up so you can see what you're doing, a razor in one hand and scared armpits all around. It was kind of like holding a pilates pose while slicing a banana over cereal or something with a steak knife.
The legs weren't much better. When you have legs that are nine miles long, trying to reach the bottom of the leg that must stay straight is no picnic.
Fast forward to getting out, because by this point, my abs are killing me, my leg is on fire and my armpits have been shaved in some strange fashion similar to Vanilla Ice's eyebrows from days gone by.
Now it's time to swing the leg back over to the shorter side of the tub and dip your butt back out of the tub with wet hands. That's all kinds of fun. Thanks to some well placed towels, this became slightly less treacherous. Once up on the side of the tub, it's time to slowly lower the still slightly orange foot into the water and hope that today's soak will make the appearance of the toe-nails look less like I have been eating cheese balls with my toes. After reaching down and using the go-go-gadget arms to scrub that foot like a crazy woman, it's time to sit back down on the towel, and swing the leg up, out and around. And nope, to your great disappointment, you're still radiating surgical orange a bit.
But still, crazy elevated leg bath accomplished.
This post serves as community service hours, helping those with crazy leg injuries survive and stay clean. It's my mission in life people.
Tomorrow morning is the big knee unveiling, and the end of crazy jacuzzi baths I hope. With the previous two
knee surgeries, my bandages have always come off a day or two after
surgery. My plastic surgeon wanted them to stay in place, bandages, ace
wrap and immobilizer until my appointment with him tomorrow. He wanted
my leg to be kept entirely straight for blood flow reasons and to avoid
stretching any healing skin. I can't help thinking though, that maybe
plastic surgeons have a little bit of a pride thing going on. They,
perhaps, like to be the ones to reveal the new and improved part. I
wonder if there are accompanying lights, music and a captive audience to go with the big unveiling.
Frankly, I am a whole lot less concerned with how it looks, than how it
will feel and function. The better appearance is just the cherry on top.
It's funny that I have lived with a screw sticking out of my leg,
something that makes most people want to put their heads between their
knees and take deep breaths, for so long, but yet I'm still concerned
about tomorrow's appointment. I think he said there will be no stitches
to take out, that it's all internal and dissolvable but the follow-up
appointment where the incision is looked at is always my least favorite
appointment. It's something I can't wait for, and at the same time
immensely dread. For whatever reason, healing incisions have the
ability to make me all kinds of squeamish. It's probably because I
wasn't closed up right last time and as I sat there on the table, I
couldn't help feeling really grossed out at that oozy looking tissue
that should have been concealed underneath my skin. I know that won't
be happening tomorrow, but I swear that on some level, I have a healthy
case of PTSD (Post Traumatic Surgery Disorder).
If it doesn't exist, it really should.
Leg Claustrophobia
So I'm ace bandage wrapped from above my knee to my toes and last night, I thought I was going to go INSANE! I understand my surgeon wants compression, but a whole week of it? In this heat? On my foot? On a person who can't even stand to wear socks at night?
When my two toes started going numb, I asked Mr. BBM to loosen the lower wrap. That helped a little, but my leg is a hot mess right now. It's dressed for winter and it's 90+ degrees outside.
Needless to say, I had a very rough night last night. Mr. BBM almost made me pee my pants laughing this morning. He said, "isn't bone pain more of a dull ache?" Um, no, more like hot poker stabbing through my leg pain. Yeah, that fits a lot better.
Today I decided that a bath would feel great. Plus, I wanted to get this orange crap off of me. Why do surgeons feel the need to coat your toenails in orange crap when they're operating near the knee? I swear it will never come off. Plus, it's not exactly easy to wash it off by yourself when you're not allowed to bend your leg at all. My arms are pretty long but my legs are even longer. I spent 10 minutes having Lil C grab various soaps and wash cloths and towels to put them within my reach and then another 10 minutes figuring out how to do this without drowning myself. I ended up lowering myself into the jacuzzi tub backwards with my leg propped up on the back wall of the tub. It wasn't fun or comfortable but I'm a bit less fake-baked looking and my hair is washed. That's an improvement.
I'm still having a lot of pain today, but when I hit the vicodin/ibuprofen loop thing just right, it seems to help. Elevation is key. If I could just move around without jarring my leg and while holding it up in the air, I'd be fine. . . which explains why I pretty much don't leave my bed.
I'm taking advantage of this time to catch up on Food network shows, which is sort of cruel and unusual punishment for yourself when you can't even get up and cook anything. Hopefully, my exile to the bedroom will end within the next day or two. I'm not a hang out and do nothing type of gal.
In the back of my head is this crazy kid desire to unwrap my whole leg and see what it looks like. I can't believe I have to wait until Tuesday. I'm hoping the big reveal isn't disappointing. I don't want to go from Franken-knee to Crater-knee. Here's hoping that the alloderm is worth the money and doing its thing under my winter-esque bandages.
It’s Over
I'm home from surgery. My surgeon reduced the price to $950 for the alloderm. Apparently the surgery center ordered too big of a piece so they over-nighted a new and smaller one.
The surgeon removed the screw from my tibia entirely. It was in pieces. I believe he said four. He had an orthopedic surgeon from the office where I go come in during the surgery and make sure everything looked ok. He said removing the screw created a substantial deformity in the bone but over time, it will fill in. He placed the alloderm, cut out the scar and I have no idea what it looks like. I'm wrapped up like a mummy and have to stay that way for a week. I also have to wear an immobilizer for a week and they recommended a couple days of crutches too.
It took about an hour for the surgery. I woke up with some minor discomfort. It seems to be getting worse so Mr. BBM is off to the pharmacy to get me the good stuff. This isn't going to be as easy as the last time and I have strict orders to do nothing for a week, followed by another six weeks of pretty much nothing too.
Right now, I'm just so glad it's over.
Self-Imposed Torture
Sometimes, when I want to torture myself, get all teared up and feel particularly sorry for myself, I go back and read what I wrote when I announced to the blog world that I was finally a black belt. I feel so far from the person I was on that day, just a little over a year ago. It feels like I'll never be back there sometimes.
I'm having surgery again in less than a week to remove the tibia screw and repair the atrophied tissue in my leg. Although my insurance will pay for the surgery itself, they won't pay for a crucial piece of the puzzle, the alloderm that the doctor plans on using to create tissue between my skin and bone, tissue that disappeared after a cortisone shot about 25 months ago. The alloderm is the most expensive part of the surgery.
In October, it will be three years since the initial injury to my knee. In my head, I know that there are people out there dealing with many things worse than my stupid knee. There are people with cancer, and people with injuries that have taken away their ability to ever walk. I feel silly feeling so sorry for myself, but it's no lie that my life has not been the same since the injury. It's hard not to feel a little bit sorry for myself.
It's especially hard when, through no fault of your own, you're stuck with a protruding screw (a problem less than 3% of patients deal with) and tissue atrophy from a cortisone shot (something less than 1% of people experience). I have bad luck sometimes. I accept that. But this is some seriously craptastic luck.
I've had people tell me to get a lawyer for years. Maybe it's the fault of the screw manufacturer. Maybe I never should have received that cortisone shot. I did everything I was supposed to do, and still I'm facing another surgery. I don't know how I feel about trying to blame someone else for this situation, but I'm positive it's in no way my fault. It's hard not to blame someone else. I didn't do this to myself and I don't deserve this.
Throughout the years of this injury, I've had many highs and lows. Today was definitely a low and I told Mr. BBM tonight that I've crawled back into that mental dark hole in the ground and am staying there for the time being. Let him deal with the insurance company. Right now, I'm useless, reduced to a heap of tears with even the hint of an annoyed sigh on the other end of the phone. That's not normally me, but it's me for now.
I miss my family at the dojo so incredibly much and being around them this past weekend, to watch some of my friends test, and for womens self defense training, can only be described as bittersweet. Everyone wants to know why I'm not in my gi, and I'm starting to feel like a broken record when it comes to my knee.
I'm not a complainer. I'm not someone who thrives on attention from injuries. I'd rather blend into the background and just learn something new or have a mental break-through on a kata. I'm hoping that next week I'll be on my way to being myself again. Without karate, I'm just not me.
Not Medically Necessary and Other Nonsense
On Thursday, I got a call from the surgery center where I'll be having surgery next week. They told me what my co-pay would be and everything seemed to be good to go.
On Friday, things changed.
It took one call from my doctor to reduce to me to a crazy lady who didn't know if she wanted to scream, cry, hit someone, crawl into a dark hole, or all of the above.
My insurance denied the surgery claim.
The plan for next week is that the plastic surgeon is going to open me up, remove the screw in my tibia, clean up the mess that is inside my leg, attach a piece of alloderm (commonly used for breast reconstruction surgery to attach implants to actual human tissue), cut out the nasty scar I have now, and close me up from the inside out.
The insurance has said this is "not medically necessary" and that alloderm is only approved for use in the "breast." They're also saying this surgery is "experimental," to which I'd like to say "Of course it is, you morons, because how many people have the 'common' problem of having a screw back out of their bone, complicated by the fact that they have no tissue in that area which means that the skin is basically indented and transparent. Oh, and it bruises and bleeds a lot. The screw also cuts me from the inside out if I happen to graze it on anything, even lightly."
So, in the world of medicine, where it takes almost two months to get a surgery scheduled and even longer to get an actual physician to call you back, I need two letters of medical necessity from a plastic surgeon and my orthopedic surgeon, by like Tuesday (as in tomorrow). As if that's going to happen.
To say that I am frustrated would be an understatement of universal proportions.
Because I knew I wasn't going to be able to handle speaking to anyone about anything regarding this, Mr. BBM took over and called the insurance company and my plastic surgeon's office.I tackled the office of my ortho guy and the lady on the other end of the phone from me made the mistake of saying "Humph, well I can't guarantee that he can have a letter for you." Yeah, because it's SO hard for a physician to dictate a letter and have someone type and fax it.
She was about ready to hang up the phone, when I reiterated that my ortho guy said he would do whatever I needed him to do so I can get this taken care of and that he, himself, had offered to write a letter for me. I told her that I didn't wait until the last minute to ask him. The insurance waited until the last minute to deny the claim, not even two weeks before surgery. This isn't my fault and I clearly need some help. She repeated her line and I had an internal debate about whether or not me telling her off would expedite the process or not. Instead, I opted to tell her that the screw is soon going to come out of my leg on its own if it's not fixed. I also gave her the visual of it cutting me from the inside out. I'm hoping that will motivate her to be a bit more helpful. My gut tells me it won't.
In the medical profession, people are just so used to saying the word "no" that it seems they say it without even considering the desperate person on the other end of the phone. Mr. BBM tells me I am having this surgery whether it's approved or not, and that we'll spend our lifetimes fighting the charges if necessary. I just wish something about this whole knee business would be easy, just once.
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