It’s so hard not to get a head of myself here. You have to understand, this is a small town hospital I’m in and out of and I just didn’t seem to be getting better. As long as I was on the antibiotics the infection would stay at bay but within a day or two of going off of them, the infection would come back with a vengeance, and pain always pain.
Finally it was decided to transfer me to a hospital with an infectious disease doc. It was this hospital where my pain was managed so well, that I decided to take a stroll down to the lobby IV poles and all just to step outside for a quick smoke. I still think I would’ve made it if I had remembered I was wearing a gown that opened in the back and had I not stepped off into the arms of security that were already looking for me.
More tests were done, I heard the word staph a few times and it was decided I would go home with a pic line and do IV antibiotics for 6 weeks. I had some great home health nurses and did the meds just fine. A couple of days after the antibiotics were dc’d the cellulitis was back worse than ever. I went through the ER of the big hospital and was admitted once again. A great surgeon came into consult and after another ct scan he told me I was going to need another surgery to cut out all the bad tissue. He said he wasn’t going that deep, just down to the fascia…no big deal really. Are you kidding me? I had just seen the movie “Braveheart” and clearly remember the scene with Mel Gibson getting disembowled…..well, let me tell ya, that’s is what I looked like.
I went to physical therapy every day, had home health care again, and I suppose my healing was non-evenful from that surgery. It did take about a year. Ya know, when I look back on those years, the one thing that never changes is my husband being by my side. He made me laugh and cry, but him and my baby girl at home never not once made me feel bad for asking for help. They just did it.