Back in June of 2015 it was determined that the cancer had metastasized to the bone of my left leg. I had radiation therapy for five days at the end of June. A month later I twisted my right knee. The Fall would see me barely able to walk. Finally during the past three weeks my right knee felt strong. I walked. A lot. Earlier in the week I was feeling some pain in left shin, Tylonol seemed to manage that. Secretly I was afraid the cancer had returned.
What happened next was a change of life. My mobility failed me by walking down my basement steps on Saturday November 21. One moment I was descending the steps, the next I was holding onto the handrail, screaming for JoAnne to help. But Jo had left for work mere minutes ago. I was alone, on my steps, knowing I had broken my left leg.
Still yelling for help that no one could hear, I crawled up my steps. Then along the kitchen floor to the nearest phone. I was able to reach it. Then to the fridge for my neighbors number. I called, the desperation and fear in my voice asking for help. I was greeted by voice mail. My plea for help left, I had a realization. My workbench had a hot soldering iron on it. Visions of my house burning down made me do a crazy thing: I crawled back down those stairs that have twice changed my life. I crawled further still, into my workshop, reaching up to turn off the soldering iron. Still galvanized with some energy that came from somewhere unknown, I crawled up my stairs again, across the kitchen floor, opening my front door. Finally I called 911, and got the Ambulance dispatcher.
In the midst of the call my neighbors arrived at the door, their looks of concern remain forever in my memory. I actually cancelled the call for the Ambulance, thinking I wasn't in pain and they'd just drive me to the ER. My neighbor Mike, a former ambulance attendant himself calmly assessed me and concluded an ambulance was warranted. Once more I called and in a short time I had two very professional ambulance attendants in my house. A plastic-type brace was placed on my left leg, securing it. Next I was put into a chair, to carry me out the house. My three steps leading into the house were no obstacle for these folks. Finally I was smoothly transferred to a gurney, and for the first time in my life, I would have an ambulance ride.
Adrenaline, shock, fear, all those combined to keep my blood presure high. I felt no pain at all during this time, either from the break or during the ride to the ER. My bad jokes were endured by my ambulance host with good graces; she no doubt has seen this behavior many times before. I arrived at the ER and was whisked inside. I was in good spirits. I knew I had a broken leg and that I'd probably have a cast. What I didn't yet realize were the extent of the changes this would bring into my life. What I would soon realize was the effect it would have on JoAnne. Caregiver extraordinaire, her burden would soon become heavier.
Once inside and registered in the ER, I was put into an exam room. My doctor naturally called for Xrays. I'm shuttled down to the ER Xray room, the tech smoothly managing positioning my bad leg with a minimum of yelping from me. No pain, unless I twisted my leg. Or moved my leg. I guess the adrenaline was wearing off. Xrays completed, back to the ER room to wait for the results.
Soon enough the ER doc has reviewed the pictures and determined that it was a 'simple' break, without too much displacement. That meant no setting of the bone, it would be in a cast 'as-is'. It looked pretty deformed to me but it's only my leg. First challenge: pants.
In order to put on the cast, my pants would be removed. They wouldn't be able to go over the cast. Our first winter-type storm, with snow and freezing temperatures would greet me when I left the hospital. I didn't want to go outside in a hospital gown, so Jo drove home to pick up some baggier shorts. The temporary splint would fit under those no problem. By now I had been in the ER over four and half hours. Time was going by quickly, the mini tablet I had was spewing forth emails to family and friends. I was distracted from the reality of what was going on around me. Then, I realized that laying there, on yet another Hospital bed, that this was not going to be my last time here.
Alone, tired, the shock and andrenaline gone I was moved to tears with the realization that my life was irrevocably changed. I won't ever walk like Terry once did. My mobility, my freedom is now gone. But the worst were the thoughts about my partner JoAnne: on her shoulders would all my care lie. I cried in that ER, thinking about how unfair it was that something that affects me affects all those around me. Not for the last time I wondered if this was all worth it.
Tears are cathartic and cleansing. At least that's what everyone tells me. The good news is that I did a lot of that cleansing after I left the ER. The temporary cast was applied and as the wet strips hardened I felt better. I still wasn't experiencing any traumatic pain, I was being cared for by professionals, I had nurses asking me about my cancer journey. The compassion of all the medical professionals was evident in their concern and care. I did not feel alone.
When I got my shorts I was able to change without too much trouble. Now the ER doc with three nurses assisting put on my temporary cast. It's weird, the layers go on soft and wet, and warm. The heat transforming a soggy bunch of fabric into a rigid cast within 20 minutes. I get my discharge paperwork, and an appointment time for the fixed cast at the Fracture clinic, scheduled for Sunday morning at 730 am. After five and half hours in the ER, I can go home.
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| Me with my temporary cast 20151121 |
Getting home would be the next challenge. From the ER I would use a wheelchair to bring me to the car waiting to pick me up. I'm tall, and a cast that prevented my knee from bending presented a logistics option: how to get in.
But I managed through grit and perseverance (and ignoring, mostly, the painful reminders of why I was wearing a cast). Getting out of the car and going up my steps would be the second challenge. That's where my guardian angel, in the form of my neighbor Mike once again rescued me.
I was able to extricate myself from the car, and clumsily used the crutches I had used for my previous knee injury. It was a shaky entry into the landing. There were two more steps to climb before I would be in the house. That's when my angel helped. With practiced ease of someone trained in helping people, I was gently helped up the stairs. Hands locked on my wrists I was placed onto a chair, from which I could once again stand on shaky legs.
My adventure would continue, I could barely walk even with crutches. The pain albeit minor, still announced it's presence whenever it decided I did something stupid. Which I did routinely. Everyday activities - getting dressed or undressed -pulling off my shoes and socks were an adventure in engineering. And the worst part -my bathroom commode faces my bathtub. With less than 24 inches of free space, my cast preventing me from bending my knee caused the use of the facilities to be far more acrobatic than anticipated. I also know why there are hand rails in bathrooms. Pity I don't have one in mine.
I am if not smart, at least determined. I managed to overcome my obstacles one at a time. For the most part my usual method is patience. Wait long enough and problems resolve themselves. In two months (probably more...) my leg might be healed and this won't be a problem anymore. Knowing that the problems will go away in time however doesn't replace the reality of the now: sleeping with a cast is damn uncomfortable. I like to sleep on my right side. A left leg break prevents that. I would doze through the night, eventually and be awake by 6am to go to the Fracture clinic.
Even though I had a cast put on my the ER doc, it was temporary. The Fracture clinic would asses and put on the 'real' cast. Sunday morning at 730am I'm sitting in another wheelchair, waiting my turn to get a new cast. I guessed it would be better, more rigid and not have that annoying back-of-the-knee extension that prevent my leg from bending. Go figure, I was wrong again.
I did get the new rigid cast, only it went up to mid thigh. The reason for a full-leg cast was so the tibia didn't twist. Originally the doctor assessed me and suggested that I have surgery to implant a metal rod to structurally support the leg. While I wasn't afraid of the surgery, my chemo, in particular the Avastin treatment, prohibited this activity for at least six weeks. By which time I might actually begin to heal. So full length cast was what I was rolled out of the hospital with. Now to get into the car..
Awkwardness is my current state. I can get in and out of the car by careful and slow movements. The crutches worked a bit better -the rigid cast helped I think. Negotiating the steps takes time, but I didn't require any assistance. The bathroom thing is even more awkward. But I manage. After the events of the past 24 hours, I finally nap and feel if not refreshed, better. I deal with life one day at a time. Today I had a cast. Tomorrow I see my chemo doc to assess my CT scan. At that time I will ask for a postponement of my chemo, which is to be on the Tuesday. I'll find out tomorrow.
For now I have to thank my neighbors, Mike and Patty, and special thanks for Jo for all she's done to care for me with yet another mis-adventure.
Tomorrow I see an Onclogist and hear the results from my latest (17th!) CT scan. I wonder how wacky my life will become after that.
