The Unexpected Hospital Stay

It could never be said that I am not the queen of learning life’s lessons the hard way. Why is that? Is it human nature? Or just my nature? I often soften the fall by saying we learn more from our mistakes, and I do believe that, but I could have gone a lifetime without this lesson.

It was a gray overcast Sunday, typical of the PNW this time of year, when I decided that perhaps I take myself off to urgent care to have them take a look at my poor foot that was looking worse by the minute. Maybe I should back up to tell the story of how I got here.

This adventure all started when I discovered what I thought was a blood blister on the bottom of my right foot after we got back from Greece. I’m sure it happened in Greece because there’s no other reason for me to have a blood blister that size other than for the miles and miles that we walked on our trip. Perhaps my shoes weren’t as great as I thought they were.

Once I showed the family, they immediately said to get to the doctor. Well, getting to a doctor these days takes an act of congress I swear. I was fortunate to beg and plead enough that they were able to get me into a doc to look at my foot. It wouldn’t have been so hard if, while in Greece, I hadn’t received a letter saying my primary care doc left Evergreen hospital. So, without a primary care it’s almost impossible to get an appointment.  

The appointment was a week out so I monitored and photographed the sore to have something to share with the doc. The doc I got was AMAZING. He was an older doc who was the kindest, understanding, and gentle. I wanted him to be my new primary doc – sadly he was retiring in 6 months.

Doc E took a look at my foot and he thought it best to send me to a podiatrist who specializes in diabetic foot ulcer.

Yep. I said what I said. He diagnosed it as a diabetic foot ulcer. I wouldn’t google that if I were you. It still looked more like a blood blister to me, than a foot ulcer. He said any wound on the foot of a diabetic can turn into a foot ulcer. Oh goody.

So off to Doc M a week later. I was sitting in his office starting to really worry about what it was and what it meant to me. Doc M took a look at it, cleaned it up, wrapped it and gave me strict instructions to care for it. And to set up a mtg for a couple of weeks out. Off I went.

I swear I followed his instructions as best I could. I did not walk around the house barefooted. I put gauze on it twice a day. I covered it. I didn’t get it wet. I didn’t walk around without shoes. I was doing all the things. Or so I thought. In hindsight now, I can see where I didn’t follow these instructions perfectly. I took a shower one day without covering it – I forgot. I had to run to the bathroom one day without it being covered. So maybe these small missteps got me to where I am. No matter. I’m here, now we deal with it.

Then the first week of December, my boss came to town and we all met at a coffee shop to work and then go to a Christmas dinner. Being out of the house and sitting instead of lying back with my foot up on the recliner, cause the foot to swell a little bit. I thought. Thursday night it was swollen and a little red. By Friday, it was MORE swollen and MORE red. Saturday I was contemplating going to Urgent Care, but I thought I’d just watch and see. By Sunday, it was getting even worse. So, I put on my big girl pants and went off to urgent care.

Urgent care sent me to the ER. While there, the nurse on duty got me all hooked up to IVs for fluids. By this time, I’m panicking a little. I’m picking up on the serious expressions and concern with each nurse/doc that comes in. The on call doc, Doc David, casually comes in, takes a look at my poor pinky toe and foot for like 15 seconds, then states matter of factly that “we’ll probably have to amputate” and walked out.

WHAT? Amputate! Amputate what? My foot? My pinky? What? Now real panic is setting in.  

Honestly, I just don’t think you should drop that kind of word on someone who’s already in a fragile mental state of being admitted into ER. 

Within a matter of 2 hours of leaving my house, I’m admitted into the hospital with a whole lot of questions, 2 IVs dumping massing antibiotics and a stunned woman who is trying to figure out what just happened.

They took some cultures. They did some other tests but really didn’t tell me much other than it’s a significant infection. I felt judged and scared. And in that room, I sat now for six straight days, staring at the walls, staring at the TV, staring at my foot, and doom scrolling like nobody’s business. All the while wondering what the hell this meant.