Just like that it’s gone! There’s no way to be fully prepared for the sight and shock of seeing that your lower limb has been removed!
I’m writing this from my hospital bed on the fifth floor of the Seattle Veteran’s Hospital.
A few days ago I had my twin brother, and several other loved ones at my side, as I was wheeled off to the operating room. Before making my way to the OR my super rad transport, Edward, paused to let me give my loved ones in the hall one last look. I took my right leg and extended it for them. It would be the last time they’d see my lower right limb.
I found myself in a large transition room/pre-op room. In this room I met the anesthesiologist and the surgeon, Dr. Lack, came by.
It’s clear that the Seattle Veteran’s Hospital partners closely with school’s of medicine. This was great because qualified providers explain every move in great detail for their trainees. I never felt like I was in the dark.
The anesthesiologist and her trainee discussed, based on the sensation lower limb, where the optimal placement of the nerve block would be. An ultrasound was used to place it. As the needle moved around it struck a nerve that hadn’t been activated in 5 years! It was crazy! I felt sensation around my right foot.
It was painfully ironic to feel my right foot just minutes before we cut it off!
Nonetheless, on we went with the process. I appreciated throughout the whole experience how much credence was given to my personal preference. I made my aversion to opiates known and shared my preference for ketamine as an anesthetic. The anesthetist obliged.
It felt great knowing there were some folks thinking of me in the waiting room. I was now in the operating room. This is the place. This is where the action happens. The room filled with a half dozen members of the surgical team.
I felt the cool liquid of the anesthetic enter via the iv and begin circulating. It took about two seconds then I was out.
Next thing I knew I was “coming to” in a weakened state. As soon as I could muster the strength I tossed off my sheets to reveal my severed limb. Wow! No foot in site!
Shortly after sitting up I was wheeled to what would become my room for the next few days.
Moments later my loved ones entered the room. My mom was emotional. This experience had to stir up memories from my lengthy and uncertain hospital stay in 2013. At first sight of my missing limb my Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
My demeanor seemed to counter my Mom’s emotions. I felt bewildered and thrilled about what’s next. This is what I’d been pushing for. I had been told “no” and I “wasn’t a good candidate” several times. Deep down, I’m confident the amputation is a solid move in the right direction when it comes to quality of life.
We’ve tried to salvage my limb for 5 years now. Nerve regeneration stopped about two years after my accident. It’s safe to say, at this point, I have what I have.
My Mom was understandably emotional. During my 2013 coma, a blood clot developed in my right leg. Concerted effort was made to keep my leg.
More importantly, the lower extremity support device, that allowed me to lost the cane, had given me the ability to do much of the outdoor activity I live for. I’m forever grateful for the IDEO/ExoSym device. It was an absolute game changer!
This amputation is undoubtedly also a game changer. First I have to wait for this limb to heal into a stump. That’s going to get my patience muscles some real exercise! On to what’s next…
I informed my physical therapists where I’d be headed to next has stairs. The social worker has also become involved with recommendations for the next step. Collectively, the decision was made to transfer me to inpatient rehab where I’ll build confidence with stairs using forearm crutches.
However, yesterday, I crushed it during some training on stepping up and down from a platform. This morning we continued that training only using the stairwell. I hopped my way up and down a flight of stairs three times. My physical therapists have been impressed and see little benefit to continued my continued stay as an inpatient.
I’m motivated to get out of here as soon as possible. The lackluster food and lack of decent coffee embolden my enthusiasm for discharge.
It’ll take about six weeks for my stump to heal up. Afterward, I’ll be admitted as an inpatient for a couple weeks. The stay will consist of casting for the prosthesis, physical therapy, and adjustments of my prosthetic limb. I can’t wait for that experience! I’m thrilled about greater mobility and fewer infections on a prosthetic!
