My Journal (continued) Page 2

December 11, 1999

The time had come when I could no longer stand the pain. In and out of coherent thought, I remember my husband always being there when I had those few moments of lucidity. Family had come to visit me in the hospital but I didn't remember them being there, only a vague thought of someone speaking to me through a haze of pain filled fog.

Eleven days after the diagnosis of amputation, the pain had increased to the point of my being totally 'out of it' 24 hours a day. My husband had started ranting and raving to anyone and everyone who would listen. His agony was watching me day after day struggle with pain that could be stopped, but only at the cost of my leg.

In one of my few lucid periods, I finally told the nurse, "it's time". The surgery was scheduled for the next morning.

December 12, 1999
The day arrived, but again, I don't remember it. I do remember being rolled down to surgery and having to wait for what seemed like hours but I'm sure was only minutes. I wanted the pain to go away, that was my only thought. The consequences of relieving the pain hadn't registered yet in my mind. I only knew I wouldn't hurt any more.

I don't remember the Rocovery Room or the hours I spent there. I do remember going back to my own room where my husband and son were waiting. The pain was still there, but managable for the first time in weeks. I remember my husband gathering me up in his arms and holding me tightly. I held on to him for dear life, whispering in his ear "Can you love a one-legged woman?". He kissed me gently on the forehead and smiled down at me with tears streaming down his face. "Honey, I love you, not your legs". I asked him if they had really taken my leg. He nodded his head yes without saying a word. I asked him to check, to make sure it was gone. Tears flowing, he lifted up the blanket and sheet of the bed and again nodded his head. In that moment of lucidness, I realized what had happened. I lost my leg. He once more held me close and let me cry. Through the tears, through the running nose, through the pain of loss, I told him, "I refuse to be handicap".

December 15, 1999
I woke up that morning for the first time without pain, without me looking at the world through a fog of drugs. I woke up with a blue sky and winter sunshine. It had to be a sign. The pain was almost gone completely by now. My stump was uncomfortable at times, but for the most part I dealt with it. I rarely used my push button of Morphine and even the nurses were surprised when I stopped using it altogether.

I'm not sure when the decision came to me, or if it was a conscious decision at all, but acceptance found it's way to my mind and my heart. I know I cried that morning, cried to myself for the loss of what I knew I'd never have again. A normal life. How was I going to cope? How would my family cope? Would I ever walk again? These were questions I couldn't answer and not having the answers scared the hell out of me. I knew I couldn't do it alone, but where could I turn? Where would I get the strength to be strong again?

December 16, 1999
I found out that morning I would be on blood thinners for the rest of my life since my blood had a tendency to clot. Heparin, used during all surgeries to keep the blood from forming clots, was given to me even after my surgery. I was given the Heparin as a shot in the stomach. Come to find out, I was allergic to the Heparin and I formed a horrible bubble-like blister that took months to heal. But that wasn't the end of my problems.

I noticed I was having my blood taken almost every 4 hours. I didn't think about it really, I didn't question it, I thought it was part of my care. I had been running a temperature of 100-102 degrees since the surgery. I hadn't given it much thought because I was so happy to be pain free, nothing bothered me. Dr. E came in that afternoon to tell me that I had an infection in my body and they had tried every possible antibiotic they had, but nothing was touching it, nothing was taking the infection away. Of course, this news wasn't good, it scared us both because when I asked Dr E what would happen if they couldn't find an antibiotic to take the infection away, he never really answered my question. He only said "lets take that road when it comes". That night my husband and I cried again. I cried myself to sleep. I lost my leg, now would I lose my life too?

December 19, 1999
For 2 days, nothing changed. That morning I woke up to the same beautiful day outside, but for me it was cloudy and overcast. The world around me was caving into a black world I couldn't get away from. I cried some more, not knowing where to turn, where to get the strength to go on. I hadn't realized that my strength had always been there, I just needed to find it again. I hadn't been a religious person for a very long time, neither had my husband, but that morning I found the spirit I needed, and it was God who gave it to me. For the first time since I was 16 years old, I said a prayer. It was a long prayer. I talked to God, I asked him to help me, to give me strength to do what was necessary, to take away the hurt and pain. I left my burden, my heart, my life in God's hands.

Afterwards, I felt as though a part of me was reborn. My heart felt as though I could take on the world and my mind agreed. I had only one obstacle. My husband. I wondered how he would take to my new found faith.

When he came into my room that morning, I was apphrensive about telling him. I was sitting with my good leg and my stump, all bandaged up, on the side of my bed. I had surprised everyone by taking my own initiave and doing things on my own. He looked so pleased when he came into the room and saw me sitting there. I asked him to sit down beside me. With my arms around him I told him. But, it wasn't him that was surprised, it was me. After worrying about how he would take to my new found faith, he already started his journey to God.

When he had gotten home that Saturday night, he called an old high school friend to let her know how I was doing. It was then that he had told her about the infection that wouldn't go away, that antibiotics were no good against whatever it was that could take my life. The two of them said a prayer, right there on the phone. The next morning (Sunday), she called 3 of her friends, each one belonging to a different church and ask that they and their congregation pray for me. To say the least, I was astounded. To have that many people praying for me was overwhelming. My husband and I said our first prayer together that morning. It was the first of many.

December 20, 1999
Five days before Christmas and I was still in the hospital. To say the least I was far from being in the 'Christmas Spirit'. I had put my family through hell and I was terrified I wouldn't be around for the next Christmas. My husband and I talked, we prayed, we made plans as though the dire circumstances surrounding us was only an obstacle to overcome. At 10:00AM Dr. E came into my room, which was unusual. He always made his rounds in the afternoon, and seeing him so early only made my heart beat faster. What would he tell us? Had they found an antibiotic to take away the infection still running through my body? Or had all avenues been fought and time was the only thing we had? I looked at my husband as he glanced at me, both of us asking the same questions to ourselves.

Dr. E is a no-nonsense doctor. He tells you like it is without sugar coating anything. He wants you to know what is going on when it happens, and for that I respect the man wholeheartedly. He walked in and glanced at both of us, no smile, nothing to give away what he was about to tell us. "You can go home on Wednesday, only if you get some Physical Therapy and Occupational Therapy done in the next two days." That was it. I know the look on my face had to be one of total shock. "Home?" I asked. He nodded his head. "Home." I looked at my husband, he looked at me and we both looked at Dr. E. "What about the infection?" I asked. He had started unwrapping my stump, checking on it's progress. "It's gone." he said simply. Getting information from this man was like pulling teeth!! "What do you mean, gone?" I demanded, my voice giving away my frustration. He looked at me and a small grin came over his face. "It's gone. I can't explain it, but it is." My husband and I looked at each other and I started to cry as we both squeezed each others hand hard, realization hitting like a bolt of lightening. We had seen our first miracle. God had listened to 3 congregations of people praying for me.

Now that I knew I was going to live, the road to recovery lay in front of me. I was terrified of Physical Therapy, I had no idea what they were going to do. My first visit was at 2:00PM that same afternoon. I surprised my therapist as well as myself by walking 10 feet with my walker, without assistance. He then had me do exercises which wore me out, but the feeling of freedom was just around the corner and I wasn't going to let it go. Occupational Therapy wasn't easy either. The upper body strengthening exercises cramped my arms so bad, I knew the next day I would be hurting something awful. I was sent back to my room aching and every muscle in my body hurting from the strain. By now I had eliminated the use of Morphine, so Tylenol was all that I could use to ease my poor aching body. But I was going home, I could endure anything!

December 21, 1999
One more day! Just one more day and I would be home! The thought of leaving the hospital after 3 weeks was overwhelming. But I still had to go through TWO, yes 2 more sessions of Physical and Occupational Therapy. Dr. E was making sure I went home safe so he set me up with a morning AND afternoon session of both. My body was aching more than it had yesterday, but I knew I had to complete the therapies or I wouldn't go home. That morning during Physical Therapy, I again surprised my therapist and myself by walking 70 feet with my walker, unassisted. The exercises came easier than I had thought, though I hurt, I handled them well. I had only one problem to deal with in Physical Therapy. Going up stairs.

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