Remember a while back when I said I might have to make a choice between having a roof over my head and having two feet? I've been thinking about that a lot because, after the move, as I've been changing my bandages, the wound I can see looks worse. Deeper. It doesn't help that there's a brown felt pad I have to stuff in the wound. When it gets wet, which is supposed to happen, it turns into a brown sludge that is supposed to be good for the wound. Unfortunately it makes the wound look scary as fuck when you take the bandages off.
Two weeks ago my wound care doc wanted me to get an x-ray of my bad foot. I didn't have the time that day, but I got it done last Thursday. Ordinarily when I do this, she comments on the results immediately, which always sets my mind at ease.
This time she didn't (and the raw data suggested that my bones and soft tissue were breaking down even further), and that sent my mind into a death spiral of what-if scenarios. I was able to kill the impulse until this Monday, reasoning that she might not have seen them yet but certainly would by the start of the following week.
Nope. So I've been suffering from the most horrible thoughts since then. As I parked in the Center for Health's lot I hoped that it wouldn't be amputation time. This would be the single worst moment for me to lose my foot, especially since I still don't have a real home and another move is going to happen soon. It will have to. I might have the money for one more month here, but certainly not anything beyond that.
So I entered the lobby with dread. I helpfully reminded myself that one wound had bled the night before, and it never does that. By the time my name was called I was practically in the OR saying goodbye to my foot.
Then, after the bandages were removed and my foot cleaned up, the doc came in and said my x-rays looked good. Cue the sigh of relief. She looked at the wound on the side of my foot, the one I can't see, and said that it actually looks smaller, and it's now difficult to see the bone that used to show through.
Then she looked at the wound on the bottom of my foot and said that it was deeper, and there was a new tunnel going through the middle, and she can see bone through that hole. Fucking FUCK. Every victory seems like a pyrrhic victory. What the fuck?
But I walked out of there with no need for amputation, so I'll take it. For now.
And then I had to go to the dentist to get a cavity filled. So my day off from work was a sheer joy today. Nothing but feared infections and numb mouths and drilled bone. Such is my fuckin' life. I remember when it wasn't like that. Could I please go back to that? Please and thank you?
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