It’s been months since I’ve blogged. What ‘ha-happened’, as a friend of mine begins a tale, is that, although I am a nurse, I needed a nurse. For the last seven months, as a matter of fact. And now I know more about osteomyelitis than I ever wanted to know. Except where I could have contracted the strep infection from in the first place: it made itself a home in the bone of the first metatarsal on the right foot. The big toe, for any non-nurses reading this. This seemed unfair because I never get pedicures and I see a podiatrist regularly, so it was a puzzle. At least the saving grace for me was that for the multiple consultations and treatments involved, I’ve only had to slip off whatever foot covering was protecting it and not have to struggle to reveal a body part more difficult to undress.
To get rid of this nasty, stubborn bug involved surgery, a self-administered IV antibiotic at home through a pic-line in my arm for six weeks and several x/rays to check the effectiveness of the initial debridement and the antibiotic. The hospital nurses, wound care and home care nurses made me proud to be part of the profession and they’ve respected my dinosaur nursing history. The two hospital roommates between two 4-day admissions in two months were pleasant enough, and one was even a nurse, but we each could have gone along the rest of our lives without the hospital’s social experience of knowing one another.
But here it is, nearly March and finally wearing identical shoes, I’m cleared from the strep infection. But in the meantime in late December I developed a temporary problem in the left leg, not related to the strep. In fact, I joke that now my “bad” right leg is my “good” leg, and the left leg is my “bad” leg. Whatever, this additional set-back is almost resolved, just in time for Spring.
Many thanks to my husband, family, and friends for their help and support, and their patience– I walk slower than a turtle. Some writing projects are synapsing in my brain and maybe in a few months you’ll see me on Amazon with a select bunch of fascinating nurse stories, all patients protected by HIPPA, of course.
But if as a nurse the situation reads familiar, you are probably right that it’s you. Or maybe not. In any case, I’ll use writer’s license and deny the coincidence.
Good to be back.