My Foot and The Whole Ordeal
At the beginning of this year, 2008, I realized my foot was not going to get any better. I was constantly in pain. Even when I wasn't wearing a shoe, my foot would throb and ache with a burning pain. Over the last year the joint of my first toe had enlarged significantly. Yes, that's right, it was a chronic bunion. It sounds so old-lady-ish. I had endured it as long as I could and made the choice to have it removed.
A friend of mine had two bunionectomies and demonstrated it would be an easy process and recovery. I decided to participate in a medical research study of medications after a bunionectomy.
When I went for a screening visit to the Board Certified Podiatrist that would perform the surgery he used the words, "severe bunion growth". Although I knew it was there- how could I ignore it when it hurt like it did- it really made me think back. All those years of running, dancing, high heel shoes, pointy toes, on my feet at jobs, poor shoes on my mission; and the list went on and on in my mind. I couldn't pin the result of a "severe bunion growth" to just one of these, but I did recall three or four specific moments in the last years when different friends in different situations had asked what happened to my feet, why they looked like that, if it was from dancing, if it was from running, and other such questions. At the times they asked I always responded as if they were crazy because my feet were normal to me. The growth had been so gradual I didn't even realize it was there until the pain would not end.
The day of surgery, March 3, I went to the clinic. I wasn’t allowed to have visitors so I hadn’t told many people other than at my jobs that I was even doing it. The staff at the clinic went over everything again with me. The study would last 48 hours after the surgery. I could leave at any time I chose but would not be compensated unless I completed the study. Nor would I have follow-up care if I ended it before the 48 hours. I would be administered a combination of morphine and oxycodone for the pain. The dosage amount assigned to each patient was a random pick. In addition to the study meds there was also a “rescue” med, which was Ibuprofen. If the pain did not subside enough with the study meds, or if I asked for more before enough time had passed for another dosage I would receive the rescue meds.
Entering surgery I felt very comfortable with the doctor and his staff there. The anesthesiologist had met me in my room and talked with me, so I was also comfortable with him there. I felt confident in the team that would perform my surgery. Getting situated on the table we joked about the doctor’s music—which was some electro elevator music—and then they asked, “Are you ready to go to sleep?” I said “Yes”, and closed my eyes and went to sleep. When I woke up they were moving me into my room. My foot was in the boot and I was still floating.
As the numbness wore off my foot, I could tell that my stubborn personality and lack of ability to ask for help with anything might make this a very difficult experience. I suppose I had waited too long. By the time I asked for and was administered my first dosage of meds I was in so much pain that I couldn’t sit still and finally broke out in tears. “What was I thinking?”
Soon after my first dosage I also received ibuprofen. Neither seemed to reach the pain and slowly I felt other discomforts coming on. I couldn’t focus on anything. My head hurt. My skin was itching- I wanted to rip it off. I kept scratching. The light hurt my eyes. Noise hurt my head. My stomach hurt. I was so restless. And then of course there was still the pain from the surgery. The nurse came in to perform some regular checks, blood pressure and an EKG. As she attended to these things I told her I was sick. Being pregnant she waddled as quickly as possible into the hall to get a bucket for me. I held on until she got back, but then threw up violently until there was nothing left inside me and I continued to heave. My body ached from vomiting. I was exhausted. I just wanted sleep. Each time I started to relax the monitor next to me kept alarming. It was my oxygen saturation. If it dropped below 90 it would alarm. They told me to breathe deep or sit up when it happened. So I did my best. They left me in the dark room for long periods. The alarming would not stop. I propped my bed up at its highest position and breathed slow deep breaths. Still it rang. Finally the nurse came in and I was hooked to an oxygen tank to help me with my breathing.
The first day dragged on slowly like this. It was a continuous struggle. Each dosage of study meds threw me into a violent fit of vomiting and sweating. Each moment of silence in my room I wondered and asked myself, “Should I leave now?” I laid there in the dark thinking of my family and wishing they knew where I was. I could call them but knew they would rush right down to be with me and it’s a long drive to be told visitors weren’t allowed.
I rested off and on through the night. My blood pressure was low and I was so weak. On day two I asked immediately for food and meds. I couldn’t have study meds if my BP was lower than 90/50. I only qualified for study meds once during the day so I was mostly administered ibuprofen. Each time I asked for meds I prayed that my BP would be too low. I didn’t want the reactions from the study meds. They kept telling me it was a reaction to the anesthetic but like clockwork I would go into a fit after each dosage. I would hear them whispering in the hall. I don’t think they had ever experienced anyone reacting like this to any meds. Mid-morning they had to start me on fluids intravenously because I couldn’t keep anything down. The second day started out better than the first ended but then compared quite equally.
I am thankful that I have such a high tolerance for pain. I don’t know where I get it but if I were emotional on top of all that I cannot imagine how horrible it would have been. With all the time I had I contemplated many things. There in the loneliness of the dark, in pain, uncomfortable, afraid, and feeling so alone all I could do was reach through prayer for one to be there and comfort me. He was the only one I could turn to in those moments. And He was there.
At the end of it all I was sent home wearing a boot. I wore it for 3 weeks and then went to athletic shoes as the doctor instructed me to do. I followed his instructions closely, and after another 4 weeks he told me it is healing nicely and I was dismissed from his care.
Currently I still don’t have full movement in my toe but am able to walk as normal and do some light jogging. I still choose to wear more supportive shoes, but am confident that by summer I will be back to anything I want.
A patient at work brought me a bag of marbles to use as exercise and therapy. I faithfully pile them on the floor each day and one by one try to pick them up and move them to a second pile using my big toe. My scar is still quite purple and scary looking. It swells when I shower but seems to be smoothing out ok. I asked about the lump on my toe and the doctor said it is a deep knot and to just keep working with it. So I will. I hope to never have to do the same to my right foot. If I do, I will trust Dr. Lowe to do the work again. He and his staff were wonderful. However, I won’t go back to do it through the research center.
With springtime knocking at my door I am thankful for the life I live and the experience of this surgery. Although unpleasant, I was able to stretch myself to ask for help, admit when it hurts and learn to appreciate my good health and ability to stand and walk and jump and run.
Here are some pics along the way-- In the boot just after surgery, Just after stitches, And today...
X-ray- I had to stand and hold my foot in the air to take
this at work, an orthodontic office. It’s not a good x-ray,
but you can see the pins in my toe bones, and how straight my foot is now. Three cuts were made: one at each pin and then also on the side where the bunion was cut off. Isn’t it cool!!
A friend of mine had two bunionectomies and demonstrated it would be an easy process and recovery. I decided to participate in a medical research study of medications after a bunionectomy.
When I went for a screening visit to the Board Certified Podiatrist that would perform the surgery he used the words, "severe bunion growth". Although I knew it was there- how could I ignore it when it hurt like it did- it really made me think back. All those years of running, dancing, high heel shoes, pointy toes, on my feet at jobs, poor shoes on my mission; and the list went on and on in my mind. I couldn't pin the result of a "severe bunion growth" to just one of these, but I did recall three or four specific moments in the last years when different friends in different situations had asked what happened to my feet, why they looked like that, if it was from dancing, if it was from running, and other such questions. At the times they asked I always responded as if they were crazy because my feet were normal to me. The growth had been so gradual I didn't even realize it was there until the pain would not end.
The day of surgery, March 3, I went to the clinic. I wasn’t allowed to have visitors so I hadn’t told many people other than at my jobs that I was even doing it. The staff at the clinic went over everything again with me. The study would last 48 hours after the surgery. I could leave at any time I chose but would not be compensated unless I completed the study. Nor would I have follow-up care if I ended it before the 48 hours. I would be administered a combination of morphine and oxycodone for the pain. The dosage amount assigned to each patient was a random pick. In addition to the study meds there was also a “rescue” med, which was Ibuprofen. If the pain did not subside enough with the study meds, or if I asked for more before enough time had passed for another dosage I would receive the rescue meds.
Entering surgery I felt very comfortable with the doctor and his staff there. The anesthesiologist had met me in my room and talked with me, so I was also comfortable with him there. I felt confident in the team that would perform my surgery. Getting situated on the table we joked about the doctor’s music—which was some electro elevator music—and then they asked, “Are you ready to go to sleep?” I said “Yes”, and closed my eyes and went to sleep. When I woke up they were moving me into my room. My foot was in the boot and I was still floating.
As the numbness wore off my foot, I could tell that my stubborn personality and lack of ability to ask for help with anything might make this a very difficult experience. I suppose I had waited too long. By the time I asked for and was administered my first dosage of meds I was in so much pain that I couldn’t sit still and finally broke out in tears. “What was I thinking?”
Soon after my first dosage I also received ibuprofen. Neither seemed to reach the pain and slowly I felt other discomforts coming on. I couldn’t focus on anything. My head hurt. My skin was itching- I wanted to rip it off. I kept scratching. The light hurt my eyes. Noise hurt my head. My stomach hurt. I was so restless. And then of course there was still the pain from the surgery. The nurse came in to perform some regular checks, blood pressure and an EKG. As she attended to these things I told her I was sick. Being pregnant she waddled as quickly as possible into the hall to get a bucket for me. I held on until she got back, but then threw up violently until there was nothing left inside me and I continued to heave. My body ached from vomiting. I was exhausted. I just wanted sleep. Each time I started to relax the monitor next to me kept alarming. It was my oxygen saturation. If it dropped below 90 it would alarm. They told me to breathe deep or sit up when it happened. So I did my best. They left me in the dark room for long periods. The alarming would not stop. I propped my bed up at its highest position and breathed slow deep breaths. Still it rang. Finally the nurse came in and I was hooked to an oxygen tank to help me with my breathing.
The first day dragged on slowly like this. It was a continuous struggle. Each dosage of study meds threw me into a violent fit of vomiting and sweating. Each moment of silence in my room I wondered and asked myself, “Should I leave now?” I laid there in the dark thinking of my family and wishing they knew where I was. I could call them but knew they would rush right down to be with me and it’s a long drive to be told visitors weren’t allowed.
I rested off and on through the night. My blood pressure was low and I was so weak. On day two I asked immediately for food and meds. I couldn’t have study meds if my BP was lower than 90/50. I only qualified for study meds once during the day so I was mostly administered ibuprofen. Each time I asked for meds I prayed that my BP would be too low. I didn’t want the reactions from the study meds. They kept telling me it was a reaction to the anesthetic but like clockwork I would go into a fit after each dosage. I would hear them whispering in the hall. I don’t think they had ever experienced anyone reacting like this to any meds. Mid-morning they had to start me on fluids intravenously because I couldn’t keep anything down. The second day started out better than the first ended but then compared quite equally.
I am thankful that I have such a high tolerance for pain. I don’t know where I get it but if I were emotional on top of all that I cannot imagine how horrible it would have been. With all the time I had I contemplated many things. There in the loneliness of the dark, in pain, uncomfortable, afraid, and feeling so alone all I could do was reach through prayer for one to be there and comfort me. He was the only one I could turn to in those moments. And He was there.
At the end of it all I was sent home wearing a boot. I wore it for 3 weeks and then went to athletic shoes as the doctor instructed me to do. I followed his instructions closely, and after another 4 weeks he told me it is healing nicely and I was dismissed from his care.
Currently I still don’t have full movement in my toe but am able to walk as normal and do some light jogging. I still choose to wear more supportive shoes, but am confident that by summer I will be back to anything I want.
A patient at work brought me a bag of marbles to use as exercise and therapy. I faithfully pile them on the floor each day and one by one try to pick them up and move them to a second pile using my big toe. My scar is still quite purple and scary looking. It swells when I shower but seems to be smoothing out ok. I asked about the lump on my toe and the doctor said it is a deep knot and to just keep working with it. So I will. I hope to never have to do the same to my right foot. If I do, I will trust Dr. Lowe to do the work again. He and his staff were wonderful. However, I won’t go back to do it through the research center.
With springtime knocking at my door I am thankful for the life I live and the experience of this surgery. Although unpleasant, I was able to stretch myself to ask for help, admit when it hurts and learn to appreciate my good health and ability to stand and walk and jump and run.
Here are some pics along the way-- In the boot just after surgery, Just after stitches, And today...
X-ray- I had to stand and hold my foot in the air to take
this at work, an orthodontic office. It’s not a good x-ray,
but you can see the pins in my toe bones, and how straight my foot is now. Three cuts were made: one at each pin and then also on the side where the bunion was cut off. Isn’t it cool!!
