ER 4: One Traumatic Event

Job 14:22 “But his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall mourn.”

ER 4 - The Traumatic Event

I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing. Taking care of myself, visiting the doctors I was supposed to and life was moving along. I had a stool in my shower so I could safely shower, I now had a bedside commode because the journey into the bathroom alone was too risky as well as painful, I had the walker and cane and everything seemed to be moving along fine. 

The orthopod, Dr. Wrong, had told me that surgery would more than likely mean a total hip replacement, after looking at more x-rays that the office did and that work on my right side would be risky since it was covered in cancer, the ugly cells that spread like wildfire through my bones. I told him I was on oral chemo and he arrogantly said that he offered nothing oral here and thanks for coming. I did not hit it off with this ortho and quickly made an appointment with another, Dr. No.

The second ortho’s opinion differed from the first one and mixed signals were rampant in my head. I realized that all the little stuff the doctors and nurses put into the computers they carry apparently is for their eyes only. Your information is not shared with the medical community (the doctors you’re seeing) as it should be so that everyone is on the same page. Mass confusion ensues.

My shower that day would be the last for three months. I felt a twinge in my left thigh and I just figured I hit a nerve trying to get out of the shower from my awkward shower-stool. My physical therapist had surmised that my sciatic nerve was damaged, but the ‘know-it-all-doctors’ and their x-rays said it was my disease, munching on my bones like a beaver!

The rest of the day went off without a hitch and both my husband and son were home able-bodied and assisting. My bed was the most comfortable spot to rest my weary bones so there I went, to relax for a bit. 

After dinner, I needed to pee and the commode being inches from me seemed like an easy task but as soon as I put any weight on my left leg, pain shot through my leg like a bolt of lightning singing its target. I screamed. My husband came running. I think that was the last time I saw the sound, stable mind of my calm man. Fear gripped his face like a Hannibal Lecter mask. It covered every portion of visible skin. He was now someone else.

I squirmed and writhed. The pain was intensifying as was the need to pee. I just wanted to pee in the bed but knowing I was on TOXIC CHEMO, I would’ve destroyed the new mattress. My bodily fluids were now a danger to anyone who came in contact with them, so precaution was needed. Twenty-four inches is not a lot of room for two people to maneuver someone to a commode but maneuver we tried, I made it to a seating position on the commode and I screamed like a woman in childbirth, my thigh had dropped. It was gone, disfigured and dangling, a portion of my thigh just hung there as my knee no longer was where my knee should be. Between my legs is not where a knee should be. Something was seriously wrong.

My husband looked at my leg and just short of vomiting, he said, I’m calling 911. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I screamed, in pain and a not-this-again yelp.

Yes...911 had to get me out of this literal twenty-four-inch hellhole.

I want to give all of the gory and painstaking details of the next hours after this point but as harsh as it is to read, it is even harder to write. Just know, this event was the one where I found the true living meaning of gnawing and gnashing of teeth. The pain was more intense than childbirth. Considering I’ve given birth three times (two natural) you will not read this and say 'no way'. Intense, piercing pain went on for days even with the strongest of drugs they offered.

Miracles were taking place and prayer was right there in the ER with me as the nurse held my hand and we said the Our Father as an x-ray machine was brought into the tiny cubicle to get a picture of this mangled mess before them. Their faces spoke volumes. They have seen the worst of the worst in this hospital and looking at my leg, their faces drained of blood. 

I, in my natural fashion, kept the atmosphere as light as possible and made lil jokes and comebacks as they asked for the umpteenth time my birthday and the one nurse even remarked calling me a little spitfire! The Lord did not take away my humor. In the depths of darkest pain, I cried out to Him and He kept intact what makes me special, my personality.

I was wheeled to a room, obviously going to be kept for a while and with each bump in the floor, I screamed in pain, the ER nurse held my hand through it all and even went to my room with me. She made some calls that night that went against the doctors' orders but honestly, I trusted her as I had yet to even SEE a doctor. Not calls that would put me in danger, calls that would help me, like a catheter and stronger pain medication. It was obvious to her I would not be using a bedpan for days and bless her heart for making that call!

They had to shift me from the ER bed to the bed in the room, and though I’m light, my leg was so mangled and twisted it took about six people to lift, shift, slide my body to the new bed. Tears and screams flooded the room and each nurse again, stood looking as pale as if they had just seen their dead relative walk in the room. They knew and understood the damage present.

An Asian doctor (Ming, not real name) came in and introduced himself. He looked at the nurses and knew my case was serious, the color had not returned to their faces. He informed me that my Orthopod was trying to make a call on my situation without even seeing me, ‘keep me in traction until he can get in to do the surgery on Monday.’ Dr. Ming took one look at my mangled leg and said ‘No! I call dr. here on duty. You need surgery on this leg.’ I and my husband gave him permission to do what needed to be done. 

A miracle walked in the door in the way of Dr. Slim, who was a fill-in for the original Dr. Wrong Orthopod I had seen and didn’t get along with, this doctor was here for a week doing his rounds. Tall, slender and handsome, the concern darkened his raised eyebrow. His lips were perched tightly shut as he knew he had to make a split decision. After looking at this disfigured leg in front of him, he made his call, we need to operate. The doctor overrode the ‘keep her in traction’ orthopod’s decision! Thank you, Jesus!

Now to get the sleeve that the paramedic had placed on my leg at home, to keep the leg from moving, off of my leg. Yeah, all that pain I had felt was with a protective sleeve on my leg, I did not want it removed but the doctor told me my leg would set that way and it would become almost impossible to fix.

The original ER nurse was still there, holding my hand and squeezing it tightly. They all knew about my stage 4 disease and that I was on oral chemo and practically a danger to society since I was now a toxic minefield. They didn’t care, I was the patient and their first priority. Those women became MY heroes!

Dr. Slim stood patiently with my heel in his hand, as the women went on, to slowly free the sleeve, gently and cautiously sliding it under my leg, and in between screams and clenching my teeth, and darned near breaking the poor woman’s hand, the sleeve was removed. Now, to get me to straighten the distorted injured leg.

It was now the middle of the night and yes, after holding my leg/heel for an hour, Dr. Slim did eventually get me to straighten my leg but I’ll spare you more tears and screams, the thesaurus doesn’t hold enough words to describe the angst I went through that morning.

The operation was early that morning and my husband and son were there with me before I went in. My mother-in-law postponed a trip she was going on that day but she wanted to be there for us all and waited with them for the hours the surgery took. I woke, still in pain, but not the same pain as the night before. Now it was time for healing and keeping infection away. The next ten days would be a journey of a thousand hours. Pain-filled, buckets of tears, but love and miracles abounded! My God is an AWESOME God! 

...story to be continued

Rev. 21:4 “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

The Story Continued ~ ER 3

Job 27:3 “All the while my breath is in me, and the spirit of God is in my nostrils;”

You might not see ER visits as answered prayer but this second ER visit is where I got a referral to an Oncologist after this sympathetic ER doctor heard my story of being turned away from my first two oncologists.

I had told my husband and son of MY wishes and I wanted their blunt honesty in THEIR wishes. Both wanted me to live and try the chemo route, maybe my way wasn't working anymore. No, this was not my wish, but I gave into half their wish, I made an appointment to go see the oncologist doctor. I respect their wishes because I too, don’t want to die. My alternative protocol had been working all along but the stress of a dying dog was too overwhelming and my body reacted; mind, body, and soul, internally and externally.

For eight months I watched as my 14-year-old dog slowly dwindled. Right around Christmas of 2017, she showed signs of her arthritis winning the battle of her bones. She was not making it up the steps too well and a month or two passed as we carried her up the stairs on a daily basis. We knew what was inevitable but no one wanted to face or admit what was happening. Everything I had tried was simply a pacifier and got her to August where the heartbreak became an inevitable reality. We had to let her go to release her from the constant pain we knew she was enduring. 

Eight months of stress. I had done the research and knew wholeheartedly that stress was an enormous factor in the onset and the spreading of this dreaded disease but I was so hellbent on my protocol, I didn’t see the failure for what it was. I was still feeling great, walking, riding my bike, eating right and taking my vitamins but slowly the walking became strenuous. Month after month walking worsened and I blamed everything except what the culprit was, STRESS was beating me over the head with a lead pipe, stress was winning the battle.

How do I know that stress was the culprit? As soon as we put our beloved Sassy to sleep, strangely things started to happen to me in great succession. I told you I’d straighten out the timeline in the editing phase of this story, but yeah, the ball started rolling and still to this day has not stopped. It has lost momentum but that’s a good thing, it means I’m gaining balance over the situation again.

Rolling along, I called the oncologists number and the secretary told me that the (prescribed) doctor was only available at the hospital, she could hook me up with (no name) the first oncologist that dumped me, I told her no way and she offered yet another colleague of the first oncologist. The appointment was made and now everything snowballed. 

The first appointment went as expected. My husband and I sat listening as we were told that chemo was the only way to go if I wanted any quality of life. I stood firm in my stance with my protocol but admitted stress had won out and I needed help. He almost laughed at my protocol and what I’d been doing for a year and a half, but the first blood test showed, I had done something right. He admitted that I had done a good job in taking care of myself. But now it was his turn if I’d allow.

I asked him about the Oral Chemo I had seen and read about, he said the product was still in trial phases and I asked why I was seeing commercials on TV for stage 4 ER+ PR+? Hmm...he left the room and came back and offered an Oral Chemo real quick as well as monitoring blood tests and a listening ear. He was hearing me for the first time, someone in the medical field was listening and hearing me. He also wanted me to see an orthopedic surgeon to see about the pain in my hip. But first he put me right in touch with Physical Therapy for my lymphedema in my arm and that also led to a Home Health nurse coming to check up on me.

I didn’t get to see the Orthopod (as nurses called them) before my third visit to the ER via ambulance. Once again, I was in pain, called 911, the ambulance came and I was scooted onto the gurney and taken to the hospital. As I was leaving, the Home Health nurse was coming to my door wondering what was going on. I let my husband and son handle her as for the third time, I was being escorted to the emergency room. The Volunteer Emergency Unit now called me by name. I joked on the ride so as not to let worry consume me. They always agreed that laughter was the best medicine.

X-rays once again, this one of my hip. This is the one that told the story of my disease basically eating away at my hip bone and causing them to be brittle. I was told my right leg was the one in most severe trouble and to guard it. I was put on morphine and sent home. My Oncologist and Orthopod both knew of the visit to the ER and reached out to me for a visit with each of them respectively. Both had dire prognosis’, use a walker at all times and look into buying a wheelchair. 

I let my left leg do all the work for my right leg. I was in a lot of pain when I walked so we ordered a wheelchair and it was on its way. Fear had now slithered into the place where stress has dwelled. My life was failing and I needed help that only my great God could give! I think prayer is the only thing to save me now. 

Jonah 2:7 "When my soul fainted within me I remembered the LORD: and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine holy temple."

The Story Begins - ER visit One

2 Cor.12:9 "And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

ER visit One...

The first ER visit was the one that got the pebble rolling wherever I was being led on this path. The ride of a lifetime was sweeping me into its arms. And so the journey began. I'm not going for time consistency right now and will get back to it at the editing phase and make the timeline more clear. After the first ER visit, everything seems a fog, it was the first time in many many years that a hardcore drug entered my body, Percocet.

I couldn't breathe that night, my chest seemed to be tightening, the air in my lungs minimal and by morning, Steven accidentally missing his alarm, called for him to be at home that day and me needing to be driven to the ER. We drove to the Emergency Room entrance, pivoting to a (hospital owned) wheelchair, making it from car to hospital sign in, the formality and tagging began. This is where my birthdate would be the most uttered words over the next couple of months.

The ER2, 3, and 4 were all maddening visits in their own stage. While in ER1 I was told what the x-ray had shown. That my disease had metastasized (spread) to my liver. "Mets to the liver," he said. I didn't blink. I sat, I stared and quite honestly thought, 'and so it begins'. Don't ask me what 'it' was, I hadn't figured that part out but was assured in the deepest depths of my being, my sacred place, that I would know, and also I would know when it was time to share.

I left the hospital in tears, only a cane in my hand and my husband by my side. A blur, that is the only way I can describe it. I felt like I wanted to shelter this news in a cocoon and allow only one or two (okay, maybe three) people know that I was now Stage 4? I think that's what they call it when it has spread. Hey, some is still a blur. I'm still in my healing phase. It was at this time that I was told that I should use a walker at all times and think about getting a wheelchair. I should also make an appointment with my GP (General Practitioner) if for my pain and my inability to breath should I need medication to continue. The spot, I was told, was pressing on my lungs, making it feel like the air was being restricted. My oxygen level was 97%. 

Rolling right along I went. I made a GP appointment and thus began the struggle between illness and law. She was hesitant in prescribing Percocet 'because of the 'LAW', so she prescribed a delicate drug that did minimal assistance to my pain. Being raised in MG's placed me in the ER again, the pain too much to bear.

ER2 found me visiting by my first ever ambulance ride. Unable to breathe and a lot of pain in my lower extremities. The meds my GP gave me, obviously were not working and little did I know that the Opioid crisis running rampant across the nation would imprison medication to aid me but could be prescribed for 30 days only, then its, "SUFFER American, your illness means nothing to us, we have a drug problem here!" My illness is defined by legalities, stigmas and the good old Almighty Dollar! UNLESS you find a caring doctor.  

This doctor had NO PROBLEM prescribing my medication. I am Stage 4, what's going to happen to me, I'm going to become addicted in a couple of months or worse overdose and die? Get in line, we're all going to die some way somehow eventually and DRUGS are NOT going to take ME down! BUT I was now given a choice. I was ‘encouraged’ to go the chemo route. I was gently nudged to an Oncologist. I also sat nodding my head in utter disbelief I was going through this. I needed my son and husband. I had no idea what to do.

I think this is where I hopped on the merry-go-round for a spell. FEAR wrapped its long fingers around my neck gripping with flames of fire. Messages, mixed and otherwise were scrambling through my head. I heard them but I could not discern. Surely enough, I was on the fatal merry-go-round from a Ray Bradbury novel.

Friends and family were getting concerned, seeing that this was my second visit to the ER after all. I made the decision to see an Oncologist. Miracles were evident and prayers were being answered at this time. Some people like instantaneous answers to prayers but I AM LIVING PROOF, prayers are answered in the most minute ways. You might not see Steven missing his alarm clock as an answered prayer, but had he been at work and I, home alone? ER visit 2 brought me to a possible third oncologist looking at my disease since last year.
Think about the ramifications had God not intervened.

To be continued…

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.” 1 Peter 4:10 (NIV)