It all started with a rather minor cut on my toe, three days later I found myself in the emergency room bundled in winter clothes when everyone else was wearing shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops. It certainly didn’t feel like I had a fever of 103 degrees and the cut on my foot didn’t hurt in the least. Even so, I knew there was something wrong. I am as pig-headed as they come so emergency rooms, doctors, dentists and anyone in the medical field are usually last on my list of “people to see.
The first doctor that examined my foot looked like he was ready to pass out. I gave him fair warning that it didn’t look all that great but I don’t think he was paying attention. He looked up at me and said he was calling in a specialist. Not even five minutes later she arrived in a very chipper mood. I guess things were slow in the Foot & Ankle department. I was hesitant about showing her the cut; I knew deep down inside that I waited way too to long be seen for this to have a happy ending.
She didn’t say anything as she reached for her digital camera. “I’ll be right back” was all she said as she made her way out of the room. When she came back she told me that I would be admitted shortly and would be in surgery at six in the morning. If only it were that easy. I had to have x-rays taken, blood drawn, no food or liquid, fill out even more forms and eventually make my way to a room sometime after midnight.
Even though things looked bad for my toe, I was still cracking jokes and making light of a very bad and potentially deadly situation. It was a toe, my bog toe in fact. How could one little cut on a toe snowball into something so massive that three Infectious Disease team members come calling once I get settled. The came at me with tons of questions about how I could have gotten “this type” of infection. No one came out and said MRSA [Methicillin Resistant Staphylococcus Aureus] but I had a bad feeling that was what they were whispering about in the corner.
More samples of blood and the infected site were taken and they assured me that I was going to be fine but they didn’t let me off lightly. “If you would have ignored this for a few more days, we might not be having this conversation”. That robbed me of my jovial mood. It was certainly food for thought as they wheeled me down to surgery and prepared me for an I & D [incision and drainage] with a very strong possibility that I could come out of it without my toe.
Even at the point, when I saw it on the release forms, it still wasn’t a big deal. It’s only a toe. The anesthesiologist decided to go with a twilight sedation over being tubed for general anesthesia. I do remember opening my eyes and looking around once during the procedure before the anesthesiologist looked down at me and told me to close my eyes and relax. When I woke up I was in a recovery unit with my foot bandaged, a nurse telling me to take deep breaths and someone in the bed a few feet away coding [respiratory distress].
I wasn’t in any pain and was asking when I could get up and walk around. The doctors were all looking at each other and shaking their heads. “You don’t know what happened do you?”. I looked down and saw that I still had my food and let out a laugh. “Umm, I got a nasty bite from a landshark?” That’s when they explained, in blistering detail, what happened. They weren’t able to save my toe, that’s how bad the infection became in such a short period of time.
They asked me if I wanted to talk to a grief counselor. It’s a toe people, if it were a foot or leg, then yes, I would definitely need to talk to someone as well as having the med cart by my bedside. At that stage, I still didn’t have any pain or discomfort and they started getting worried that I had lost sensation. A few jabs, pokes and pinches later and they were satisfied that I still had feeling in my leg and foot but an unbelievably high pain threshold.
The next morning another group of doctors, residents and interns arrived for morning rounds. They removed the dressing, took more pictures and all marveled at the area where my toe once was. I still don’t have a name for it; it’s not a stub or nub, it’s just “where my toe used to be”. One thing they didn’t tell me was that they didn’t put any stitches in. That’s right, it was a clean removal and it was left open to drain. Looking down and seeing the inside of your toe is a tad bit unnerving.
I would have to go back for another surgery to see if there were any traces of infection and to add the stitches. At least I would get some more Versed, one of the drugs that are used for twilight sedation. Let’s put it this way, if that’s all you have to look forward to, things aren’t exactly looking all that bright and cheery. Three days after the amputation I went back to surgery for another ‘poke and prod’ session and then the stitches.
Since this was a ‘teaching hospital’, all the surgical students got to practice on me. Bluntly put, it looked like a blind man put my stitches in. It wasn’t until the next morning that I got to meet the people that did the handy work; they too marveled at the spot where my toe used to be located and I am sure they all patted themselves on the back at the great job they did.
I was under strict orders to not walk or put any pressure on my foot. That made things like going to the bathroom impossible. It’s no fun trying to use a bedpan and even though I had to pee like a racehorse, I just couldn’t manage the task. After three hours of pain I heard the “C” word;, no not the really bad “C” word, I heard catheter. If you’ve never had one of these inserted into your body consider yourself lucky. I guess that was all that was needed and I was finally able to have some relief. After that, my doctor ordered a bedside toilet.
That was probably one of the most uncool moments of my life. I’ve partied with rock stars, traveled around the world, hung out with celebrities and here I am … trying desperately not to bust out my stitches, slip and fall or forget to whip the curtain shut before I hobble to my oversized potty seat.
I spent a total of six days in the hospital and couldn’t wait for them to release me. I had a lot of rules and restrictions, most of which I followed, well, at least for the first week. After the first office visit to check on my stitches and I knew that everything was healing nicely, I started getting a little daring. First I ditched the crutches then the surgical boot. Now, well, now you would have a hard time telling I was missing a toe unless you saw me with my sock off.
Phantom pains are not a joke. They are a very real thing that happens on a regular basis. I will be sitting there watching television or clicking away at the keys on my laptop and I’ll get an itch .. except there’s nothing there to scratch. There are some severe pains at the amputation site but they aren’t a sign of infection of that there is something wrong. Its nerves that haven’t gotten the memo about there being nothing to connect to. I’ve kept my usual sick and twisted humor about this and it does shock some people that I have, what seems, a lackadaisical attitude about it.
Some have asked me if I suffer from Apotemnophilia; a psychological disorder where people feel then need to have a body part removed to feel ‘normal’. If my big toe were really causing me that much angst, do you think I would have gone this route to have it removed? I guess I do miss my toe at times but better to lose one single toe than a foot. One thing that I do take seriously is that this all happened in such a short period of time. MRSA and other super viruses are nothing to fool around with. Locally there have been more and more cases of MRSA reported in public schools. This is a far cry from a hospital setting where is where MRSA was ‘isolated’ to when it was first tagged with the ‘super bug’ name.
So I won’t wear sandals in the summer and the four inched spiked heels in the closet will take some getting used to wearing again but all in all, I faired better than expected. Sure it looks like a shark was gnawing on me in shallow water but at least I am alive and have nine other toes to keep me from tipping over. For me, it was just a toe. Two other people on my surgical unit had the same procedure and they were in hysterics. Come on now, if a dog can have a leg amputated and still play Frisbee and a marathon runner can best hundreds of others with two prosthetic legs … are you really going to be that selfish and sit there and cry over a toe?
Maybe I can get a discount when I go for a pedicure …
