Logging in and seeing my last blog about my surgery kind of makes me laugh. Back then I thought it was like the world was ending, that it couldn’t get any worse. Of course, it did. Feels like my life is just a never ending series of ridiculous events and occurrences. So, since last may, my first ankle surgery, I started rehab, did everything by the book, but my ankle stayed swollen, never going down. A few months later I was admitted to hospital with cellulitis, among other things, I see my surgeon and he thinks antibiotics have nipped it in the bud, not really sure what was going on, but thinking the problem was solved. Wouldn’t that have just been too easy!? Swelling still present, and growing as the days pass, as is the pain. The scar looks great which is confusing everyone because of the state of my ankle. When the surgeon examines it, again and again, he’s stumped as the swelling seems to appear over 2 separate sites on my ankle, and the pain is over the insertion site and other areas. We tried everything, Troy (surgeon) wants to throw everything at it and hope something works, over the next few months we try lymphatic massage, body flow, compression, 2 more stints in the moonboot, 3 different physios, each managing to exacerbate my chronic fatigue by how they managed my ankle. It’s late November when Troy decides that no success so far means an MRI, ASAP. 2 days later I have my MRI and 2 days after that I see him again. It’s this appointment that forces me to tears as Troy says our only viable option left is repeat surgery. I burst into tears, terrified of going through that again, as Troy explains a little further to dad. He continually tells me he’s sorry this is happening and that he’s never seen this before, and never had to do a revision surgery. His honesty is refreshing and I sense his frustration at not having answers, for me, or himself. So we leave that appointment with surgery happening as soon as possible, just need to wait for a date. Troy tells me to wear the boot to get me through the holiday period as in the past it helped my pain. By the first week of January I’d had enough, nothing was helping anymore and I needed help. I emailed his rooms, they got me in straight away and I was given a tentative date of January 30th. I asked for sooner, and I was put on a cancellation list. Days and days waiting and hoping, and 19th January I get a call to say the 25th is available, I jump on it and say yes. I get off the phone and burst into tears at the reality of it happening, and in just a handful of days.

The day comes, admission time is 12.30pm. I’m awake at 5.30am. I spend the few hours trying to distract myself with tv, and games. I also take a long, luxurious bath, knowing this will be my last for quite some time. 11.45am comes and we are in the car, I had packed and repacked my bag about 4 times. I listened to my ipod the whole way there, trying not to think about it but only being able to think of a long white hallway you’re wheeled down to theatre. I limp to the elevator, to the 2nd floor and my admission begins. Within half an hour I’m taken in to change into the hideous hospital gown and dressing gown (note that this was the 43 degree day, wasn’t keen on a dressing gown) they make you put the bright red socks on and layer upon layer of hospital crap which makes you blindingly aware it’s 43 degrees. You go through telling about 3 nurses your medical history and your medicines, then repeat it to the anesthetist, assistant anesthetist, surgical assistant and what feels like possibly every staff member from the entire hospital. I’m lying there in the bed waiting to be taken in and it just feels like time has stopped and they’re never coming. Then the assistant anesthetist appears and it’s lights, cameras, action and the tears start again. Wheeled into pre theatre where the drip is in my hand and I’m left alone. Assistant anesthetist comes back in to me balling my eyes out, leans down and says, “don’t worry, we’ve done this before” and smiles at me. Such a random, pointless, obvious thing to say, but it helped, it reassured me and calmed me down. Then Troy comes in, the big guns have arrived. Not so reassuringly, he comes in with “what’s wrong? Nervous or is something else going on?” Haha! Clueless! Just going in to a surgery I had less than a year ago that didn’t work or something went awry, but nah not nervous at all! Lol. Then in his misguided attempt at calming me he laughs while he writes NO in purple marker on my right leg and YES on my left. He decides now was all good time to make small talk about my tattoos, such a random, random guy, trying his best, but cringe worthy awkwardness lol.

I’m wheeled in, given a relaxant, and Troy decides now is a good time to ask me where I had my MRI, lol I don’t think I’ve ever felt more brain fog, probably shouldve asked pre relaxant, not post. Then I’m out.

I wake up to the familiar event of a nurse saying Brooke open your eyes, we’re checking your vitals, and all that fun stuff. It’s here I realise I’ve been in recovery for quite awhile, and they’re having a slight panic because my heart rate is pushing 140+. They tell me this and I laugh, knowing I always have a high heart rate, so it’s not that alarming to be 130’s after I’ve just had what is later revealed to be quite extensive surgery. I tell them it’s not a big deal, that I have have a fairly high resting heart rate usually, but hospital protocol and all, not allowed back on the ward til it’s under 120. This takes forever and I’m constantly reassuring the nurses that I’m actually quite fine. They call the higher ups and get the okay to take me to the ward on a heart rate of 125. I get to my heavenly private room and it’s finally over, I can finally relax a bit. It’s here that the hourly checks begin, can you wriggle your toes, can you feel this, and the checking of the temp of my toes. It feels like every five minutes the nurses are whipping back the blankets and doing this check. I ask for a chair and I’m wheeled to the bathroom where a nurse props my leg on a bin to keep it elevated. It’s here that I realise Troy had to cut behind my knee too. He told me this could be a possibility, but that he really didn’t know what he was facing going in so couldn’t guarantee how I would come out.

This became routine, every few hours wheeling into the bathroom, so at about 1am, the nurse wheels me into the bathroom and tells me to push the buzzer and she’ll come back and help me to bed. I decide nah, this isn’t my first rodeo, I can do this, and use my good foot to scoot back to bed. Half an hour passes, said nurse returns, and I’m lightheartedly scolded for moving on my own. Some time later she sees me scoot my way to the door, open it, and back the chair in, seamlessly I might add! She scoffs, says she’s impressed and from then on I’m left to my own devices, score!

Clearly, didn’t get much sleep that night, despite a delightfully quiet, dark, private hospital room. Eventually Troy appears, telling me the tendon was 3-4 times the size it’s meant to be and that the likely causes were either my diabetes, which he said was less likely because of my good control, or, the most likely cause was that I had a violent reaction to the internal sutures used in my first surgery. He says he’s never had any adverse reactions to these particular sutures, and was quite surprised. So bone was shaved, bursa was removed, and tendon was scraped, cut, lengthened and repaired.

From about 8 am onwards the pain was agonizing, and nothing touched it, endone, or a whole manner of other schedule 8 drugs. It continued this way for about 4 days. Really not fun. Then the pain seemed to turn the corner, and changes. Much more bearable. Then I find out Troy is away and my post op appointment isn’t until 24 days after surgery, instead of 2 weeks like it should be. This means another 10 days in the half cast instead of the boot. Yeah, nah. Not having a bar of that nonsense! Called Troys orthotist rooms and manage to get my boot fitted 13 days post op. It’s here I get my first proper look at the cut, way bigger than my first surgery, and not as clean looking, not desirable viewing.

So that was yesterday. The pain has been super not fun. I seem to have had allergic reactions to the tapes used on both my knee and ankle wounds. So not only is the surrounding skin bumpy, it’s also unimaginably itchy and sore. I’ve now got to put gauze over the wound and crepe bandage around is because I’m reacting to everything else.

Super long winded play by play, summary is… OUCH times a million. 😕 I’m only 2 weeks in and it’s been an emotional, physical nightmare ride. Atleast my 2 weeks in the wheelchair are over but the moonboot brings upon its own long list of frustrating, painful dilemmas and struggles. You deserve a gold medal of you’ve made it this far and read all this.

It’s been a long 2 weeks, I’ve cried, many, many times, wanted the pain to end, wanted a break and been in agony. I’m sorry for anyone whose waiting for the but I learned this or I got this out of this experience. I’m not there yet, I’m still at the this is shit, life sucks stage, so stay with me.

Much love if you read all this 💙💚💛💜