Many people have asked me how I got myself into this mess. My answer has generally been "it's an old injury and a long story." Get ready, 'cause here it is....the story...
It all began way back when in 1994, the olden days, when cell phones were lugged around in a giant and unruly brief case type of apparatus. The cell phone case is my meager attempt to set the tone. I worked as an advertising executive in the corporate world in Cincinnati, climbing the ladder as rapidly as I could, as any fairly young go getter would do. I was happily engaged to my now wonderful husband, just zipping around and enjoying life. Until....the big UNTIL, one lovely day, I participated in a casual golf outing with my coworkers. By the way, I was an avid golfer, the sport consumed me, and I adored it. I relished being out with nature in all its glory without a care in the world other than how I was going to manage to get a little white dimpled ball into a little hole. When I wasn't hacking, slicing, whiffing, landing in a trap, water, or woods, I felt very at peace on the course. But I digress. So after my coworkers and I enjoyed an amusing eighteen holes, we headed to a local restaurant for some snacks and drinks. Upon exiting the establishment, one of my coworkers grabbed the red baseball cap of another coworker and threw it to someone else. Hence, a game of "keep the cap from it's righteous owner" ensued. Nothing like a little game of keep away among "mature" adult friends. Somehow I ended up with the red cap and took off running. Little did I know that my life was about to change, forever. I was running with that cap in cheetah-like style when I slipped off a high curb that surrounded the parking lot. Down I came on to my ankle, and there I lay with a group of people gawking at me and gasping. I knew it was bad and began to go into shock. Next thing I knew I was on a stretcher and was being hoisted up and slid in to the back end of an ambulance.
At the hospital I was asked the typical million questions and was introduced to an orthopaedic surgeon. He asked me if I had had anything to eat. After I told him that I had had a Bass Ale and some chicken wings, he decided that he would not perform surgery until morning. I was admitted to a room, and there I lay all alone, all night long. Just me, and my morphine pump. I pressed that morphine button what seemed like every ten minutes as the pain was beyond anything I ever could have imagined. I had wished that my fiance was there but he couldn't make it back in time from his trip. I don't even remember being prepped for surgery in the morning. I do remember waking up in my room after all was said and done, and to my relief, there was my Mother, resting in a chair right by my side. She had flown to Cincinnati from New Jersey to be with me. That's when I started to have a good cry. I'll never forget seeing her there, she looked like an angel. I wonder if she knew how much I needed her, and loved her. There was no better cure than my Mother's love. She looks down on me now, and still takes care of me, from heaven.
The orthopaedic surgeon visited with me and explained that my multiple fractures were some of the worst he had ever seen. He clued me in on all the hardware he installed and we discussed recovery and what to do. A couple of days later I went home with my cast. I was young, athletic, and healthy, which aided in making my recovery fairly easy. After several weeks in the cast I was given approval by the surgeon to start walking again. Life got back to normal rather quickly, what a relief it was to have that ordeal behind me. So I thought.
At some point, I don't remember exactly when, I had to have some of the hardware removed. Unfortunately for me, it was done while I was awake, with a local anesthetic, and I felt the whole thing. It was the stuff that nightmares are of made of, I kid you not. When I felt the first cut I yelled "stop!!" It was as though the doctor didn't believe me when I told him I could feel it. He felt that he had numbed me enough and took it upon himself to proceed again! When I yelled "stop" again he finally listened and decided to shoot me up with some more local anesthsia. After that, although it didn't feel quite as bad, I still felt the whole thing. The cutting, the burning, the seething pain... that procedure continues to haunt me to this day. I shudder to think about it. Really.
Life eventually got back to normal again, and my fiance and I were happily preparing for our wedding. It was such an exciting time for us, we had so much to look forward to. All was well until...the dreaded UNTIL... we were out shopping in a mall, browsing clothing for our Carribean cruise honeymoon. All of the sudden I was in excrutiating pain and I could barely stand. I got myself to my orthopaedic surgeon the next day and had x-rays taken. I was astonished to learn that my hardware had literally collapsed and that everything had refractured. That's right, I was back to square one, and we were to be married in seven weeks. The surgeon offered to operate again, and I politely declined his offer. I got on the phone with my Dad, a radiologist at a very reputable hospital in New Jersey, and he insisted that I fly out immediately to have my surgery performed there. My Dad had connections with excellent doctors so he made arrangements for a colleague to fix me. Off I went to the airport, and into the OR I went, yet again. I was in good hands (this time) and my new surgeon did everything he could to repair the damage, which included taking bone from my right hip to fill in some empty spots. As it turned out, the first surgeon apparently put hardware in my ankle that would have been suitable for child, not a woman of my stature, standing six feet tall and 165 lbs. I can not describe my disappointment and anger. How could this have happened? My new (qualified) surgeon put my leg in a cast and told me I would have to wear it for eight weeks. Well, since I was to be married in seven weeks, that wasn't going to fly. He reluctantly agreed to take it off the day before my wedding, as long as I was very careful.
I held on to my Dad for dear life as he walked me down the aisle on a beautiful Spring day in 1995. It was a lovely wedding, and with a little help from champagne, I managed to dance our first dance, and then some. I wasn't feeling any pain, until the next day when we woke up to head off on our honeymoon. Sadly I spent our entire cruise on crutches or in a wheelchair. I couldn't help but be mad at my first surgeon. His wrong decision screwed things up in a big way. Speaking of screws, I have a broken screw head lodged in my bone that I get carry with me forever as a reminder of his big mistake.
My husband and I settled into married life and I went back to work, and was feeling pretty good. I did my research and found a new surgeon in Cincinnati since I couldn't fly back and forth to NJ for my doctor visits. When my Cincinnati surgeon took a gander at my x-rays, his jaw dropped and he called in his colleagues to have a look-see. Things were mangled, at best. Turned out my bones were slow to heal properly so he suited me with an electro magnetic device that would stimulate bone growth. I wore that off an on for quite some time, then eventually was able to set it aside. I had a couple more surgeries to remove some hardware, things were looking better, so I was able to put the ordeal behind me (again) and move on with my life. Throughout the years I could hear in my mind something my Cincinnati surgeon said to me; " in ten years the pain will get so bad that you will want to have your ankle joints fused". Huh???
I was back in my heels and business suits, and for a long while I felt as though nothing had ever happened to my ankle. Well, except on rainy and low pressure days. In 1998 I left my career behind to embark on my dream career of being the best mother I could after being blessed with our precious daughter. Life was beautiful. I had much to be thankful for. The following year we started a new life in a suburb of St. Louis. In 2004 my husband and I were blessed yet again, with another precious daughter. Life was now even more beautiful. I felt fine, until.....
In 2005 the dreaded pain began to set in. It got progressively worse over the years and by 2009, I could barely walk anymore. I just powered through it to the best of my ability, but inside, I felt like I was dying. No longer could I run around with my children, heck, I could barely keep up with them at all. Everything became a struggle and I felt down and was saddened by what my life had become. It became impossible to be the person I wanted to be. Severe pain can really mess with your mind.
As the pain worsened, I developed an intimate relationship with Google. I googled and googled and googled and educated myself about ankle fusions and replacements. Once I had a wealth of information I began to research surgeons in the St. Louis area who specialized in ankles, specifically ankle replacements. Luckily I was able to find the best of the best, or the creme de la creme, at Washington University Orthopaedics. I had to jump through some hoops to get an appointment with the surgeon, and I had to have a darn good reason to see him. First I had to meet with one of his colleagues, who looked at my x-rays. Right away the colleague said that I should have been able to skip seeing him and he set me up with an appointment with Dr. Johnson, my hero.
You probably need a nap after reading all this, I know I do. Let's take a little break.
To be continued.......
~Suzanne
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