I Don't Want to Talk About it Today

I Don’t Want to Talk About it Today

 

One of the things that’s important to me is educating people about amputation.  I like it when people ask me questions because it gives me the chance to tell my story and let them know that having an amputation isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  For me, it was the best decision I could have made, given the horrible condition my right lower leg was in after several salvage surgeries.

I especially like to show my prosthesis to children.  They’re so naturally inquisitive and they don’t hesitate to ask questions.  Some children are initially a little shocked by it when they see it up close for the first time.  Sometimes they like to touch the fake skin, sometimes they don’t.  When my own grandson saw my prosthesis for the first time without it’s cosmetic cover, he was fascinated by it and later told his mother that I was like a transformer.

When someone asks me how I lost my leg, I usually tell them it was crushed in an auto accident and never healed after several surgeries so amputation was the most logical procedure at that point.  But then there are days that I just don’t want to talk about what happened because there was so much more to it than that.

I try to keep it to the condensed version because I know people just want a quick answer.  But then there are times I feel like, if they asked, they’re going to get the whole awful story!

It started when I fell in love with an alcoholic.  He was also a nurse and we were both going through a divorce at the same time.  Our relationship grew quickly and within 2 years we had bought a house together (a fixer-upper we bought only to flip) and got engaged.  He didn’t drink every day, just 2 or 3 nights a week, but when he did, he drank until all of the alcohol was gone.  It was easier to turn my head to it since he wasn’t an obnoxious drunk, he wasn’t drinking on work days and there weren’t really any significant problems because of it.

One fall evening in October, 1998, we went out for the evening to see his brother.  I saw him have 3 beers over the course of about 4 hours so I was happy to know he wasn’t intoxicated and he was ok to drive.  We were about 4 miles from home when he fell asleep and we drifted off the road on a curve.  The cruise control was set at 55 so we never slowed down.  I was fishing for something in my purse and never saw it coming.  I had just unbuckled my seatbelt, I still don’t remember why.  There was an ambulance traveling behind us and saw the whole thing.  Though it took a bit of time for them to cut me from the car, I didn’t realize the extent of my injuries until several hours later when I was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit.  I had sustained nearly 2 dozen fractures from head to toe.  Facial fractures, all of my ribs were fractured, both lungs partially collapsed, a contusion to my heart and both legs crushed under the dash.  He had a broken nose and a laceration under one eye.

It was a month or so after the accident when the sheriff’s department called on the phone to tell him that he was being charged with Operating Under the Influence.  His blood alcohol level was 0.13, well over the legal limit.  It was then that I learned he had been doing shots of whiskey that night when he was out of my sight.  So although I had only seen him with 3 beers, he drank much more than that.

I asked the District Attorney to give him a light sentence.  I was still living on the sofa bed since I had 2 broken legs and couldn’t go upstairs to the bedroom.  I needed him home to help me. He was sentenced to 7 days in jail, the minimum sentence for his blood alcohol level.  Our relationship deteriorated quickly over the next few months.  After one surgery to remove hardware (I had a spinal and was completely paralyzed from the waist down) he convinced the nurse to let me go, even though I didn’t have any feeling back yet.  He carried me in the house, placed me on the couch and announced he was leaving for his dad’s for the weekend.  I knew he couldn’t bear to look at me without feeling guilty.  In May, he left me with our half-finished house to be with another woman he had been seeing on the side.  He never looked back and I never saw him again. I stayed in the house for over a year after he left, working on it in between surgeries so I could try and sell it.  I remember one time hanging sheetrock by myself with one leg in a cast.  I did as much as I could, but eventually had to let it go and walk away.

In the 2 years after the accident, I made several trips to the operating room to try and repair the damage that just never seemed to heal completely.  During two separate surgeries, I had bone taken from my hip and implanted into my lower leg to try and start growing a bone bridge, but both of those ultimately failed.  I was on several medications for nerve pain, post-traumatic arthritis and at one point underwent a series of injections in my spine to try and calm the pain to my lower leg.  Those were fine until one day, it left me completely numb from the waist down.  The doctor had no idea why that happened, so I stopped the injections that day.  I ended up with a complete ankle fusion (my lower leg permanently mounted onto the foot) but even that failed after a year.  Amputation was the next logical procedure and, at that point, I think I was ready.

My amputation was in April of 2001, 2 and ½ years after the initial accident.  I wasn’t prepared for it emotionally and I struggled very hard for the first couple of years.  It bothered me that Mr. Wonderful had never apologized for what he had done to me.  I hoped he knew everything I had gone through after he left and I really hoped it made him feel like shit.

I tried to dull the pain with alcohol the first couple of years.  Needless to say, it didn’t help.  I grieved for my leg for a long time.  I never knew that would happen with just losing a partial limb, but that feeling was overwhelming.  I pushed those close to me away, even my teenage son. I thought I was going crazy and I didn’t understand why. I hated my behavior but felt helpless to change it. Eventually I found the Amputee Coalition of America online and through them I learned that everything I had been feeling was normal. 

I thank God everyday for the undying  love and support of my family and close friends.  They didn’t understand what I was going through because I couldn’t find the words to tell them.  Still, over the years, not a day went by that didn’t think about the man who had done this to me.  In 2011 I found out that he had a terrible life after that, married and divorced the “other woman”, nearly died in a house fire and had recently died of a brain aneurysm.   At that point, I realized an apology would never come and his death would have to be my closure.

I contacted his mother on social media earlier this year, on his birthday, to let her know I was thinking of him on that day, as I did every year.  She thanked me and told me some things I never knew.

She said “I hope that someday you can find it in your heart to forgive him, as he could never forgive himself.  I know he caused you much pain and he wanted to reach out to you over the years but he never knew how to do it.  He loved you very much and you were his biggest regret.  He saved all of the letters and notes you wrote him and I put those in his urn with his ashes so your words will always be with him.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but when I was dealing with the loss of my leg, I was also still dealing with the loss of my relationship with him.  He was “the one” for me.  My prince charming, my night in shining armor, but nobody ever gave that a thought.  They just wondered what the hell was wrong with me.  I feel that the words from his mother earlier this year were what I needed to hear to get my closure. 

So that is the long version of my story; the part I don’t wish to re-live but is the real truth behind “how I lost my leg”.  I lost way more than that, but the simplest answer I usually give is, “it was crushed in a car accident and never healed right”.                 The End

Finding the Right Prosthetist

My first prosthetist was one of convenience.  I didn't get to choose on my own.  The surgeon who did my amputation referred me to them because they had an office in the same building he was in.  I was assigned to Paul.  He was nice, polite and did a good job of getting all of the settings right on my very first prosthesis.  Within just a few weeks I was able to walk without the use of a can or crutches and didn't have a limp at all.  The first year I went through several sockets because the residual limb (formerly referred to as the "stump") was shrinking so quickly, which was normal.  But as soon as I got too small for the current socket, Paul would be on top of it and get a new one made.  I spent a lot of time there the first couple of years.  Although I was happy with the components and function, the finished product just didn't look how I wanted it to.  It was important to me that it look as real as possible.  I'm not sure why, maybe just because I'm a woman.  Eventually, Paul left to work for another company and I was transferred to Jamie's care.  Like Paul, Jamie was very nice and pleasant but he didn't seem to understand the importance of how it looked.  He didn't "get it". 
It started being a problem getting in to see him.  I had all of my appointments at the office in my city, a "satellite office". They were only there 1 day a week and at the home office the rest of the time, and that was over an hour away from me.  It got to the point where I would call with a problem and need to be seen but they might not be able to get me in for almost 2 weeks.  When you're having mobility issues, 2 weeks can seem like an eternity.  I realized that I was spending a lot of time just waiting for appointments.  Time that I couldn't do much because I was in need of an adjustment.  I had also become frustrated that neither Paul or Jamie understood how important it was to me that my prosthesis look as real as possible.  I didn't like the metal exposed.  I didn't like the stares and whispers.  I wanted a leg that looked real and one I could wear normal, stylish shoes with, not have to wear something that looked like I got it out of my grandmother's closet.
Another amputee I had met told me about Hanger prosthetics and suggested they might do a better job of seeing me when I needed to be seen, not just when it was convenient for them.  So I called Hanger and set up my first appointment.
From the minute I met Scott, my new prosthetist, I knew I had made the right move and wished I had known about this place sooner.  Scott was also an amputee, a little younger than me, and seemed to really understand that it was important to me that the leg look as real as possible.  It was like he understood what I was feeling about things without me having to find the proper words.  Within weeks he had me in a new, updated system.  The first time you get a new system, you're on a "check socket".  That's just attached to the leg temporarily so you can wear it for a couple of days and make sure the casting was accurate.  The process of getting all of the foot angles correct was very tedious.  Walk up the hall; walk down the hall.  Scott would lay on the floor to watch the gait and know which angle needed to be adjusted for proper gait.  He is always available if I have problems and I can usually get in to see him within a day or 2 of calling with a concern.  He makes it his business to learn about me, not just as an amputee but also as a person.  He cares about what I expect and what I wand and I can count on him to tell me if my wants and wishes are possible or not.  The biggest connection for me is the fact that he is an amputee himself and a few times he told me he could tell what the problem was just by the look on my face.  He studied my residual limb and could always tell immediately if there was a change or problem with it.  Finally!  I had met my perfect match in the world of prosthetics!  I didn't realize what was missing with the first 2 guys until I became a patient of Scott's. He had gotten me into a great system with a great fit and it was something I was pleased with how it looked. I could even wear flip flops in the summer. It was everything I wanted and expected it to be.  I realized one day that the process of finding the right prosthetist was similar to finding the right husband.  You really do have to be able to communicate and connect with your provider.  You should feel comfortable with them and know they can relate to you on a different level. It surprises me sometimes when amputees ask me questions or tell me about problems that their prosthetist should be dealing with.  I encourage people now that if they're not happy with their prosthetist it's ok to try someone new. This is the person who literally holds your independence in their hands and you want someone who gets that and is worthy. Walk on!

Introduction

Hello!  I'm launching my new blog, Amputee Nurse Consultant! I want to provide information, education and support to anyone affected by amputation.  If you are a patient, a family caregiver or a provider you have come to the right place!  I've been a nurse 25+ years and an amputee for almost 14 years. I lost my right lower leg 2 years after it was crushed in an auto accident.  Multiple salvage surgeries failed to heal the crushed bone.  Amputation was the best thing for me and I am thriving despite the seemingly huge challenge!