The day that changed my life

I've taken a day or so to work out in my own mind, the best way to write about 27th Feb 2007. I woke up, went to Martlesham ward and was first on the list. I was pleased at being first as I thought I'd be up and out by teatime and wanted out as soon as possible. I don't remember too many details really. I get flashbacks of moments, like strange thoughts and pictures in a bit of a muddle. I remember seeing a nurse just as I went into the operating theatre that I knew and she was smiling and telling me that she would be working next door. She was meant to be in my operation but as I was a nurse, they placed her next door for confidentiality reasons. My next memory is looking at the clock in recovery. It was 11:11am. I don't remember the pain but I do know I was in agony. I'd had surgery before on my wrist and knew that the quicker I could get my fingers moving, the quicker I was allowed home. I figured that I could try the same thing here so tried to move my foot but I couldn't. I remember that the recovery nurses were concerned, holding my hand, stroking my head and scurrying around asking where my surgeon was. I saw a few different Drs before my surgeon showed his mug and that was a while later. I told him something was wrong, that my leg was absolutely excruciating and I couldn't move my foot. He said it was normal as I'd had to have a tourniquet on for a while. A nurse suggested that he should get a Doppler to check for a pulse. He said he had his next patient to see and to call the vascular team. I recall the atmosphere being one of panic. The way the nurses spoke reassuringly to me and held my hand whilst trying to get my pain under control was amazing. I ended up getting a PCA which is an I.V. fitted pump for morphine that the patient controls themselves.
My next memory is of a surgeon pushing my bed from recovery to the angiogram suite. I remember him telling me that there was a serious problem an that I would in all likelihood lose my leg. I find it strange looking back as when he said it, I felt nothing. It was as if he had offered me a cup of tea. Maybe it was shock, drugs or a mixture of both. I was told that the angiogram showed that my main artery, vein and nerve had been severed. The popliteal artery was completely dissected. Everything seemed to be happening in a daze. It was like a dream. Something I'd wake from and feel that sense of relief. I was rushed into theatre and was told they would try and do a vein graft; a bypass to allow blood to get down to my lower leg. By this time it was around 6-7 hours from the first surgery and I don't remember anything much from that time other than ghost moments. Doctors and nurses looking at my leg, me trying to move it. My parents telling me I'd be fine but seeing the fear and disbelief in their eyes. I'd developed compartment syndrome so had a faschiotomy in my lower leg. Fasciotomy or fasciectomy is a surgical procedure where the fascia is cut to relieve tension or pressure commonly to treat the resulting loss of circulation to an area of tissue or muscle. Fasciotomy is a limb-saving procedure when used to treat acute compartment syndrome.(courtesy of Google)
I remember a surgeon coming to see me around midnight. My brother was with me. The surgeon said that the graft had failed and that I would be reviewed in the morning as there was still no pulse. The nursing staff were unhappy about this but I was too out of it to comprehend it all. I couldn't sit up, I'd tried to have a look at my leg because everyone was talking about how bad it looked. Charming hey? 😂😂 I found a picture for you to show you though so you don't feel left out.

On 28th, the day after my simple operation to reduce swelling in my knee, I went back to surgery. It was around lunch time, I felt awful, really physically ill and the surgeon came to see me to say that the graft had indeed failed and that they were now looking at the next best course of  action. My mum and brother had just gone to grab a coffee in the canteen. I remember asking the one question that had been going round and round in my head but I had been too scared to ask. Am I going to die? You see things like this on the television, in films and books. These things don't happen to you and me. The surgeon simply smiled sadly and said "we will do everything we can". He then asked if I wanted to wait to say goodbye to mum and brother. I am embarrassed to say that I was so scared of dying, that in that moment, all I wanted was to be put to sleep, have my anaesthetic and be out of it. I couldn't wait. If I was going to die I wanted to sleep now, not in 20 mins when my family got back. So I went, crying, to theatre saying over and over again, please don't let me die.

I woke up in the high dependency unit. I asked, "is it gone?" My partner hugged me and said yes. My next sentence was, "well that's the first time I've been legless without having a beer". Thus began my months of joking and laughing, giving strength to all around me while inside, I was broken. Completely and utterly broken.
That will do for today, I need go kill monsters on my Xbox 😔 I apologise for bits I may have missed, I'll check over this tomorrow. It's difficult to put into words the truth of the situation and I still feel bitter, angry, sad and wishing that I could write out the report I have on their investigation. I'll write a few bits out of it in my next blog. Stay healthy peeps ✌🏻️