This past week, I had a bit of a set back. Perhaps I should give some background to why all this has hit me so oddly. I have sensitive skin and it has made this whole cancer thing more difficult. I burned like a Crisco-covered banana from the radiation. And when wound specialists tell you this is one of the most remarkable burns they have ever seen, it is not a compliment. Then we discovered my massive allergy to tape and how the thing that was keeping my wound covered was basically eating my skin. Next, I had problems with sutures in my leg and having those wonderful wound specialists state that my leg looks "angry" and inflamed. I did not know that a limb could have such emotions. Perhaps I can also state that my arm fat looks sad and my cheeks feel proud. Anyway, I think at least 1 round of my antibiotics can be attributed to my "angry" leg and not infection. And it does cause me to have moments, please forgive me for my weakness, when I wonder why I didn't just give up and tell them to go ahead and cut it off. I did tell them (My surgeons) once that I was ready to cut my leg off and get on with my life. And I felt peaceful about the decision and was able to see the benefit of not going through all this wound healing and having a cancerous limb removed, but I could not accept an amputation very close to my hip. I also wondered what they would do with the leg and envisioned (although I am certain this is not what would happen to it) a landfill with limbs and my big ole fat leg laying on top. I even thought of those New Testament verses that spoke about if we have a part of our being that offends us, to pluck it out and rid ourselves of it. Well right leg, as good as you have been to me for awhile, you have offended me now for about a year. Yes it was a year ago this month that I noticed this lump and hardness in my leg. But then I go to Wal-Mart and run into people I haven't seen since this all began and notice how they stare at my leg or check to see if I still have 2 legs, yes, I have had people count my limbs cuz they thought I had plucked my offensive part from me. And even when I notice how weak my leg is, or how much my stupid knee hurts, and even when I feel how deformed the back of my leg is, I realize that I am a fighter! I didn't give up! And I continue to fight until the fight is won. So, I guess I choose this path and accept the road this choice puts me on.
So, the set back. On Monday I went on to the wound clinic for my normal visit. (Another digression: The people at the wound clinic here in St George are phenomenal!!! I always get a good laugh with the techs, I am treated with love and respect, and have individuals who care for me like a family member with genuine concern and compassion, There, that is my plug.) As Deidre, my Nurse Practioner was cleaning up my wound, she realized that as she rinsed my wound with saline it was coming out of a hole from my stitches 3 inches up my leg. This indicates that I have yet another tunnel. And my leg was looking uber "angry" and I still had stitches in my leg from my surgery 5 weeks ago. I returned to the wound clinic on Tuesday and had these very ingrown stitches removed. One of the doctors was certain that as soon as I bore weight, my leg would split open. He even said he would have bet a $100. Man I could have used that money! So, I have been confined to my bed and limited walking, sitting, and standing since Tuesday. As of today, Friday, my leg is still together and I am fighting to have it stay together. I would rather not experience the tearing of a wound opening up yet again. I did that last July and it scared the crud out of me. so, my organized mess of a house is not so organized and the mess is becoming quite bad, but my leg isn't open. On the dim side, I was told that even if it does stay together but does not heal properly or quickly, they will open up the leg anyway. It makes me think I am fighting for the losing side. So I talk to my leg and tell it to heal correctly, to think healing thoughts-if it can have emotions, I am sure it can think- and to behave himself. Don't ask me why, but my naughty leg is a he.
So, like watching paint dry and the grass grow, I wait for my leg to heal and hope I can get back to my life soon.
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