Yesterday afternoon as I was sitting downstairs at my desk doing a little writing, I got a phone call. It was the orthopedic surgeon’s office, and they had my MRI results.
My first thoughts after the nurse on the phone told me that she could tell me my results over the phone and e-mail them to me (with the stipulation that I still obviously had to come in for the follow up visit with Dr. Patel) was “Okay, great. Here’s someone else about to tell me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my foot or my ankle.”
Boy, was I wrong.
From the bland, almost emotionless tone of the woman I spoke to on the phone, I thought she was going to tell me the same thing that everyone else seemed to be saying. It’s a sprain, there’s nothing wrong with you. At least that’s how it feels. NIMC had originally told me that I had a hairline fracture but, they didn’t show me the X-Rays. Then, when I went to my follow up with my GP (those of you who’ve followed me for a little over a month now should remember this but if you’re new go on over and check out Rouladen, Riots, Recovery & Other Ridiculous R-Words.) he didn’t even look at my damn foot.
Dr. Saini (uh-huh, I’m calling you out by name now.) told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. It was probably just sore because I’d fallen on it, or maybe I was exaggerating. I didn’t need the crutches, the half-assed air brace that NIMC had given me, or to keep my foot wrapped. This was after he chose not to unwrap, or even look at my foot because he said that he’d looked at the X-Rays, they looked fine, nothing looked broken or fractured, or out of place.
I looked fine. I felt fine. I was fine.
Only I wasn’t.
He also didn’t want to hear that the 600mg of ibuprofen that I was supposed to be taking every 6-hours for pain was making me sick with heartburn to the point where I was almost vomiting every time and no matter what I did nothing helped. The same prescription I stopped taking because no one wants to be sick all the damn time!
But he felt like it was more important to prescribe me Zoloft and other depression and anxiety medications because in his words, I’d been through “an awful lot lately.”
Thanks Doc…
Yeah, I’ve been through a lot this year. My mom died in March, the world is stuck in a tumultuous pandemic, and my foot is screwed up. That doesn’t mean I’m looking for unsolicited advice about my mental health- which if I’m honest absolutely sucks- but unless you’re a shrink, don’t quit your day job.
So, let me break it down for you. I went to NIMC on August 21st the day I fell down the stairs, and they originally used the words “hairline fracture” handed me crutches, slapped an air brace on me, and told me to take the ibuprofen.
I then went to see Dr. Saini for my 7-day checkup- bruised to all hell, swollen as all get out, and still in immense amounts of pain, and he then said the above. There is nothing wrong with you. I got so freaking used to those words that it isn’t even funny.
So, used to them in-fact that, I almost didn’t let my brother Matt and his girlfriend Dana take me to the immediate care center after work on September 12th. Because let’s face it, I’m a fucking klutz, I’ve sprained and twisted and rolled my ankles in the past, and not once was it ever that painful 22 Days nearly a month after the injury occurred.
(Spoiler alert, it is absolutely not normal to still be in pain, have severe swelling, and lack of motion in a limb 22-days after an injury has occurred if there is NOTHING wrong with you!)
The immediate care did another X-Ray and their doctor said that he didn’t see anything broken but, he did refer me to the orthopedic surgeon that I have now- Dr. Patel. I saw him on the 15th, after some talking and looking at my foot he decided that the air brace wasn’t enough, and he gave me the big moon boot that I’ve been in for almost a month now. He also ordered me an MRI- which is where I was on Tuesday.
Leading us back to yesterday when the orthopedics’ office called me with my test results and my jaw hit the floor. I’ve become so used to people telling me that there’s nothing wrong with my foot, that I’m “milking” it, or that I don’t need the boot and the brace, and I’m “faking” it, that when someone finally validated my feelings, I was shocked.
Because you know what? Yes, sometimes I like to joke about how I’m “milking” it to get my grandma to make me the foods I like- the ones that I either don’t know how to make on my own, or that she makes better than I do. Things like meatloaf and rouladen. But it’s just that; a joke.
If I were really milking it or faking it the way people say I am I wouldn’t still be going to work and working my full shift every day (aside from having my shift covered Tuesday for the MRI). I wouldn’t have spent my entire Friday, almost from the time I woke up today until the time I had to head into work doing the grocery shopping with my little brother, or using those groceries to make dinner after.
(It was just a quick throw together casserole but still!)
If I were really milking it, my life right now would look 300% different. I’m still working every day, doing the cooking, doing laundry, grocery shopping, paying my bills, and trying to help out around my house as much as I possibly can. I don’t have the luxury of milking it, or sitting around and doing nothing.
Even though I have a “Nondisplaced intra-articular fracture of the medial cuboid bone with additional avulsion fracture along the lateral aspect of the cuboid bone at the calcaneocuboid ligament attachment and a partial-thickness tear of the anterior talofibular ligament and the calcaneal fibular ligament” whatever the hell all of that means because that sounds scary.
Am I in as much pain as I started off in? No.
There are moments where I am but, for the most part I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve learned how to walk and function on a leg that does not function properly anymore, despite being an avid follower of Bob & Brad rehab and physical therapy videos on Youtube. Because I figure if no one else will acknowledge that there’s something wrong with me, that I would just have to manage on my own.
Am I going to let that stop me? Fuck no.
I have an appointment on Monday at 9:15a.m. to go over my current options.
I’m not doing so great right now but, that’s to be expected, right? What I think is absolutely wrong however, is that it took exactly 48-days from the date of my injury to the date that I got a real, honest diagnosis instead of someone just brushing me off, and telling me that I was “fine” when I wasn’t. And it’ll be 52-days total (from August 21st, 2020- October 12th, 2020) before will have gotten any treatment.
What the hell?
This is a pattern that I’ve seen my entire life, and I’d really like to know why I am dying to be heard. I’ve watched it happen not only to myself but to my mother, and even my grandmother. We have to fight tooth and nail to be heard when it comes to medical professionals, and we’re either looked at like drug seekers or like crazy people.
I have literally been walking around for 49-days, literally over a month on fractured bones because no one wanted to hear me when I was saying that there was something wrong. Fractured bones that could’ve been on the path to healing by now. Fractured bones that very well could have been made worse from carrying my 180lbs around these past weeks. But “nothing” is wrong with me.
I’ve seen articles stating that women get poor healthcare compared to men, and now I’m living it.
I am dying to be heard, and so are plenty of other woman out there.
-Sky
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