Step Two

With my medical records in hand and the hope for a quick return back to work, I headed to another ortho (I’m calling this one Dr. P). As far as orthopedists go, he enjoyed the same torture as just about any ortho and most certainly every physical therapist I have ever encountered.

When he was through with his exam, we talked about the latest MRI as well as some additional issues he discovered which were related to the ‘tingling’ on my foot. He noted some weakness in my left foot/ankle. He first wanted to have an EMG & NCS performed. He discussed the possibility of a back/spine issue. I had a back issue many years ago from toting suitcases, beach items, medical equipment, a toddler and a child in a wheelchair through the airport. This didn’t feel anything like that.

I was sent straight over for my EMG/NCS. I had an EMG once before so I thought I knew what it would feel like. I was so wrong! Although I do not remember (and most likely would never admit) screaming like that during childbirth, I screamed. And screamed. And cried. It was incredibly painful! Don’t let the google fool you…painful.

My return to Dr. P for the results was pretty straight forward. He recommended surgery for the meniscus tear with physical therapy to start the following day. I informed him I would, in no uncertain terms, NOT put myself through more physical therapy without pain medication. I was done with that nonsense. He obliged and began discussing the EMG/NCS results. I was not prepared for what he would reveal. I had nerve damage. Real nerve damage. He was ‘on the fence’ about referring me to a neurosurgeon for treatment/surgery. He was uncertain whether this damage would be permanent. This aspect would be a ‘wait & see’. Meanwhile, how about we schedule some knee surgery?

At the nurse/checkout desk, we discussed surgery dates and insurance coverage. (I should probably back up here…)      

While on my medical leave of absence from my job, I took my vacation time in short increments to allow my insurance premiums to be covered. By this time, my vacation time was long used up and I was paying out of pocket for my premiums at active employee rates. So we schedule surgery and I am on my merry way.

Unfortunately, someone at ADP made a mistake with my insurance payments. They included ALL the time I was on leave without deducting the payments made from my vacation time. In the eyes of this snafu, my insurance premium was not up to date, paid in full, so they cancelled it. Three days before my surgery. Somewhere, someone saw the steam coming out of my ears! I was hopping mad! Many, many, many phone calls between my employer, ADP, the insurance company and the surgery center over the next 3 days and all was resolved. So I thought. On the way to my surgery, I called the surgery center to verify. They were unable to verify coverage that one day before I was informed (by the insurance company AND ADP) had been reinstated and my surgery would be covered. Due to this, I was told I needed to pay $3800 PRIOR to my surgery in a few hours. How about “No” Charlie. I called Dr. P’s office to inform them and we turned around to go home. My surgery was not able to be scheduled for 3 more weeks.

Surgery went as planned the end of April 2014, a mere 7 months after my fall.

                 

I started physical therapy, as Dr. P. ordered, the following day. Torture. Pure torture. Thank goodness I had pain medication. Finally.

My therapy center was in the same neighborhood that we lived in, so at least it was close. My therapy sessions were scheduled around my youngest daughter’s school schedule or my son & oldest daughter’s work schedules. Most often it was around my youngest daughter’s school schedule. I hated that. I hated that I was unable to drive myself. I hated that I had to continue to depend on someone else. I hated the direction my life was headed. How could I stop it?

I had to think about ME first. Only, I had never done that. I was a people pleaser with passive-aggressive communication. I only spoke up for myself when I was already battered and on the ground. If only I spoke up sooner. Certainly that would make a difference. It did when I spoke out for someone else…it had to for me too.

My first attempt at ‘me thinking’ was my therapy. I became verbal about the pain I was experiencing during my therapy sessions and at home. This translated into inconsistent pain/ability. Only it really, truly was inconsistent. Some days I was golden. Some days I rarely got out of bed. Some days I was golden and then couldn't get out of bed (or vice versa). What was I doing wrong?

It all starts with one step.