I wouldn’t be me, if I didn’t have some weird confounding, extra medical anomaly, connected to my injury, surgery, or recovery. The funny thing is that I don’t actively wait for it, or expect it. I go through life, expecting normal recovery, and then, “Bam,” something weird happens, and I remember, “You can’t have nice things. You live in a body made of defective spare parts someone found in a bin marked ‘don’t use.’”
With this surgery, this awful, painful, dreadful, and torturous surgery, recovery has been slow, but steady. I’ve begun being able to bear weight on my surgical leg. I’ve begun being able to bend it to almost the expected angle, thanks to the most painful physical therapy session that’s ever been conducted, anywhere, ever, to anyone. Just ask. Or, count the tissues that I cried into, during the actual session. Nothing says grown up strong-woman, like crying in public, while a physical therapist manipulates her knee into what seems like normal positions.
But, in the last several days, my knee has suddenly looked like this:
But, shortly after, they look like this, and stayed that way, which is concerning:
At first, they were raised, and very, very, very itchy, like bug bites. We thought, at first, it was dreaded bed bugs. Correction, I thought it was bed bugs. Bryon wants credit for the singular time he was right, as he was certain we did not have bed bugs. I thought it was a reasonable assessment, as I was waking up with new lesions every morning, they were clustered together in groupings, and they itched. However, I was the only one getting bitten, and they were only biting my surgical leg, which was weird. I tried to justify this by saying that my operative leg must’ve smelled juicier and bloodier with all the swelling at the surface. Ew. Finally, there was absolutely NO evidence of bed bugs, despite tearing the bed apart, and examining every square inch. Even the Orkin man that we called confirmed that we were completely clear. Okay, Bryon was right. Mark it down.
It was also a good bet that they weren’t bed bug bites because about 24-36 hours after they itched, they flattened out into these weird flat legions that looked super…well, like I should see a doctor. So, I did. I called my primary care physician, who had no clue what it was. His first thought was a super scary word: vasculitis. I didn’t know what that meant, but he seemed awfully concerned about it, especially for a doctor dealing with me at roughly quitting time.
He spent about an hour on the phone, texting pictures and calling back and forth between infectious disease (oh my god!!) and my surgeon, arranging for me to be seen immediately the next day, and brainstorming about what was wrong. The working theory for the night was vasculitis.
The next day, my first appointment was with the surgeon. His assessment went something like this:
Vasculitis? No! It took me a while to remember where I’ve seen this before, but I think it’s frostbite burns from your ice machine pad….(examines the area for a bit) wait, no…it looks like shingles! It’s traveling along the blah-blah nerve. Yeah, I think it’s shingles…yep, the more I look at it, I’d say my best guess is shingles.
The ten minutes we were there, he became more and more convinced it was shingles, the point that all other diagnostic ideas seemed preposterous to him, or at the very least, far secondary options.
Call my primary care doctor back to find out what time, and where to go for infectious disease, and the phone call goes like this:
Shingles? No way. Probably vasculitis…Or, some kind of infection….not shingles…nope…no how…anyway…this is where you go.
By the way, she wanted me to just “storm the door,” to infectious disease. In other words, her initial plan was for me to just show up, say that I was sent there, and to just camp in the waiting room until someone saw me, because they all know one another, and if I made a stinker of myself, they’d see me sooner. I was NOT about to do that!
Get to infectious disease, and this is how that visit goes:
Nope, not shingles. And, it’s definitely not vasculitis. That’s for sure. Probably not an infection…spots are too different. Gosh, I have no idea, but it sure isn’t right. You need a biopsy on those spots. Need a dermatologist, or at worst case scenario, a plastic surgeon. But, it’s 3 pm, on a Friday. He calls my primary care doctor, and my surgeon to talk over what they think it could be, again. He wonders if it is an allergy to my own cartilage, or the graft, or maybe the bolts. It’s not.
Phone call to Primary Care, after I leave infectious disease, to figure out dermatology:
Sorry, called five dermatologists. No one can see you today. They’ve all left because it’s Friday. Expected. Got an appointment for first thing Monday morning.
Hilariously, they ask that if I need to cancel it, I do so before 5 pm, otherwise they will charge me $50. How, I ask you, as they have nothing but my name? However, I will not be cancelling, as I’m thrilled to death to have someone cut a chunk out of my leg. It sounds like fantastic fun.
Note from all doctors: if I start to run a fever or start sweating at night, or the spots change in any way, I’m to call any one of them immediately, and/or head to the hospital. I’m not sure which one wants the phone call. I’m sure all three of them would call the other two, since they are all fascinated with the mystery spots now. Since I have kind of a cool doctor that takes care of all my doctor referring, finding and records transferring, they are all on the ball with my bloodwork and the whole case, so they are totally invested. Plus, it’s weird, and their most fascinating case of the week…at least. That’s Rachel: Weird Medical Science.
So, that’s been my last two days. It was fun to miss a few hours of class on Tuesday because my doctor was playing phone pissing contest about which diagnosis seemed the most appropriate, who should see me first, in what order, and whose schedule was more booked. My surgeon was great though; all he said was, “send her in, whatever,” which was comforting, because he made me feel like maybe it wasn’t a big deal, and he made me feel like he’d see me no matter what, if something went wrong.