Surgery number two

We arrived at Jack Hughston Memorial Hospital at 1:00 Thursday, January 3rd, went straight to the ER as we were directed, I was admitted and I was in surgery by 3:30.  I woke up in recovery to the sounds of nurses and techs talking about real estate and buying new houses this year.  I had bitten my bottom lip sometime while under anesthesia, really, really hard, and I could taste blood in my mouth.  I couldn't feel anything in my foot at all.  
After a while, they took me up to my room on the fourth floor, where Larry was waiting for me.  I was attached to a wound vac to begin this negative pressure wound therapy to try and get this thing to HEAL.  My bloodwork came back positive for staph so I was put on IV antibiotics for a day and a half.  The hole that had formed in my wound was actually one of the anchors coming loose that my doctor put in to secure that tendon in place.  He fixed that as well.

Larry stayed by my side, "sleeping" on a cot one of the nurses brought him.  I put that in quotations because he didn't sleep at all.  He had his own stress test and doctor's appointment on Monday so I sent him home Saturday to get some rest and see about our boys.

Here we are snuggled up in that tiny hospital bed, watching that tiny TV but we were home.

I joked on Instagram that here's me and Nikki in hospital beds at the same time!  I got to watch my story on that tiny little TV but not much else.  It only picked up 18 channels and the only "news" channel it picked up was the fakest news out there.  Oy.  I ended up watching a lot of "Everybody Loves Raymond" and "King Of Queens", two of my very favorite old shows anyway.  Probably did me good to take a news break.

This was the view from my room Saturday afternoon.  There was only me and two other patients on the whole floor.  The food was delicious, the care excellent and the pain meds kept coming.  

And this was my nighttime view.  I always looked forward to those seven little lights glowing across the way.

I came home Monday, on two weeks of strong antibiotics and attached to this.  A portable Genadyne NPWT Pump.  I hate it.  I hate having to carry it around.  I hate the sound it makes when it's sucking fresh good blood up into my wound, I hate everything about it.  I have a home health nurse who comes twice a week to change the dressing and when she was here Thursday, the dad-blamed thing actually looked better to me.  

The treatment has gone 117 hours and 2 minutes so far.  I'm told three to four weeks should do the trick.  After the pump has done all it can for me, a less invasive bandage/dressing will finish it on up.

I'm excited for that.  For spring, for warm weather, for sun on my face and for days spent planting flowers.  Lots and lots of flowers.  Lantana, I think.  And sunflowers.

One thing I've learned through this whole nightmare is hard times show you who loves you.  My Larry has been phenomenal through the whole thing, taking such good care of me and Banjo, Tabbie Hoffman and Kismet.  Our housekeeper came while Larry was with me in Alabama and she fed the boys and let Banjo out to potty.  That sweet boy had NO accidents.  My friends from work call and check on me, text me and come see me, bringing tons of food and love.  My precious mama checks on me every day, even though she's going through her own private hell.  When I tightened my circle, I absolutely kept the right ones inside.  My friend, Debbie, came yesterday bringing coffee, sausage and egg croissants and maple doughnuts and we talked about doing our annual Peaches to the Beaches jaunt March 8th.  

Eight weeks.  Foot, get ready.