So let's explore a little bit, okay? A tale to tell...
I started noticing back problems around the first week of July and went to the ER the first time on July 18 where I was treated primarily for constipation as I hadn't (at that time) had a bowel movement for 11 days. Too much information? Well, hang on, there's more. I listed lower back pain as part of the problem that brought me to the ER and I got an injection of some pain killer (torodol I think) that took care of it right away. But there was no effort to find out what was causing the back pain. Went home, cleared my bowel, got and got over Covid, continued to have back pain, went on about my business as best I could.
Come August, the pain was getting much worse and lasting much longer. I was self medicating with Tylenol and Motrin, each of which sort of worked some of the time and together proved to be a potent combination that pretty much utterly failed. I was on the phone periodically with advice nurses that didn't know what to do, and eventually called up for an appointment with my PCP which was essentially futile as his schedule was booked for weeks. I asked for someone sooner, and got someone via video visit much to my surprise, someone who prescribed what he said were the strongest non-narcotic pain killers he could. Well, much like Tylenol and Motrin, they sometimes worked but often didn't and I recognized that my condition was deteriorating rapidly. What to do?
Video doc said "go to the ER, stat." I hesitated, one because of cost, two because I was once again constipated -- this time for weeks -- and what if they only looked at that? Again?
Go anyway. So after waiting three more days, I called an ambulance as I couldn't sit in a car and I couldn't drive. Went to the nearest ER some 40 miles away where I've had bad experiences in the past.
I was taken right to an exam room and seen by an NP (I think) within maybe 45 minutes. For some reason, he suspected something given the pain I was having and the duration of my condition (then for a month and a half and getting worse the whole time.) He sent me for an MRI and maybe an hour after the procedure, he came back with a diagnosis: osteomyelitis and discitis needing immediate hospitalization and treatment. There were more tests run in the ER, and then toward evening I was trundled by ambulance to the main hospital downtown (five miles or so) and put in a room on the 4th floor that resembled a nice hotel's "jr suite." It was large, private, quiet, had a comfortable seating area, a large bathroom, but sadly no view as the window looked onto an inner court that I couldn't see.
I was for all intents and purposes completely bedridden. I was given pain killers, laxatives, antibiotics, and who knows what other medications; I was taken for bone biopsies, xrays and other tests, and just before I was discharged from that hospital (after 13 or 14 days) a picc line was installed to make the IV medication at my new hospital easier to administer.
I was being transferred to a rehabilitation hospital nearby where I would continue to undergo treatment for osteomyelitis and discitis but also be subject to physical therapy and occupational therapy so I would be able to get around well enough to go home, likely in 10 days.
A non-emergency transport got me the few hundred yards to the rehab facility where I was put in a double room, not as nice, not as large and with less view than at the first hospital, but adequate for the needs of the moment. For the first few days, I didn't have a room mate.
Right away, the rigors of therapy began. They called it "evaluation."
I was very weak but very willing, and soon enough was at least partially ambulatory, though only with a walker. I was taken for exercise almost every day, usually twice a day, and gradually became able to get around though not without struggle and not without pain. In fact, despite the opiod pain medications, the pain was sometimes so bad I had to stop. The other issue was that my blood pressure would fall dangerously low during or just following exercise. It was a mystery and remains one, though medications and dehydration were/are the suspected culprits.
Many liters of normal saline were administered. I was admonished to drink more water. Still my BP would fluctuate wildly and sometimes reach dangerously low levels. Then it stabilized lower than my normal but not severely so. As long as it was relatively stable, it was considered good enough.
As it got closer to my discharge date, my progress seemed insufficient to release me. I could sit up, stand, walk, move my limbs with and without weights, could do simple tasks like getting in and out of a car, I could wash myself, dress myself, and so on, but I lacked stamina, and I frequently needed assistance. And if I went home, there was a question of how I would receive IV antibiotic treatments as it was suspected that we couldn't get a home health aide to come out to our place in the country.
Sure enough, that proved to be the case. For several days it wasn't clear whether I would be able to go home or would have to go to a skilled nursing facility. I continued working toward going home though, and had faith that the antibiotic problem would be resolved. It was. Ms. Ché would be trained to do it at home.
Through all of this, I was boosted, cared for, helped, encouraged, "tortured," and inspired by an amazing staff wherever I was being treated, at both hospitals and the ER as well as another facility where I will have to go once a week to pick up IV supplies, have blood tests run, meet with the doctor, and be evaluated for progress.
I can't thank them enough.
I'm still not well. Far from it. But bit by bit... getting there. Now to find something to eat...!
