Pg. 2
By Sue Alcorn
On June 3, 1993 I had what's called an osteotomy on my right hip. A portion of my femur below the hip joint, was removed and reinserted it at a different angle. An extremely unpleasant surgery, I might add. I was in the hospital for approximately 7-8 days post surgery, on a morphine pump for probably 4 of those days and wasn't exactly the most well-behaved patient to ever cross the hospital's path. I was then sent to a rehabilitation center for two weeks to strengthen the leg and hip muscles. By the end of June, I had survived both operations, was up and about with a walker and ready to go home to start life anew. Or so I thought.
The day of my discharge, the attending physician took a look at my incision. I could tell by the grimace on his face he wasn't a happy camper. He left the room and returned a moment later with another doctor and two nurses in tow (all gloved and masked), armed with wooden tongue depressors, flashlights and various alcohol preps. Thermometers were inserted [almost] everywhere while the doctors exchanged whispered conversations and made a myriad of telephone calls. I asked them what was going on, but the doctors were in their own medical galaxy where no earthling could possibly comprehend the depths of their wisdom and knowledge nor could I interpret their medicalese. I was mere mortal. An amoebic specimen whose vitality and existence served only as an output for information. Information which served them. Not me. Thank the Gods and Goddesses for nurses, though. They reside in a different realm. Nurses must hail from that middle space where Angels tread and wherever it is they preserve Saints for they are a steadfast species unto their own. Bless them! Milly, my nurse whispered in my ear and said, "You've spiked a temp over 104 and there's some greenish gunk oozing from your incision. They're going to send you back to the hospital, I think." Well, Milly was right. Back to my orthopedic surgeon I went. My incision had "dehissed" (don't know if that's the proper spelling or even the correct term), but it had come unstapled and some kind of greenish stuff oozed out of it.
By the time I reached my surgeon (at another hospital 20 miles away, mind you) he immediately decided to take no chances with the green gunk and within 2 hours I was in the operating room for a debridement and lavage (D&L). (Simply put: A wash and cleaning). Bone tissue cultures were taken during surgery and their results indicated I had contracted a very nasty bug while in rehabilitation: Methicillin-resistant staph aureus (MRSA). In the instance where bacteria has infected the bone tissue, D&Ls are performed every other day in the hospital until the cultures return negative. I wouldn't have become aware of MRSA's viciousness if it weren't for the alacrity of the interns and their fascination with my antibiotic: Vancomycin.** I felt as though I was on exhibition. Being a patient in isolation is one thing, but when you have young doctors popping in for no apparent reason other than to take a look at the antibiotic, it gets annoying. One of them almost gleefully said to me, "Hey, did you know you're on the strongest antibiotic known to man? And if this doesn't work, nothing will!" I started to hyperventilate and shortly before going catatonic, I told the young intern I wanted to speak with the surgeon immediately. Luckily, the surgeon assured me, after I was given an ample amount of valium, that my infection was under control, there was nothing for me to worry about and I would be fine. Now, from what I gathered later, my doctor held an informal meeting with his interns in the lounge down the hall from my room. How do I know this? I could hear almost every muffled word spoken during that highly charged conversation. Most of which turned into a lecture peppered with invectives from my doctor to his underlings whereby he expounded on the virtues, merits and importance of curtailing one's scientific enthusiasm and defer to good old-fashioned people skills when dealing with patients.
Okay, now, where was I? Oh yes, back in the hospital diagnosed with one of the worst infections known to man, a/k/a MRSA - Methicillin-resistant staph aureus. Well, to make a long story short, MRSA has been my enemy for many years. It's an insidious bacteria that once infects the bone tissue it's very difficult to 'kill'. However, MRSA can remain dormant for many years causing no flare-ups. I remained hospitalized during July and August of 1993 going in and out of surgery for debridment and lavages. By August's end, I was discharged. However, the MRSA reared its ugly head and I spent 9 weeks in the of fall 1993 hospitalized repeating the same D&L schedule. When my cultures came back negative, a cosmetic surgeon performed a skin and muscle flap to close the area. The metal in my right hip remained in place so the bone could to knit back together. The purpose of the osteotomy was to defer total hip replacement for as many years possible due to my age and the AVN's advancement. Unfortunately, that osteotomy was not a success. The femur and joint became necrotic and had to be removed. In September 1994 I had my first right hip replacement. THIS was the surgery that promised to get me up and walking again. At that time, my left leg was fine because the core decompression was successful. And I was fairly mobile for a few months after the 1994 hip replacement. Although six months later, my left hip collapsed.
Thank you.