The Spectacle: Severed EHL Tendon- 2 week Post-Op

There was a bit of anticipation leading up to this day, partly because I was going to the hospital to see Dr. S and have him remove the cast to see what lay underneath and partly because this was the first time I was leaving my home in about 2 weeks. We arrived at the hospital at 9:15 for my appointment, dealt with the usual hospital administrivia and then was immediately called into another waiting room within the fracture clinic. I waited for about an hour and was starting to get a bit antsy when Dr. S popped in, we exchanged pleasantries and he called in the fracture guru Domenic (Orthopaedic Technologist) to remove the cast.

…And so this is when the spectacle began (did I mention that regrettably I had refrained from taking any pain medication prior to my hospital venture this morning?). Domenic who is a stone cold veteran at casting and removal popped out his trusty scissors from his back pocket and started snipping away at the soft part of my cast. Image 1.

 I was squirming and begging him to please be careful as the top side of my foot is stitched up (I mention I had a severed EHL tendon repair) and is extremely tender to the touch.  As the soft cast began to loosen there was a sudden surge of pain in my foot.  The protection and stability of the cast were no longer there. My foot was bruised and red-it looked hideous...Zipper foot, Freakfoot you name it. I couldn't move it. Dr S paid me a visit again once the cast had been removed. He had me put the tiniest bit of pressure with his thumb against my big toe. The tears were flowing by now. The only positive thing at this very moment was my ability to gain a visual of my scar; I was pleased that it was much smaller than originally anticipated. Dr. S had successfully found my original tendon and was able to braid it together. Albeit my toe is still severely dorsiflexed forward; with time and plenty of rehabilitation it will stretch out naturally and even out with the rest of its mates. Image 2.

The new cast would have to be a full "hard" cast, which meant they had to set my foot at a 90 degree angle. My foot was stiff and extremely sore, so with the help of Domenic and my hubby, they both took turns at flexing my foot upwards.

Now let me preface this by saying I have 2 glorious children, each of which put me through an average of 32 hours of labour without a peep from me. I will now chalk this up to being a labour of love. By the usual standards I have a very high tolerance for pain.

However, I am embarrassed to say that my behavior today during this ordeal shocked even me. No matter how much I tried to think of the Greater Good, Peace on Earth etc, or even the old Nut Up or Shut Up I could not help but scream out all the profanities that were in my repertoire. I apologized after each filthy cluster to those around me and to those listening in the halls. It was murder. It was still imperative that my foot is cast at 90 degrees-- no exceptions!

After much pain and sweat by all parties, he finally expertly casts it in the colour of my choice; black of course. He kindly gives me his card and says that if I find it too uncomfortable after a few days I should return and he will recast. This saddens me as it makes me think he was unable to really do it right the first time because of drama that just unfolded. He reassures me that he has witnessed much worse, and that the level of pain associated in the feet is almost unmatched by any other.
I'm at a full 10 out of 10 for pain now and my foot is screaming for my Oxycodone. The outing which I was really looking forward to was trumped by a whole new "style" of pain as I turned another corner on this journey.

 It's time to go home and submit my mind, body and soul down the rabbit hole once again.... Which retrospectively is when I write this….