The start of my decline.

     Everything started with me driving truck. Being in the seated position for so many hours straight, my legs would swell, and I kept getting Cellulitis in my leg. Every time I got it, I would have to miss work to get it cleared up. Because I missed so much work I ended up losing my job, and other companies didn't want me because I missed so much.
     Now I was jobless and had no insurance, with Cellulitis in my leg. I wouldn't go to the hospital with no insurance and no way to pay the bill. I spent about a week so sick, all I did was lay in bed. I couldn't eat more than a bite or two, and didn't even have the urge to go out to smoke. I laid in my bed with my swollen leg propped up on my wall, hoping the swelling would go down and the pain would ease up a little bit.
     My mom came in to check on me and was looking at my leg when she said, "it looks wet." It was wet, because it was starting to bust open and the infection was seeping out. She said, "you need to go to the hospital." I reluctantly agreed and she called an ambulance for me. When I got to the Emergency Room, they took one look at my leg and called the surgeon. I was told they had to cut my leg to drain the infection and hopefully the antibiotics would take hold.
     When I woke up in recovery, I remember the pain was far worse than anything I had ever felt. There was a nurse sitting right beside my bed and the louder I screamed the faster she would push the morphine. My leg hurt so bad, but the rest of me felt pretty good. The surgeon came to look at it again and didn't seem pleased. He told my parents that he was going to have to go in again. There was still too much infection and the antibiotics just couldn't keep up.
     They also discovered in the first surgery that I had severe sleep apnea, They tried to put me on a C-pap or a Bi-pap but I couldn't tolerate the mask. I was told I needed a tracheotomy or I could die. So, when they put me under again they done the tracheotomy, and cut on my leg some more. I remember waking up hurting and unable to talk or scream. It was probably the most frustrating thing I ever had to deal with, not being able to communicate my feelings.
     The surgeon came to look at my leg again and told my parents he had to go in yet again. When I came to, I was told that it was deep and if they had to cut anymore it would be to amputate the leg. I couldn't see it at the time but my left leg was cut clear to the bone on the calf, and clear to the bone on my shin. There was a channel cut from front to back that they were packing to absorb the infection. That packing had to be changed every two hours.
     I heard them say that I was septic and lucky to be alive. It was and still is the most painful ordeal I have ever been through. After having the trach for a few days, respiratory started weaning me off the vent, and speech therapy brought me a PassyMuir valve. It is a little cap that goes on the trach that limits airflow to in only so that you can talk. I got used to it very quickly and in fact didn't feel comfortable without it on.
     They said that was weird because most people were the opposite, and had a hard time using one. I always have been backwards compared to everyone else. Luckily the antibiotics started getting ahead of the infection and I started to get better. But the pain was still very intense and they were giving me IV morphine. I was in the hospital for several months, and from being laid up for so long I had become very weak.
     I couldn't walk and even simple tasks like turning in the bed were a major ordeal. They told me I would have to go to an extended care facility, also known as a Long term Acute Care facility. It was much like a hospital. I was there for a month and then they sent me to Rock Island Illinois to a nursing and rehab. I was only twenty four years old, and in a nursing home.
     I remember how depressing it was to spend my twenty fifth birthday in a nursing home. There was a cute little CNA that made my day brighter. When she heard it was my birthday, I was sitting in a wheel chair outside of my room and she came over and sat on my lap and put her arm around me and told me happy birthday. She made a depressing situation so much better. 
     Physical Therapy worked hard with me and got me stronger and got me walking again. Everyday I was able to walk a little further, and before long I was able to walk around the whole building outside and step up and down on the curb. They released me to go home to my mom and dad's. Overall I was still getting better, however, I kept getting Pneumonia because of having the trach. I had it several times and every time had to be hospitalized.
     Living at home with my parents was okay for a minute, but that didn't last long. Mom and I are so much alike, we can't get along when we live together. We decided it was time for me to get my own apartment. I had to get help from home health to treat the wounds on my leg and help me with bathing and household chores. At mom and dad's we had a walk in shower so I could do more for myself there, but my apartment the tub was too small and I couldn't have climbed in and out. 
     My first apartment on Oak St. was pretty much a dump. There were people selling drugs out the window in the apartment below me, so there were people knocking on their window all hours of the night. There was several floods because my apartment was directly across from the laundry. There was several fire scares and one actual fire. The fear of being trapped on the second floor in a fire was very traumatizing for me. To this day when I hear a fire alarm, even for a drill, I smell smoke and I have and anxiety attack.
     I'm starting to get better with that and my anxiety rarely bothers me anymore. One of the other apartments I had applied for came available, and I jumped on the opportunity. I was actually in the hospital with Pneumonia again when mom and dad went and looked at it and took pictures for me. They moved me in while I was in the hospital. The Vermillion St. apartment was much bigger and on the ground floor. 
     It was so much nicer there, and quiet too. I lived there up until the last time I got pneumonia really bad. I ended up being in the hospital so long I got too weak to be able to walk again. I never got to return to my apartment. It's been nursing homes and hospitals for me for the last four years now.
     To find out the rest of the story, watch for my next blog entry.
  

Author Robert N Lewis Jr.

WWW.AUTHORROBERTNLEWISJR.COM 

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