After a healthy dose of self medication via a wine bottle and a friend on Sunday night, it was time to get to the business of finding a doctor and understanding insurance.
I'm fortunate enough to row with someone who works in an orthopedics office. She was able to help me get in to see a foot and ankle specialist on Monday. Insurance - I was not so fortunate. At first it looked like I would not be covered for this doctor. Then it looked like the doctor was okay, but her affiliated hospital was not. Then it looked like it was all okay - then none of it was. Let's just say it's confusing, and it was hard to get clear answers.
I went to my appointment anyway, and the office took my card and did all the checking for me. Told me not to worry about it. In a day that had been filled with random crying outbursts (like on the phone with insurance when they told me the hospital was definitely not covered) it was incredible to be told, "Don't worry, we will make it work."
My appointment was fairly straightforward. I had not done enough research at that point to ask how the doctor tended to perform this surgery (there are two options, both with their own pros and cons). She did spend a lot of time walking through the recovery procedure. This differed from my research, as her protocol puts me "walking" (in a boot, using crutches when I can't tolerate regular watching) about 4 weeks post surgery. I had heard and read that it can be up to 8 weeks until you can even put your foot down. This office believes it is better to reintroduce motion to the foot sooner rather than later.
She then said, in this late afternoon Monday appointment, "I'm thinking Thursday for surgery". That's when it all hit. Thursday is...this week! It's soon! I've never had surgery before, and the act of agreeing to a date made what had been a surreal 24 hours suddenly feel very real. She also reached out to my primary care doctor to coordinate a pre-op appointment and another appointment to make sure all the right precautions were being taken based on my personal medical history.
That night I began giving myself a prescription blood thinner injection (based on a pre-existing medical risk). Uh, I've never done THAT before. When I picked up the prescription, the pharmacist described the needle as feeling like "a tiny prick" which you stick into the lovehandle part of your tummy. I pictured the teeny tiny needle used to sometimes draw blood out of your finger tip. In reality, it was much bigger. Not the Biggest Needle Ever, but not one you necessarily want to be in control of having to stick into yourself at first once, and then later twice a day.
But it's truly incredible of what you are capable of doing, when you really have no alternative. I had to give myself a shot, so I just did it. I had to figure out how to navigate my apartment (cook, eat, shower) on crutches, and I did. Not always without help, and not without the occasional tearful breakdown, but it's to be expected.
The word "can't" is not allowed in my head.
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