Is Anything Going to Change

When I was taken off of the Dakin's solution I was thrilled. Not only would I no longer have to worry about my clothing and bedding being bleached-stained but I thought that we were finally moving onto a more effective treatment. The surgeon had cultured the wound and an infection was discovered. While I obviously was not pleased with this new information I figured it was just par for the course. I was placed on Bactroban Cream, a type of topical antibiotic ointment to treat the infection. In addition, the surgeon also instructed that we use a different type of dressing. The dressing that she recommended was something called Prisma. The intention of the Prisma is for the dressing to absorb any gross discharge the wound may be producing, it also has Colligen-like properties that in time would assist my body in closing the wound.

My surgeon decided that she was going to take me off of the Prisma because while it was helping, it was not giving us the desired results. Her next plan of attack made me incredibly upset because, you guessed it, she put me back onto the Dakin's solution, to be changed three times a week all over again. The solution that firstly was not what my wound should have been treated with and secondly was setting me into an emotional tailspin. I was devastated that we were in my opinion taking yet another step backward. I was yet again stuck having to deal with this Dakin's solution staining everything it came into contact with. The only positive about using it this time was that the risk of damage to the surrounding tissue was taken into account so we were using a skin barrier to protect it.

I was by this point feeling incredibly discouraged about the entire situation. I had had the wound for approximately a year and a half and aside from very minor changes it was not doing any better. The doctor kept recommending the same types of therapies that were just not being helpful. I had basically no quality of life, because it was drilled into my head that I needed to keep pressure off of my wound as much as possible. I figured that if I was going to ever get better that I should listen to the doctor so I basically put any sort of social life on hold. I had spent the past year and a half stuck at home in the Cliitron bed, aside from a very few family events that I felt it was important I attend. This was when I think I began to feel so discouraged about the situation that I just shut down. My nurse was trying to convince me that we were wasting time and that I was not going to get any better if I did not seek another opinion. Logically, everything the nurse was saying made perfect sense, except that I think I was numb to the situation. While I was existing I sure wasn't living.