My Breaking Point

Once we stopped using the Silver Nitrate we went back to using the same Prisma dressing that we had been previously using. I was displeased with this decision because I believed that the wound care nurse was accurate when she told me that the wound would not heal if we didn't do something about the thick rolled edges. Although, I disagreed with the surgeon's instructions I still continued to see her for my wound care. Despite the fact that my visiting nurse was irate with my choice to do so.

At one of the last appointments with that particular surgeon, she did her exam of the wound and explained to me that it was now bigger than it had been in the past few weeks. At that point I had no idea what to think other than that this was getting really ridiculous. The surgeon then asked me, in an accusatory tone what I was doing differently and said that I "had to be getting out of bed more often." I explained to her that I was remaining in the Clinitron bed except for about half an hour a day, and that the half hour was spread out through the entire day. She did not seem to believe me when I said that but there was nothing I could do to convince her. This was absolutely ludicrous, I could not believe that my surgeon now did not believe me when I told her that I honestly was not doing anything differently. 

Any one else that was in a situation like that probably would have made that the final appointment with that particular surgeon. However, I don't always do things the way everyone else typically does, so I made an appointment to see her again the following week for her to check on the progress. The visiting nurse and I continued at this point to do the Prisma dressings that were very clearly not going to help. By now I was rapidly approaching my breaking point with the surgeon and the wound in general. 

I had at this point wasted approximately two years of my life waiting for this wound to heal. I had not really spent any time out of the bed except for doctors appointments and holidays and one concert, since the wound was discovered. I was beginning to look forward to the doctors appointments, purely so that I could go outside for a little while. From my house to the car, from the car to the office and then back home again. Big whoop, yet I was going outside so I didn't particularly care where I was going or what I was doing. 

The following week I went back to the doctor rather fed up with how everything was being handled. The doctor looked at the wound and its measurements and it had not gotten any smaller, yet it hadn't gotten any larger either. I was happy that it was not larger but that is when I realized what the surgeon was doing, she was looking at the wound and shouting "Why, why aren't you closing yet Why!?" directly to the wound itself. I could not believe that she was actually saying this, and then to shout it directly to the wound, had this woman lost her mind? I was also peeved because I felt like I knew why it wasn't closing and it all had to do with the edges of the wound having gotten so thick and rolled. Her opinion clearly differed from mine and while I understand that, I did not feel respected when I explained my point of view to her. I was instructed to go back to her yet again in another week. 

I never ended up going back to see her. The shouting at my wound made me loose any shred of respect I may have had toward her and there was no way I would be treated by her any longer. I went home from that appointment angry at the surgeon and partially at myself for sticking it out with her for so long, despite all of the signs that I was given even at the beginning. I distinctly remembered calling a relative after the first appointment with the surgeon and explaining that I had a really bad feeling about her, although I couldn't put my finger on just why. I decided to channel my anger toward finding a way to close this wound so that I could have my life back. When I got home I called my visiting nurse and told her that I was finally done with that surgeon and asked if she could she recommend a place for me to be treated. While the nurse was not at all happy about how my last couple appointments had gone with that surgeon, she was happy that I was finally beginning to see the light. 

The visiting nurse made a few phone calls to get some suggestions from her colleagues and then called me back. She explained that during the time I was treated by a wound care center in the neighboring town that one had opened in my neighborhood, just minutes from my home. She had heard some very good things about them and I also felt that I didn't have anything to lose by allowing a fresh set of eyes to look at the wound. Maybe some progress would be made, eventually?