About two months ago, mid-October, Bob started experiencing some pain in his right leg that traveled down to his foot. He had just quit his job and had two weeks off before starting his new position back at Surdyk's in Minneapolis, and was looking forward to having two blissful weeks of doing nothing, or anything, his choice. When the pain started to get worse, he went to see his doctor. He was diagnosed with sciatica, prescribed some pain meds and physical therapy. His two weeks' vacation became two weeks of bed rest, but was optimistic that this too, shall pass.
The pain got progressively worse, and over the course of the next several weeks, he began his litany of therapies: PT, several trips to a chiropractor, two epidurals of cortisone, and even a visit to an acupuncturist (who gave him a couple of very small, very expensive bags of yard waste, which were to be boiled into a "tea," and ingested twice a day over the course of several days. The process of cooking the tea was tedious and time-consuming, and was my job, as Bob couldn't be upright for long. It filled the house with a curious aroma of potpourri and . . . manure. It might be important to note that we currently have our house on the market, and need to be ready to vacate for a showing at a moment's notice. They say baking cookies or an apple pie is an alluring, homey touch when showing a house. Boiling shit-tea on the stove, I'm pretty sure, is not. He choked down a half a cup of the tea, damn near threw up, and promptly deposited the rest of the pricy bag of twigs and leaves in the trash).
But, I digress. During this time, Bob started his new job at Surdyk's on November 10th. He only made it through a week or so before he had to stop working. He couldn't sit, couldn't bear weight on his right side, and therefore couldn't be on his feet for very long before the pain became unbearable. By this point, Bob had become basically bed-ridden, limited to lying on his stomach or unaffected side, and only being on his feet for very short periods of time. All along, he has asked every professional he's worked with why nothing could be done about the specific area he's feeling the most pain, deep in his right hip/butt. Everyone he's seen has said it's referred pain, that sciatica originates from the spine, but the pain materializes in other areas—the butt, leg, foot.
As much as I was against it (easy for me to say, being the one not in pain), he eventually decided to have back surgery, after six weeks of nearly constant, unbearable' pain, and zero-quality of life. He got a referral from his doctor to see an orthopedic surgeon to discuss the surgery. His doctor's recommended surgeon was booked up, but I got the name of a surgeon from a client who works in an orthopedic clinic. Several more days, a few more appointments back and forth between his primary doctor and the surgeon, and two MRI's later, Bob was scheduled for surgery on December 3rd, to correct a herniated disc at L5-S1—lower back—that was found on the MRI. We're told that 90% of people who have the surgery are up and at 'em within a few short days. He was nothing, if not hopeful that this would be his ticket to health again.
Two weeks passed after the surgery, and Bob's pain did not go away. In some ways, had gotten worse—the duration of the pain seemed less frequent, he said, but the intensity of the pain increased. At his post-surgery appointment on December 14th, we were told that the herniated disc hadn't been that impressive, but that a nerve had adhered itself to some old scar tissue near the herniation. The surgeon had to "peel" the nerve off the tissue to allow it to heal and become "normal" again. He said that may be contributing to the excess pain, because now the nerve may be even more inflamed, and that nerve pain takes longer to subside and heal than other tissue. He prescribed more pain meds and more physical therapy. This seemed to make sense, to a degree, but Bob asked, once again, if anything could be done about where the pain is at its worst—deep in his hip—so he could gain some mobility, some relief, some semblance of a normal life again? The surgeon said, once again, that it's referred pain, that even though he has the pain in his hip and leg, it originates at the spine, and that's where it must be treated. Classic sciatica symptoms, he's told again. We left the appointment scratching our heads, wondering how he's going to endure more physical therapy . . .
The next evening, December 15th, I came home from work and found Bob crying in intense pain. He told me he can't go on like this any more. It had been over two months since the leg pain started, none of the therapies have helped, and the surgery has given him no reprieve from the pain; instead, it's worsened. We had to think of another plan of action. I had been talking to a doctor-client of mine that night at work and, based on what I'd told her, she thought the orthopedic surgeon missed the mark, and that something else is going on. She suggested Bob be seen by a neuro surgeon at a neuropathy clinic. Trouble is, she said, it will take weeks or even months to get in to see someone.
Early Wednesday morning, December 16th, I started calling neuro clinics: U of M, Mayo . . . each tells me that it'll take months to get in, unless Bob gets a recommendation from his primary doctor, then they might be able to see him sooner. We placed a call to his primary doctor and then sat and waited. An hour or so went by with no call from his doc, so I decided to take the dogs out for a walk, to think, to burn off some nervous energy. On our walk, I made a decision. We can't sit around and wait for someone else's blessing to get into a specialty clinic. Someone needs to see him. Now.
I decided to take him to the ER that day, even though I was afraid we'd be turned away—there's no blood, no guts, no broken bones or bullet wounds . . . I called my good friend, Julie, who works as a care manager for the elderly. She deals with this sort of thing every day, getting people admitted into care facilities. I was crying as I walked Gaia, telling her Bob's story, and my solution. I wanted was affirmation that my idea was legit, that we would get the help Bob needs if we went this route: "My god, Jen, this IS an emergency!" she said. "THIS is what the ER is there for—you don't need blood and guts to use it! Get home and get him in there right away!"
When I got home, I told Bob what we were going to do. He resisted at first, but I told him that he needed to be seen by someone, and we can't wait weeks, or even a few more days. We both believe there is something else going on, and I'll see to it that he's admitted and get the attention he needs—I have no problem playing the crazy, hysterical wife (been there, done that, should have a t-shirt). He reluctantly agreed, and we loaded him up in the car (since he can't sit, I dropped the back seat, lay a blanket down, a pillow for between his knees), and headed to United in St. Paul.
Oh, Nenni and Bubo, I wish that you Bob didn't have to endure the pain for that long. I know there are doctors who are sofa king good, but there are medical professionals/facilities that are sofa king for-profit vs. for-patient/people and that upsets me so, and something needs to be done about this. There are posters in at least my doctor's office urging patients to SPEAK UP as their own advocates, but what if they can't? Not all patients can be their own advocates. What if they are in sofa king much pain they can't? What if they don't have a partner (like you, Jen) to take on the advocate role? Thus, thank you so much for this blog, Jennifer, although I wish the circumstances in which it was created were not so. Yet, this blog is important on a multitude of levels--allows us to understand what Bob's endured, what you've endured, what's materializing, and creates awareness of changes within parts of the medical world that could be changed.
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