I arrived at the hospital in quite a bit of pain. The placed me in a room and gave me some fun drugs, after a long conversation regarding my allergies to morphone and all morphine derivative drugs. A tech came in with his portable X-ray machine and took a few pictures. Shortly afterwards, my husband came in. "Honey, you scared the crap out of me! I saw your x-rays in the hall with all the doctors around them. I don't know how bad it is, but you definitely broke you leg." Shortly afterwards, the doctor came in and told me that I had broken my tibia, fibula and ankle and would need surgery immediately. In less than an hour I was wheeled down the hall to surgery.
I awoke Sunday afternoon, in a bit of pain, and a large bandage covering my leg. My mother was there and had told me that my husband went to arrange for longer care for the kids and to grab a nap. She informed me that I was now the proud owner of an 8" plate, 8 pins, and 3 screws in my right leg. We made some arrangements for the children, as the doctor told me I would be in the hospital through Monday. No big deal, or so I thought.
Monday came and went, and while the doctor was willing to give me all the morphiates I wanted, he did not seem to be able to find a drug that I could take without making me very ill. I had been taking tramadol in the hospital, however it would only last for about 1-2 hours before wering off and I had to use the drip pain medication. We went round and round for two more days trying to find a pain management solution that would actually work for me. I gave him a list of the drugs I had used in the past from my c-section that had worked well enough, but he did not listen very well. He finally gave me Tramadol every 6 hours, and Motrin every 6 hours, but to be taken inbetween the tramadol... so my drug schedule was Tramadol, wait 3 hours, Motrin, wait 3 hours, Tramadol.... etc.
Wednesday morning, I was finally able to stand the pain on this regime, and was told I'd be allowed to go home after receiving a plaster cast and proving I could walk up and down a flight of steps, and around the hall for the entire unit on crutches. The PT came in after my cast was on and mostly dry and took me and my new crutches out for a spin. I got light headed a few times going around the unit, and had to stop and rest. Then, she took me to the stairs and said "Up we go!" (Sadist woman.. if I didn't like her so much, I probably would have thrown my crutches at her!) She attached a belt to me, with straps she could hold onto to catch me if I started to fall, and showed me how to go up and down a flight of steps. Once I was able to do so, she allowed me to crutch back to my room and rest until my discharge paperwork was ready. Lookking back, I am glad she made me do the stairs. Knowing that I was able to manage a flight of stairs only a few days post-op made me less nervous when it came to crutches, escalators, and curbs after coming home. I knew I had already done it once, so I could do it again.
My aunt met me at the hospital that evening with a car to take me home in. Before heading to the house, I had her swing by the pharmacy and drop off my perscriptions, then we headed to the store. I had been craving real fruit and fresh veggies all week, and wanted to make sure I had plenty at home. Then we were off to WalMart to purchase some really big pillows, a few socks to wear over my cast, and a shower chair so I could finally bathe.
We arrived home, and I swallowed my pride and asked her to help me take a shower. I felt so icky from being in the hospital and not bathing for 4 days. Being nice and clean, sinking into my soft, comfy bed with my brand new pillows (I had bought 4 to keep my leg elevated everywhere I went in my house), and finally being home, I fell fast asleep.