Arthrodesis reversal

In February 2014 following another set of X-rays, it was identified that one of the screws holding my ankle together had broken. So plans were put in place to have them all removed and to debride my ankle once again.

So here we go again, non-weight bearing.

Following the operation, I became unwell while in hospital, my temperature and SpO2 readings were not normal and I was transferred to the local General Hospital for the weekend so I could be next to a High Dependency Unit (HDU). The concern was I had a deep infection.

My experience at the general hospital was awful. The first thing that was said to me on arrival was “as you have been transferred from another hospital, you are not our priority”. Although this may be true, it was not the welcome I was expecting.

The ward bay I was in had six beds, the other five had elderly gentlemen in them, I would guess in their 80’s, all of which unfortunately and sadly were suffering from dementia. This made my time there very difficult and I now understand what is meant by sleep deprivation.

I was prescribed a Drug called Rifampicin, which was described to me like ‘Domestos’ it killed 99.9% of things. Side effects were it turned everything orange, and there was this disgusting aroma which followed me around, although I was the only one who could smell it.

After four doses of Rifampicin, I refused to take it anymore, it was the most obnoxious substance known to man. I didn’t realise when they said it kills 99.9% of things, that it included killing me as well! There would have to be a very very good reason for me to ever take that again!

After the weekend and three days of no sleep, I was transferred back to the private hospital, what a relief!  Nothing from microbiology had been grown or found, and my stats had sorted themselves out.

As I was still on a lot of antibiotics, it was decided that I should be fitted with a Groshong line in my chest, this would allow easier antibiotic injections.

After spending ten days in hospital, I was finally discharged into the care of the Intermediate Care Team (ICT) nurses. These nurses visited me twice a day for another four weeks, giving me the IV Ceftriaxone infusions. It was a bind having to be at home for set times every day, but at least I was not in hospital.