After this "cold" began to create a fever Thursday, and the weather forecast suggested I really didn't feel like dealing with it, I did what I've very seldom done in 23 years -- called in sick.
Did run out and get the blood work done for Infectious Diseases -- the lab said the results by 1pm. But they weren't showing up in the MyHealth app. Finally the app mentioned that clinical results wouldn't be available Thursday or Friday. So I called Infectious Diseases and they'd gotten the results. White blood cell count normal. Only marker which was off was the one for inflammation, and the leg was swollen. Decision -- wait and see.
Saturday my fever went up to 103°F, then came down. And we started seeing bleeding from the heel wound. Hmm...
Sunday the peaks were more like 102°F, but I started making phone calls. The PA from Infectious Diseases agreed she'd order the blood cultures we figured we didn't need from Thursday's labs. Two phone calls to the Wound Clinic, but they never responded to the pages.
6:30 and time to change the heel bandage. It was a mess, blood flowing. No longer a question of which of the four doctors to get an appointment with on Monday first. We were beyond home heath care. So after I was rebandaged, I called my GP's service -- the PA called back in two minutes. Carl said I needed to be admitted into the hospital -- I told him that's why I called, so the ER would have the order before we got there.
Drove on in. Beautiful orange slice moon setting at 8:03 as we left home.
Wheelchair. ER room. Vitals. Fever. The blood culture needs two samples from two places. Got one, then nothin. IV set was good, but couldn't draw. Two people worked for an hour -- no joy. Apparently I really was dehydrated.
By about ten my room was ready. Turned out to be the same one I had in May 2014. The magic word to get a private room is "potential MRSA". New phlebotemist got the blood draw. I'd had one unit of saline in the ER.
I had skipped dinner, so after Mrs. Dr. Phil left, I had them make a couple of the microwave Mac and cheeses. First thing I'd felt like eating all day. By 2am, they'd started the vanco IV. And the MRI had been ordered by the ward's doctor. So, when? Um, the MRI is busy. Twenty hours later, still waiting.
Monday. 8am a PA from the foot surgeon is there. He says there is pus freely flowing from my heel. Wonderful. That's new. This PA actually works for the other surgeons in the practice not mine. He remembers me from May 2014. Still, it's good to hear from the amputation camp and not the Save The Foot camp. At this point it's too early.
9am, one of the PAs I see across the street in the Wound Clinic shows up. She wants to know if a wound culture has been done. I said no one mentioned it, but then they could've in the ER and I'd never feel it. Ordered. She didn't know why one of the doctors didn't return the pages on Sunday. New dressing uses Dakens solution -- which is bleach. Have had that before. Smells clean.
10am. "Dr. Phil, what are you doing here?" It's my Infectious Diseases doctor. She's really the point of my care team -- but we don't know anything yet. So we covered options.
The rest of the day was waiting for things to happen. The bariatric bed was delivered. It was hoped I could get the MRI and they could move beds while I was gone. But the wards don't have their own gurnies, they had to depend on a twenty year veteran aid, who managed to do one those puzzles with one pieces missing, and I got transferred.
Twenty-two hours waiting for the MRI...
Hey, I've been here before.
Will NOT be teaching PHYS-3090 Modern Physics in the spring.