I am uncomfortable revealing personal health issues, let alone providing them for wide broadcast through electronic means. But here I am. So, let’s get this over with once and for all.
Back in the summer, a clumsy move on my part resulted in needing six stitches at the emergency room. All seemed well. The doctor told me to return the following week to remove the stiches. But by the time I returned, I sensed that my injury had somehow become infected. The doctor agreed.
Upon my request, my primary physician prescribed a generalized antibiotic designed to cure thirteen different strains of bacteria. However, I had contracted a less common strain that was unaffected by the antibiotic. What started as a small manageable infection in right leg grew worse, jumping to affect my left leg as well.
As the infections grew worse, my legs hurt incessantly. I could no longer sleep flat on the bed, and my general health suffered. At that point, I was seeing three different doctors plus a nurse, and nobody seemed able to do more than to change my bandages. I wondered whether this would be my lot until the end of my days on earth. After nearly three months of major discomfort, I told my doctor that I thought I needed to go to the hospital.
“Thom,” she responded, “hospitals have their own bacteria. It’s very dangerous!”
In retrospect, I should have immediately removed myself from under the care of this doctor. But I was distraught and felt helpless. I shared this information with the surgeon I saw on Wednesdays. She saw a way out: she would send me to yet another doctor to make the final determination.
I went to the new doctor the following day. She arranged to send me to the hospital the next day.
I spent the next two weeks at the hospital in Prešov, followed by a transfer to the hospital in Kežmarok (voted by me as “the worst hospital in Slovakia”) for another week. After trying to fight infection over three months, my body was weak, my hemoglobin depleted of all nutrients. My arms resembled pincushions and my body showed both internal and external abuse by a wide range of “specialists”. Regardless of my health status, I just wanted to go home.
I was still definitely weak when finally released from that torture prison of a hospital. But I managed to pick up my dog from the hotel and make it home. Thankfully, Štefania and her family helped to ease my transition home.
I have now been home for three weeks. I was initially unable to eat at all, then only fruit or nuts. Momentary culinary inspiration at the grocery store were quickly nixed by my stomach once home, and I ended up donating ingredients, especially anything non-vegan. Fortified juices tasted delightful and bland iceberg lettuce was irrationally satisfying. But then something happened: I cooked a meal.
On Friday I prepared chicken breast with broccoli and toasted cashews over basmati rice. Admittedly a little too much rice vinegar and not enough sugar to balance the flavors, I managed to eat a reasonable portion. And there were leftovers for two more nights. My appetite is restored.
In addition, the bacteria sample from my leg shows that my legs are now bacteria-free, and I am no longer taking antibiotics. A blood test indicated my hemoglobin is returning to normal.
Finally, my legs no longer hurt from lacking a functioning skin. This week, I was able to gently scrub my legs with a disinfecting soap without pain. Yes, they remain tender, but not painful. And the wounds weep much less than before. I suspect that, within two weeks, I will no longer need to bandage my legs at all.
My body is still a bit weak, and it is with great caution that I walk up or down stairs. Otherwise, I am doing quite fine. This is therefore the end of any discussion regarding my current health situation, and I look forward to writing about more interesting topics in the future.