The Infarction
My right leg was in excruciating pain. Simple painkillers had no effect. Seeking relief, I went to the clinic. The doctors were too hesitant and indecisive, so I injected myself with strong painkillers when they too busy arguing over the best course of action. My pain instantly disappeared, relief flooding my entire body
The doctors delayed my diagnosis, believing me to be simply displaying “drug seeking behavior.” But I continued to get worse. My deteriorating condition forced them to reconsider their diagnosis. For three days the pain kept getting worse and worse, with no relief. My doctors were useless; worse than useless, “useless and oblivious.”
Examining my own symptoms, I finally suggested muscle death. A clot caused an infarction in my leg, leading to muscle death. An MRI scan confirmed the diagnosis. But by then, my leg muscle had already started rot, poisoning my blood stream. Because of my doctor’s incompetence, they now wanted my leg amputated.
I quickly refused that option. My leg was far too valuable, especially when other options existed. I requested a bypass, to restore circulation of my leg. I was told that my plan was incredibly risky, that there was a good chance I would die, and that the post-operation pain would be unbearable. I didn’t care. I would do anything to save my leg. If it worked, I would regain full use of my leg.
As predicted, my refusal to amputate put me in agonizing pain. It was a constant non-stop torture. Every waking hour I writhed in agony, hoping that my leg would heal itself, that the suffering would end. Even morphine had no effect on my pain. There was only one other reprieve for my suffering.
I wanted to be put into a chemically induced coma. It would allow me to sleep through the worst of the pain, while my body flushed out the toxins produced by the necrotic tissue.
I finally was awaken from my coma, and was greeted with relentless pain in my leg. To my horror, my doctors had removed the dead muscle, against my wishes. I couldn’t believe it! How dare they cut out my leg muscle? It was my leg, my life; I was the one who would have to live with it. They claimed that it probably saved my life, that the dying tissue was releasing toxins that could potentially shut down several organ systems. But I also could have survived, regained full use of my leg, suffering no long term damage.
The extent of muscle removed severely inhibited my leg’s utility. I suffer a severe limp, requiring the use of a cane to walk. Because of the delay in diagnosis, I now live in constant pain, dependent on Vicodin.
“No, I do not have a pain management problem, I have a pain problem.”
The doctors delayed my diagnosis, believing me to be simply displaying “drug seeking behavior.” But I continued to get worse. My deteriorating condition forced them to reconsider their diagnosis. For three days the pain kept getting worse and worse, with no relief. My doctors were useless; worse than useless, “useless and oblivious.”
Examining my own symptoms, I finally suggested muscle death. A clot caused an infarction in my leg, leading to muscle death. An MRI scan confirmed the diagnosis. But by then, my leg muscle had already started rot, poisoning my blood stream. Because of my doctor’s incompetence, they now wanted my leg amputated.
I quickly refused that option. My leg was far too valuable, especially when other options existed. I requested a bypass, to restore circulation of my leg. I was told that my plan was incredibly risky, that there was a good chance I would die, and that the post-operation pain would be unbearable. I didn’t care. I would do anything to save my leg. If it worked, I would regain full use of my leg.
As predicted, my refusal to amputate put me in agonizing pain. It was a constant non-stop torture. Every waking hour I writhed in agony, hoping that my leg would heal itself, that the suffering would end. Even morphine had no effect on my pain. There was only one other reprieve for my suffering.
I wanted to be put into a chemically induced coma. It would allow me to sleep through the worst of the pain, while my body flushed out the toxins produced by the necrotic tissue.
I finally was awaken from my coma, and was greeted with relentless pain in my leg. To my horror, my doctors had removed the dead muscle, against my wishes. I couldn’t believe it! How dare they cut out my leg muscle? It was my leg, my life; I was the one who would have to live with it. They claimed that it probably saved my life, that the dying tissue was releasing toxins that could potentially shut down several organ systems. But I also could have survived, regained full use of my leg, suffering no long term damage.
The extent of muscle removed severely inhibited my leg’s utility. I suffer a severe limp, requiring the use of a cane to walk. Because of the delay in diagnosis, I now live in constant pain, dependent on Vicodin.
“No, I do not have a pain management problem, I have a pain problem.”