Lucky to be Alive?

I know this is way over the allotted length, but I felt it was necessary....

            In high school, I was rather accident-prone. I sprained my ankle multiple times and I always had a scrape or bruise somewhere on my body from sports. The scrapes and bruises never really bothered me- I actually enjoyed showing them off. The ankle sprains were annoying mostly because the healing process was long and tedious. However, none of these injuries were ever that dramatic. Then, in October of sophomore year in high school, my accidents began to become a little more serious. Unfortunately, I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during one of my field hockey games and ended up being smacked in the face with the follow through of my opponent’s stick. I wound up with thirteen stitches and a broken nose. After a simple surgery a week later and then six weeks of healing, I was good to go. However, little did I know, the following October of my junior year had something much worse in store for me.

            It was a Wednesday morning and I was just trying get through the last school day for that week. We had both Thursday and Friday off for a holiday and I was more than ready for a break. At 9:00 a.m., my friend, Shelci, and I strolled into our school’s gym to sit through another mandatory, boring assembly where other students, not us, were receiving awards. We brought along some leftover homework from the night before to pass the time. With about fifteen minutes left in the assembly, I began to notice that my right ankle felt a little funny- sort of tight. I pulled up my jean pant leg and asked Shelci if she thought it looked swollen.

            “Eh, maybe a little…” she responded with a shrug.

            “I must have tweaked it in my field hockey game yesterday,” I answered. We quickly moved on to something else as we jumped down the uneven bleachers and shuffled through the sea of students out of the gym. Shelci and I conveniently had the next period off, and found ourselves in the library continuing our unfinished homework from the night before. Very shortly after getting situated in the library, I began to realize that my ankle was beginning to develop a dull ache, and looked slightly more swollen. Luckily, the nurse’s office happened to be located in the library so I decided to pay her a visit. I explained to her how I noticed it swelling and it was beginning to hurt. She contently gave me a couple of Advil and sent me on my way. If only it had been that simple.

            I returned to the table that Shelci and I had claimed by our exploded books and papers, and tried to focus on my reading assignment that was due by the next period. I just couldn’t do it. After about twenty minutes, the dull ache had turned into a painfully sharp throb. My ankle was even more swollen, so I returned to the nurse. She wasn’t sure what was going on so she decided to wrap my ankle in medical tape in order to prevent any more swelling. I left her office for a total of about five minutes before I decided that the tape was not helping. The pain got even worse so I frantically unraveled the extensively wrapped kankle. As I got up from my seat to return once again to the nurse’s office, I nearly fell over. Shocked, I looked down at my ankle. It was so swollen and painful that I could no longer hold my body’s weight on it. Shelci had to assist me in walking to the nurse’s office one last time before class. By this point, I could tell that the nurse was beginning to be quite concerned. Because I had class at 10:00 a.m., she gave me a pair of crutches to use and insisted that I go see the school trainers as soon as they arrived at 12:00 p.m. I thanked her, and, trying my best to ignore the pain, headed across campus to the science building.

            My physics class was supposed to last for an hour and a half, but it was only an hour for me. As much as I tried to conceal the pain I was feeling, my teacher saw straight through my façade and forced me to leave early in order to pay a visit to the trainers. Although the trainers were used to seeing me, they were surprised that I was arriving to early in the day. As I hopped up on one of the training tables, I told the trainer how my ankle randomly started swelling only three hours before and now looked like it had a mango under its skin. They tried to take a look, but it was now past the point of touching because the pain was just too unbearable. Only, this was nowhere close to the end of it.

            The trainer elevated and iced my ankle as I laid there, holding back tears, waiting for my mom to take me to the doctor. What seemed like hours later, even though it was only about thirty minutes, my mom and I were on our way to my doctor. We arrived, anticipating only what was going to be more bad news. No one knew what was wrong with my ankle. My doctor sent us on our way to the emergency room. I was starting to feel as though I was on a quest with no final answer. Even though there was no one in the waiting room at the ER, it still managed to take at least forty-five minutes until they could see me. I was now in excruciating pain, and had little patience left.

            Unfortunately, the ER was an extremely unpleasant experience. The doctors/nurses were very stubborn and did not listen to anything I was saying. First, they gave me a shot in my butt! It was for the pain, but it didn’t do much. Then, they did some blood work. They concluded that my white blood cell count was high, but because I did not have a fever, it was not an infection. Then they took X-rays, and that showed absolutely nothing as well. The doctors suggested that I go see an orthopedist. By this time, as you might have guessed, things were not good. My mom was frustrated and extremely worried, and I was to the point to where everything from here on out is kind of a blur because of how much pain I was in. I do know that the nurse tried to force a boot onto my ankle before I left- BAD idea. My ankle was so swollen that it barely even fit. The nurse insisted that I wear the boot. I started screaming in pure agony as she forced the boot onto the balloon that used to be my foot. My mom had finally had enough. She demanded that the nurse leave and take the boot with her. We were out of there.

            Because it was early evening, no orthopedist was at his office. I had not eaten anything all day, so my mom and I stopped by Jamba Juice to grab a quick smoothie. I force it down the best I could. We had an appointment to see an orthopedic surgeon first thing in the morning, but I had a long night ahead of me. My parents had me sleep in their bed that night. I slipped in and out of a light sleep all night long. One of the times I woke up in the middle of the night, I had to jump out of bed the best I could and crawl to the bathroom just in time to vomit from the pain. That was the longest night of my life.

            By the time morning rolled around, I was begging my parents to take me to the orthopedist. We arrived early, but luckily, for once in my life, the doctor was on time. This was an entirely new day, with new luck. The minute the orthopedic surgeon took a look at my red, puffy ankle he knew what it was. He stuck a giant needle, at least a centimeter in diameter, in the side of my ankle and extracted fluid. It was disgusting, but exactly what he was looking for. He explained to me that I had an extremely serious infection in my ankle and needed to be taken into surgery immediately.

            Two surgeries and six days later, I was able to leave the hospital and head home for the first time in a week. I had somehow contracted a Type B Streptococcus infection in the joint of my ankle. With two surgeries, three weeks of IV antibiotics, two weeks of oral antibiotics, and plenty of painful therapy, I was back to normal in about five months. I lost twelve pounds and almost all of the muscle in my right leg- but I survived. It was only this past summer that I finally realized how serious this infection truly was. My mom admitted that she and my dad were much more scared than they showed during the time. Only a week before I had been infected, one of their old friend’s kids had died from the exact same infection, only hers spread to her heart. I thank God all the time for providing that orthopedic surgeon just in time, and for the infectious disease doctor who figured out what it was. I believe that the amount of pain I felt before my surgeries was a blessing so that we were able to take this matter as seriously as it was. Thankfully, ever since that October in 2008, I have become less accident-prone. Let’s just hope I remain that way!