Playing Doctor

Low point

It turns out my foot is actually broken. One of the long bones. It's in a half cast now after being at the hospital emergency department for several hours waiting. This will of course disrupt my upcoming trip to the UK and France. I am feeling really destroyed at the moment. That in itself is frustrating. The thought of all the effort and expense to travel being undermined by this incident is at the core of it. Wouldn't things be easier if I didn't have to put up with this? It is easy to feel a bit hopeless in this situation. I'm trying not to let it get to me.

House impression

I rolled my foot at training tonight. I've done this once before, same foot, and it wasn't so bad. This time it is quite swollen. I can't walk on it. I ate delivered pizza for dinner tonight because I'm out of groceries except cereal. It is not a good time to be unable to walk but I suppose it never is. At least there are no experiments planned until next week. I can keep writing though.

I've iced my foot twice, but should probably do more. It is also elevated. I intend to dose myself up on some Panadol or Neurofen and perhaps some ice cream. It doesn't really hurt that much. In any event I don't think I will be going back to training before the conference, just to be on the safe side, even if my foot is OK before then.

The worst part is the frustration: it is only one foot, but it causes so many problems. My ambulation is rather undignified. The hobbling and my poor disposition add to the air of a certain grouchy doctor. That goes a small way to making this ordeal more bearable.

An upside

All day Saturday, I was to do expeimental work try and finish up a paper. Today I am organising the data into graphs and seeing what is left to finish off. Because I;m not really suppossed to use my left hand, and this work is rather demanding in terms of using both hands my supervisor did the experimental manipulation for me, from 9am to 6pm. How cool is that? I was there all the time as well, but it was bloody nice of him to give up his whole Saturday to help me out. He didn't have to. I gave him a wee box of Cadbury's favourites to day thanks, but a better thank you would be some good looking graphs on Monday. Better get cracking!

Week Four

I should be able to take the bandages off my broken finger soon, I hope. The fourth week since I broke my finger has nearly elapsed, so the bone should have knitted. It will still be soft for another two weeks while it hardens back to normal. I'm just looking forward to having my left hand back. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for people with permanent loss of function in a limb or hand. I could barely deal with a month of this.

Things I am looking forward to doing again: Cooking, typing, riding my bike, experimental work, turning pages in books and papers. I can do some of that now but the limitations are irritating.

Finger redux

The physio (Jane) at the hospital inspected my broken digit this afternoon, almost exactly at the appointed time. I really appreciated the punctual manner of the exam. Measurments of the degrees of motion my finger was capable of were performed, concerns allayed and a new appointment was made.

I have a compression bandage instead of a wrap and clips plus less bulky gauze to prevent masceration. I have some small exercises to perform to help reduce bruising.

The bone will be knitted in two more weeks. I have another appointment then. That soft bone will then take two weeks after that to harden. I will begin exercises in two weeks, resistance training in three.

Visible Guilt

Dropped by training today to let them know the prognosis. They were all a bit surprised my finger was broken. We did have a laugh about it though (one handed typing...). We also discussed alternative non-contact training options, and waiving training fees for the recovery period. Everyone was pretty understanding. It was cool.

The guy I was training with when it happened was there. He is known for being a bit rough sometimes. He was visibly guilty for accidentally putting me in this situation. I don't blame him though. Martial arts are inherently dangeous and everyone in the club is aware of the risks involved. I remember feeling similarly guilty when I was party to a (thankfully, fully resolved) back injury a year ago.

Cast Off

Another morning at the hospital. My PhD panel chair picked me up at drove me out there (and back!) again. It's so great of him to do that, it's not convenient for him.

Getting to the hospital at 8:15 means not waiting long for your X-rays. The radiology student was alarmingly green, but she had good supervisors. She'll be earning a lot more than me in three years I expect.

The film showed that my finger is still broken, no surprise there. It does look if it has started to heal at the proximal end though.

My Panel Chair got me a coffee (He was getting one anyway, but it was still nice!) while we sat reading, waiting for my appointment at the outpatient clinic. The cafe is called "Hoz Cafe". I'm not sure if that is someone's name or what.

A quick stop at medical imaging doesn't mean that your appointment is on time however. The scheduled time became more like 12:00 pm. I am getting really used to waiting there though.

A nurse (Irene) and a doctor (James) fixed me up at the clinic. Getting cut ut of the bandages, splint and tape was such a liberating feeling. I remember my gut wrenching with dread at the suggestion that I would be made to wear that thing again for two more weeks. Fortunately, supervisor Vlad though buddy strapping my fingers and a new bandage plus an appointment with the physio were a better idea. Oh, and no training (punching) for two or three months.

Another (shorter) wait in another (smaller) waiting room and the physio said that she didn't want to do anything until the bone had knitted, in two weeks. Maybe at that point an re-evaluation of how aligned my fingers are too.

I'm still in a small amount of pain, but Ii am so happy to not have that ridiculous splint on anymore. I do have to be extra careful with it now though.

Second opinion

I woke up at 6:00 with a call from my fiance. Get dressed, brush teeth, still half asleep. Out into the bitter cold of the early morning, before the sun has risen, I meet my PhD panel chair who graciously volunteered to pick me up and take me to the the public hospital. It's raining. The windsheild wipers squeak, intermittently.

We got there at about 6:30. It's no problem getting a park there at that time. Up the elevator after the chill of the parking lot and straight to day surgery admissions.  'Good morning! Are you on the "emerge" list?', 'I don't know', 'just write your name in there then'. Wait over there for a while. Sit, wait. Other day surgery candidates arrive.

Please come through to the seats and glass window (think bank teller). We speak to the ward clerk. She is friendly enough. We get a day surgery parking voucher that lets you stay indefinitely in a 2hr park on the hospital grounds. I find out that medicare will cover all my costs. We also had to check that I was not another person who has my name born in 1990. A typo, quickly fixed.

Through to the next stage. Disrobe and put on your demeaning surgery get-up: Pull on undies, hair net thing, booties, all made out of paper it seems, plus the obligatory backless gown. At least they also give you a coarse towel robe so you don't freeze to death in a state of total embarrasment. Please turn off your cellphone. I need to make a call. You can use one of our phones, later. Wait in the anteroom.

Time for some questions now. Indian guy from the anaesthetist team asks me the same battery of questions I filled out on the form the previous day: allergies, physical fitness, any medical problems, currently taking any medication? I ask him if he knows the approximate times I will be going into theatre and coming out. He said he can't tell me when, depends on the previous operations. Am I one or two on the list? Just check, you are number three. OK, please go and wait in the surgery anteroom again.

Another wait, now a nurse comes to ask me a bunch of questions and measure my pulse and blood pressure. The same battery it seems, but I'm also asked how much I weigh. Apparently the guestimation from the bathroom scales at the flat is good enough for them. (82 Kg if you were curious.) Please wait in the anteroom again.

This is a long wait. It's 8:30 am now but it feels like 10:30. the rain pelts down outside. My name is called out. A nurse directs me to sit on a hospital bed. She puts a towel over my legs. It has been warmed, rather comfortable. She asks me my name, date of birth, double checks that it my signature on the consent to surgery form, asks again if I have any allergies etc... Ok, every thing seems nominal. Oh, hold on, I have to phone my fiance. After nervous fingers misdialled twice I contact my beloved and tell her that I am going to go into surgery right now, but will be back before lunch. Righto, see you later.

A wardsman is called over to push the bed into the anaesthetic induction room. There is some discussion of my injury, which leads into a history of the wardie's horrific sounding back injuries and short time in the security industry before landing his current position. The nurse keeps the conversation going.

The induction room. I'm left there for a short while. It feels like a long time. I'm getting a bit nervous about the impending canulation. Examining my surroundings I can see air, oxygen, and nitrous outlets on the wall. A sink, and cupboards on the opposite wall. The window on the door out is round like a port hole. I briefly think of naval disasters. The nurse and Indian anaesthetist return. Canulation time! The nurse does her best to keep me distracted while anaesthetist goes about his entirely too visceral business. It doesn't help that I am already really tense. It stings like the dickens, and I feel naueseous. The decide to give me oxygen via a face mask and some sedative through the brand new portal into my vascular system. I get really relaxed, really quickly.

Surgeon turns up and examines my finger with the splint removed (no comment on the emergency doctor's job yesterday). "We don't need to operate on that". There is some mention that using screws might do something irreversible to my finger. Curiously not mentioned by the Registrar yesterday. He puts me into a new tougher splint and says come back in a week for a new X-ray and a check up.

I'm wheeled into recovery where I eventually get my own clothes back, my fiance turns up and my PhD panel chair gives me a MAD magazine to read. Post recovery I get a bit cranky about going through all that then not getting any surgery. It's probably for the best. However now I face six weeks of having to shower with a plastic bag on my hand. Minimal experimental, slow typing. It sucks.

Getting screwed courtesy of Medicare

I went to the ANU Health Centre at 9:00am this morning to see what was up with my finger. Fill out a form, wait a bit. The doctor looked it iver and said that it couldn't be broken because i could move it, and it was likely a sprain. An X-ray was the best course of action, and she referred me to an imaging facility in walking distance: National Capital Diagnostic Imaging. She suggested rolling it up in a bandage with another finger to keep it straight. I mentioned that it hurt a bit to straighten it. She didn't seem happy with my reluctance, saying it wouldn't heal straight. Best to see the X-ray first.

Over to NCDI, a short wait, a form, then please come through. Sitting beside the X-ray device i had my finger imaged from each side. it might have been nice if the Radiologist actually told me what his intention was, other than just moving my hand and then telling me not to move. Four x-ray blasts later the Radiologist could tell me that my finger was broken. He showed me the picture: a clear diagonal break through my left ring finger's bone that is closest to my hand. I was a little surprised.

Back to the ANU centre, another wait, longer this time (although a pleasant conversation with a friend from my Burgmann days). I began to notice that the magazines at these places were all looking a bit similar.

The doctor did her best to be unsurprised about the fracture and said I should see the Orthopaedic Registrar at Canberra Hospital. She wrote a referral and said to see them today, after anything that I might have to get done at work. She threw in a doctor's certificate for good measure.

I took my X-rays and referral over to the lab. I mentioned to those present that my finger was broken and that I would have to go to the hospital. I asked my PhD panel chair if he could give me a ride, and he said that he would be happy to. We were both amused that this time it would be he who had to drive.

Fifteen minutes later we were at the hospital. I didn't know quite where to go so I asked the main reception where I should go with a broken finger. She suggested the fracture clinic. I went down to that clinic but it wasn't open till 1pm, and all the clinics down there seemed like outpatient clinics anyway. Back to the front desk my lost expression drew a helper over. She asked what I was looking for. I took out the doctor's referral to explain. It was marked Orthopaedics, A+E. Better go to the emergency ward.

At the emergency ward, I checked in with the triage nurse, saying my finger was broken, and I had my own X-rays. Not a problem, just see the admin nurse there, and I'll get hold of the registrar. The admin nurse filled out a form for me, and then there was another wait. This one was long. The triage nurse came out to see me again, looked at my hand, went back behind the counter. Waiting again. Another individual came to look at my X-rays, maybe the orthopaedics registrar, I don't know. More waiting. Then Amelia the emergencies fill-in doctor came and had a look at my hand, noted the fairly notable oedema and said that plastics (as in plastic surgery) would be dealing with my case as the bones were too small for orthopaedics. Great! Another wait. Then Rebecca appeared on the scene, the plastics registrar. A short consultation behind the locked emergency ward doors and she thought cutting open my finger and putting in two screws plus a plate would be the best route, but had to check with a senior doctor. Back out to the waiting room to wait, but with another form to fill out (consent to surgery).

Eventually she came back and said that the nature of the suggested operation had changed, and that the might only need one screw, maybe two, and that they wouldn't open my finger up entirely, just little cuts in the side to fit the screws. Well great, some discussion of risks and alternatives, leading back to this being the best option and getting written in for the following morning.

Then waiting again before Amelia reappeared and organised a splint from bandage and plaster plus a sling to help with elevation to reduce oedema. Finally, all done.

It's 3pm lets get some lunch! Even the cafe there serves hospital food, yuk. I was so hungry I didn't care too much though. I hadn't been too worried about food until the point! We also dropped in on the adunct prof recovering from a fall and she was doing very well.

Better get some sleep before presenting to the hospital at 7 am tomorrow morning.

Digital distraint

Kung fu training after the lab today. Things went as usual. The lesson where we practise throws off an entry from a strike, followed by some improvisation, was going well. After one slightly rougher sequence I tapped out of an arm lock and stood up. Then I noticed that my left ring finger was aching a bit.  Then aching a bit more. I'd better get some ice on this!

Maybe it will be ok, just a bit of a sprain. I got the ice pack from the front desk then returned to the dojo. I'd had the ice pack on for a while when other kung fu classmates came to inspect the damage. I showed them the segment of my finger between the two knuckles closest to my palm had begun to swell. At this point I noticed that the alignment of my finger seemed to be a tad distorted.

I really mean just a little bit, maybe less than 10 degrees yaw toward the little finger. I was a bit concerned. Is it broken? I went back to the front desk to ask: is it? "Well you can still move it so, no.", oh sweet relief. At this point I felt very nauseous. Time to sit down.

Paul, the front desk guy was wonderfully helpful. He suggested that the ill feeling was likely due to dehydration and that I should drink much more water. I drank water sitting there near the front desk, and began to feel much better, continually icing the troubled joint.

Eventually I felt good enough to get back into my street clothes and head home. I stopped at the IGA for some milk, and I thought I'd get some dark chocolate to comfort myself with. I didn't have much money so I selected some Cadbury's Old Gold, the Rum and Raisin variety.

After dinner, some panadol and a phone call from the fiancé I'm feeling much better. Just a little sleep would be nice now. I'm off to the doctor's tomorrow to see if anything needs to be done.