On Sunday, things were looking all set for discharge by the end of this week. The social worker, along with the CF nurse from Halifax, figured out all the funding for the vac machine and home care. Everything was finalized yesterday with direct billing and everything only for me to be told that my wound needs more surgery.
Yes. Another surgery for me.
The lung and surgerical team decided this week to call in the plastic surgeons for consult and aid in closing my wound. Yesterday, one of the plastic surgeons told me that without them operating the wound isn't going to heal well on its own, even with the wonder of the vac machine. He also said that operating would speed up the process by months.
I don't want another surgery. I want to go home. I was told I was going home this week and I was in complete 'going home mode.' I don't want to go back to the cold OR. Or have more IVs, or another cathedar. Or waking up being completely confused and thirsty. Or more time spent in this place with its lack of privacy and 1-ply toliet paper. I want my own bed dammit.
I know, I know, "these things happen" and "it's just another bump" and "it's better to do it now than have to come back" and "it is what it is." I keep telling myself all of those things but for some reason none of them are super comforting.
The idea of another operation scares me. My body has gone through so much that to need another one so soon is overwhelming. And it's not the actual procedure itself that is freaking me out. It's the anatestic and having to be vented again. The whole 'put under' step is most dangerous part of most surgeries and my body is already so weak. I'm also terrified this will lead to furthur complications which will lead to further complications which will.....you get the idea.
All of this may not even happen of course, the plastic surgeons want a recent CT scan before they'll commit to anything. Plus, they have to figure out where they are going to get the extra muscle to cover up the wound. The actual procedure involves taking muscle from somewhere else (yet to be determined), move things around, slap on a skin graft from bum tissue, put on a pressure vac for a week, and voila! one healed wound.
So now I'm stuck here waiting for tests instead of packing to go home. The vac machine is still happily sucking up goo from the wound. Stupid wound.