Anjelica's Moments

To the doctor who ruined my life,

March 18^th, 2010 is a date that will forever be engraved into my mind.  That is the day that my life was changed forever.

I was playing the sport that defined me as a person.  Softball was not just a sport for me; it was where I felt at peace.  Softball was my coping skill when I was stressed, overwhelmed or frustrated.  During our first conference game of the season, I impacted with a fence going after a foul ball.  My ankle filled up with minimal fluid at the time.  I finished the game and played the second game of our double header.  I woke up in the middle of the night with excruciating pain.  Emergency room personnel sent me home with a diagnosis of a sprained ankle and fitted me with an air cast.  Two days later, I returned to the emergency room with the same response as well as a referral to an orthopedic surgeon from my college.

Being a naïve 20-year-old young adult, I complied with the college’s recommendation of an orthopedic surgeon. While being evaluated in the office, my pain tolerance was questioned, and the severity of the injury was mocked.  The definition of a doctor is a qualified practitioner of medicine.  Soon, I was about to form my own definition of the word qualified.

Due to the severity of my pain, it was decided that I should be admitted to the hospital.  The fluid around my ankle joint worsened.  Each day, this orthopedic surgeon stopped in to check on my progress.  I was hooked up to fluids and was given medication to control the pain.  On day two, it was decided that my surgeon would perform “exploratory surgery” on my left ankle.  He explained that he would insert two tubes near my ankle joint and attempt to flush out the fluid that had built up.  I had no reason not to trust this doctor.  Unlike today, it was not common to do research on a doctor to determine their credibility.  I trusted the college who referred me to this surgeon and I trusted the doctor who would soon change my life forever.

Day three began in more pain than normal.  As he examined my ankle, he determined that the fluid returned after the initial surgery.  The recommendation was to do a second “exploratory surgery” and repeat the process.  Therefore, on day four, we did just that.  On the morning of day five, I was greeted by my doctor.  Being in excruciating pain for almost two weeks now tends to bring out the worst of your emotions.  He could tell that I was extremely frustrated.  Aside from the pain, the softball season continued without me.  I felt worthless and defeated.

My doctor continued to question my pain level.  I felt as if I was not being heard or taken seriously.  Ultimately, I was given the diagnosis of gout.  Gout is extremely rare in young women and normally diagnosed in middle-age men.  Our college trainer at the time became my voice through all of this and refused to take that as an answer.  After two unnecessary surgeries, a false diagnosis, and not being heard, we decided it was time to leave this hospital.  After six days, I decided to leave and search for answers elsewhere.  During this process, I demanded imaging to be done of my ankle to take them for a second opinion.  After a bone scan was done, it was determined that the orthopedic surgeon got an infection in my ankle and it had devoured the cartilage in my ankle joint.  I was ignorant in the severity of this finding.

After realizing that my pain level was credible, the orthopedic surgeon finally referred me to another doctor.  However, at this point, the damage was already done.  The second doctor that I dealt with simply extracted the fluid with a syringe which gave me immediate relief.  Unfortunately, I had to red shirt my junior year of college softball.  This was one of the most debilitating feelings imaginable to me.  I sat on the bench game after game as I replayed my injury over and over.  The only thing that gave me peace was taken away from me.  My sadness quickly turned into frustration and anger.  My pain level was manageable at this point.

As my senior year began, I was able to take the field.  I went through several ankle braces, tape jobs, ice, heat, and treatment from the athletic trainer to do so.  I was able to play my senior year but in the back of my mind, I knew something was not right.  High impact activities were manageable but with some discomfort.  A few years had passed by and the discomfort had turned into chronic pain.  The search for a good orthopedic doctor had begun.  After several recommendations and referrals, I landed with my current doctor who I am still with today.  I was totally oblivious to the severity of my ankle.  The diagnosis was osteoarthritis.  Basically, the cartilage that was the cushion between my bones had diminished due to the infection years ago.  I was told if it was caught in time, it could have been treated but unfortunately, the damage was irreversible.

I dealt with the pain until I couldn’t anymore.  We discussed several options to fix this problem.  We decided to do a brand-new surgery involving regrowth of cartilage using stem cells.  I would be the first patient in the country to have it done to an ankle joint.  After signing several papers to have doctors fly in and watch the procedure, I signed the consent for my third surgery.  I went into the operating room with some anxiety but mostly hope.  After about three weeks, the pain worsened.  After some scans, it was determined that my ankle had a lot of inflammation and scar tissue causing limited mobility.  Surgery number four consisted of using a laser technique to diminish the scar tissue.  The pain remained weeks later.  My body rejected the graph.

Surgery number five was attempting to use cadaver cartilage to replace mine.  My body rejected the graph.  I was still in excruciating pain and without cartilage.  The next recommendation was to fuse my tibia, fibula, and talus bone in my ankle joint to reduce the pain.  After getting two additional professional opinions, I agreed to surgery number six.  My body rejected the hardware that was used to fuse my bones together.  I was told this was extremely rare.  I consented to surgery number seven to remove the three screws that my body began pushing out of my bones. (The screws were huge!) Unfortunately, I had continued pain.  After additional scans, it was determined that my body rejected the fusion of my fibula bone in my ankle.  Surgery number eight was done to repeat the fusion and surgery number nine was completed for hardware removal.

At this point, I was still left with pain, inflammation, and a lot of scars!  I was told that I would be done with surgeries for a while.  Unfortunately, when I agreed to the fusion, I had the understanding that I would be limited in activity.  This meant no more running, jumping, or playing softball.  I am a counselor and a problem solver.  There had to be a way to play the sport that defined me.  I was not ready to give it up.  Although I no longer played at a competitive level, I was still able to play recreationally.  I consulted with my doctor about playing softball in my walking boot since it doesn’t necessarily allow my ankle to bend.  Surprisingly, he agreed!  I enjoyed two additional seasons of spring and fall softball.

Around June of 2019, I made an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon due to increased pain in my ankle joint.  It was determined that the arthritis in my subtalar joint was worsening.  This was due to my heel taking on the blunt force of walking.  Aside from additional cortisone injections, the next step was the fuse my subtalar joint. This would leave my ankle locked at 90 degrees.  I would no longer be able to bend it up and down or side to side.  Wanting my summer, I agreed to the surgery, but I wanted to do it in the fall. Friday, September 6^th, 2019, I participated in my last softball game for women’s league.  We won the championship and I was appointed the MVP.  I played with such an amazing group of women who supported each other.  I was so blessed to be a part of that.  It is a moment that I will never forget.

On October 25^th, 2019, I signed the consent for surgery number ten.  I no longer had hope left going into the operating room.  I went into the surgery with fear, anxiety and defeat.  Before the anesthesia ran through my veins, I looked into my doctor’s eyes with a look I never gave him before: fear.  From the moment I woke up, the recovery process started.  On February 4^th, 2020, I was told that the fusion had still not occurred and to remain non weight bearing for an additional 8 weeks.  After an exhausting waiting period, I was able to start physical therapy.  I made an appointment with him to determine my progress.  After looking at the most current scans, he informed me that arthritis was starting to show in my mid-foot due to the fusions.  Normally, your ankle joint should be taking on the blunt of your activity.  Because mine is no longer there, the rest of my foot has taken on a lot of stress causing the arthritis.

As I sat in the doctor’s office that I was far too familiar with, I began to cry.  I have officially lost all hope.  Being in chronic pain every day of your life has such a negative impact on mental health.  My next question to him was, “How much time will this surgery give me?”  I will never forget his response nor his demeanor.  His body language told me that he was nervous.  He began stumbling on his words before letting out the response that will forever be engraved in my mind.  He responded by saying, “I believe the next step would be a below the knee amputation.  I will know more information regarding your current surgery around the six-month mark.  In six months, you will be at your best with your surgery.  If you are in continued pain, that will be my recommendation.” I felt emotionless.  I immediately began to develop hatred towards my first doctor.  How could his one mistake destroy my entire life?  Why didn’t he listen to me?  Why did he not believe me? I walked out of the office that day questioning my whole purpose in life.

I must accept the fact that no matter what decision I make with surgeries, I will always be in pain.  Chronic pain has become the most debilitating feeling.  Whether I am sleeping, sitting down, or doing daily activities, I am constantly in pain.  Below the knee amputation will never be an easy decision to make if I truly must make it.  I constantly wonder how my life would be different if that doctor never operated on me.  He took so many things from me.  He caused so much pain and defeat in my life.  Resentment does not even begin to describe how I feel towards him.  I realize that all these things are out of my control now.  What is done cannot be changed, altered, or fixed.  I must force myself to focus on the present.

Hating him is not going to make the pain go away.  It is not going to bring years of my life back.  It is not going to help me gain the moments I missed out on due to recoveries.  However, my voice can help others.  Do your research before committing to a doctor.  Having years of experience means very little.  The term “qualified” tends to be very broad.  Never settle for one opinion.  Understand that from the moment an operation occurs, things may never be the same.  And above all else, know that you are not alone.