I went to the doctor last night and there are no words to express my rage and frustration with the doctor. This is the guy who, when I saw him in February, told me he was booked until June and didn’t have his calendar for June or beyond. He recommended a tendon transfer to get me walking without a brace. He also sent me for an EMG/nerve conduction study.

The EMG revealed what I already knew – that my body had done all it could and that I needed to have surgery. THANKS FOR THE NEWS FLASH. The doctor doing the study did say that I should have a nerve transfer because there was still some innervation of the muscle.

Fast forward to last night (which was the earliest appointment I could get after the EMG on April 2nd). All of a sudden he’s telling me that maybe I shouldn’t have a tendon transfer after all. That perhaps I should consider an ankle fusion. I flat out told him no to the ankle fusion. After making me get the EMG, he pretty much disregarded it and said that he couldn’t do the nerve transfer and that I would have to consult with a plastic surgeon. AWESOME USE OF MY TIME AND MONEY.

He called in a colleague to consult. That doctor also told me I should have an ankle fusion and that the results wouldn’t be as good with a tendon transfer. I also told him a fusion was not an option.

The doctor then tells me that the earliest date he has for surgery is SEPTEMBER 6TH. I was like, are you fucking kidding me? He told me that he didn’t want me to rush into surgery, and blah blah blah. Clearly he had no idea what it’s like to walk around in an uncomfortable ass brace all day.

Mr. Lyndsy is sitting in the room with me, almost ready to explode.

Perhaps thinking another colleague would be able to convince me to have an ankle fusion, he referred me to someone else. He called that doctor directly and they agreed that  could be seen the next day (today). I was pissed at having to get up early to again see someone else who wouldn’t know what the fuck was going on, but I hoped the doctor would have a clearer surgery schedule.

So I got my ass up and went in. They dicked us around trying to get me in since I didn’t have an official appoint. But, I am glad we stuck it out.

The new doctor checked my foot’s strength and quickly came up with a plan of action. He said an ankle fusion is a last resort and that because the tendon they normally use for the surgery is lacking strength, he would take two smaller tendons that are strong and use them for the fusion. He expects a fairly good result doing it that way.

Then he asked when I wanted to get this done. I told him as soon as possible. He flips through his calendar and I hear May 25th. WHAT??? Then he takes it back. I’m holding my breath, hoping that it’s something earlier than September.


Fuck. Yes.

To make sure I get in, he told me to try to get admitted to the hospital two days before. If they can’t take me, I go in the next day. If they can take me on the 4th, he’ll release me home but I’ll still keep the bed. If they take me on the 5th, I do the same thing.

He showed me where the incisions would be. I have four weeks in a plaster cast and then six in a boot while I do physical therapy.

Yeah, me in a cast and on crutches should be a great time.

The only issue with this plan is that Mr. Lyndsy has to go to a course from June 12-21. I think I’ll be fine on my own, but he isn’t comfortable with the idea of leaving me home alone then.

So the question is, who’s going to come babysit me for 10 days???