IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH DO NOT CONTINUE AS YUCKY PHOTO AT THE BOTTOM!
This week has been dominated by a sore knee, not mine but my son’s. Yes, the same son who was so poorly 15 months ago and had his large intestine removed; the same son who I have been so happy about; the same son who is back playing squash and football.
It all started with a phone call from son last Sunday morning enquiring as to whether we were doing anything. I replied hesitantly, as I was about to start gardening and Hubby was busy splitting logs and we were both looking forward to a descendant free day, but I did admit that there was nothing important on the agenda. Well, it turned out that son needed us to retrieve his car for him as he was on his way to hospital for attention to a cut to his knee which he had sustained whilst playing in a football match. The other half and I drove over to the hospital to pick up the car ‘key’ (more on that in a while) and found son awaiting triage, so decided to keep him company. I couldn’t investigate the damage to his knee as he had a pressure bandage on it, so we just had to rely upon his description of a tackle which had culminated with his leg making contact with an exposed flint. When we had been there for about 20 minutes, son for about 45 minutes, he was called through. Full marks for short waiting time. After 10 minutes a nurse came into the waiting and called me, not to hold his hand, or stitch him up but so he could give me his valuables. He was going to be there for a while as they wanted to give his cut a good clean out so Hubby and I set off to retrieve son’s car, about 10 miles away.
Son is truly proud of his car. It is a BMW, and he bought it 2 weeks before Christmas. BMW’s are rubbish in the snow, son lives down a hardly used road which has hills either end, these factors have meant that he has only driven it 10 times since he bought it, it couldn’t possibly be left indefinitely miles away from home. Hubby and I found the car fairly easily, and Hubby got into it without any problems. I sat in my car and waited for him to pull away, and waited, and waited. The rear lights went on and off a few times, but no propulsion, so I walked over to see if there was a problem, there was. The car has no key as such, just a bit of plastic. Push it into a slot, press a button labelled ‘Start’, lights come on and, nothing, the engine doesn’t start. All sorts of combinations were tried but to no avail, key, start, lights = nothing. Hubby phoned DIL, and 3 seconds later the engine was purring and we were driving in convoy to son’s house. At some point we split up, okay, the boy-racer bit of me decided to overtake, not just Hubby but Hubby driving a BMW, in my 7 year old Skoda, so I arrived at DIL’s confident that Hubby would join me in a few minutes. 20 minutes later we were worried as he hadn’t arrived so I phoned him. He was back at the hospital with son. By now the docs had assessed the knee and decided that it was beyond them to treat so son was being transferred to another hospital, 14 miles away. During their examination of the knee son was using entonox, he loves it, and can’t understand why DIL had said it didn’t work when she was in labour. After a brief discussion it was decided that Hubby would take son to other hospital and I would go home and start cooking our Sunday dinner
Back at chez Midwifemuse I turned on the oven, prepared the veg and then put the chicken and potatos in the oven. Less than half an hour later the phone rang, Hubby to say that son was being admitted so he was going round to DIL’s in the BMW and that I should drive over to join him as we were to look after Evie whilst DIL went to visit son. Hmmm, chicken and potatoes had been in for about 20 minutes, I would be gone for at least 2 hours, timer doesn’t work on oven since twins discovered that if you play with it it rings. Right, I just turned off oven and left everything in there to recommence roasting when we returned. Four hours later, 10pm, we returned, too late to carry on cooking so I put the chicken in the fridge. Meanwhile son had been put on IV antibiotics and scheduled for an operation first thing Monday morning.
Monday morning, surgery where the gash was made slightly larger and all the mud and grass was washed out. Apparently under the skin the injury extended down far enough for the surgeon to put the fingers of one hand in the space. The tendon had been slightly injured and the bone chipped but the doc was confident there was no permanent damage especially as son was able to lift the leg off the bed but son was to stay in for another 48 hours for IV antibiotics, observation of the cellulitis which was developing and to be taught how to use crutches.
Tuesday morning saw son with a markedly raised temperature and the lower part of his leg swollen, red, hot and painful. Son was still able to walk around with his crutches and was feeling positive.
Wednesday and the wound was now leaking pus, son couldn’t walk around anymore, the leg was huge and the pain had increased, the IV antibiotics were changed and another wound swab was sent off.
Thursday morning the docs decided they needed to have another clean-up of the wound. Unfortunately son had partaken of a cup of tea at 6am so they couldn’t operate until the afternoon. When he came back from theatre he now had a wound drain in which was draining very little, until MM decided to massage the inflamed area which encouraged lots of nice yellowy gunk to travel down the tube. Gentamicin was started, this nasty, toxic, antibiotic being the one which a nurse had given Louis too much of when he was in NICU.
Friday and son was happy that the leg wasn’t as painful. He had no temperature, the wound drain was removed and, although he could no longer lift his leg, he was feeling more positive. The surgical team came around at 5pm and decided that they were happy with his progress but that they wished to keep him in until Monday.
Saturday and I receive a phone call asking if I could go and pick him up as the doc had been round and told him that he was being discharged. Son was happy, I’m not. He still can’t lift his leg, still has a raised temperature and the wound is still oozing. He vacated his bed an hour before I arrived and by the time we were leaving the ward another man was in what had been son’s bed.
Going back to last Sunday and the state of the pitch. On the Saturday a game had been abandoned after an inspection by the referee had declared it unfit. Prior to son’s game the players had pointed out to the ref that there were multiple large stones on the surface, however the ref declared that it was safe. As a direct result of the refs decision son has spent 6 days in hospital, had 2 operations and, if the tendon has been damaged, will never be able to play football, or any sport, again. Certainly, for son, this was a bad decision.
Son’s leg injury. The cut is directly under the knee cap.