This week ran two stories at once, and neither one canceled the other out.
You saw your orthopedic surgeon on Monday. The hardware in your left leg is stable, the bones are aligned, and there’s some early callus, but the tibia is still badly fragmented and hasn’t built enough bridge to bear weight. You’re staying off that leg until at least early September. If it doesn’t heal enough, a bone stimulator or a graft surgery is still on the table. The bigger issue at the appointment was nerve pain: burning, stabbing, like salt poured into an open cut, active right there in the exam room. The surgeon said it was worse than expected for this stage and mentioned complex regional pain syndrome as a possibility, without diagnosing it. He wanted Lyrica continued, outpatient PT started, and the oxycodone brought down instead of up. You were at 20 mg a day, after a smaller split proved too hard to tolerate. Insurance also cut off any more at-home or inpatient PT.
None of that stopped you from moving. After the final in-home PT session, you got yourself upstairs on your butt, into the bedroom, and used both bathrooms with the walker. You had the run of the whole house for the first time. At OT you sat in a real chair instead of the wheelchair, because the wheelchair was too constricting. That same day, you had a real workout: earphones in, music loud, songs you’d normally skip, working your core, arms, and foot. It felt amazing to pump. You said it was extraordinary and that you had forgotten how good it felt. The next day you were back to skipping songs, which was its own kind of normal returning.
The people around you mattered too. Friends and family took you to dinner on a restaurant patio, and you called it an amazing night. When family visited later in the week, you were too worn out to sit through another restaurant meal, so everyone ordered takeout instead. You also went to see a new movie on its opening day, which felt genuinely exciting.
Meanwhile, your shoulders turned on you. Four pain-free days ended, and the pain came back severely through your traps, back, both shoulders, and down into your biceps. The relief from chiropractic treatment was lasting only about four days at a time. You used ice and a massage gun and started noticing how much time you had spent slumped in the recliner. One night, the top of your foot burned so badly that you had to remove the boot.
During the final two days, something new hit you: chills, full-body aching, a feverish feeling, and the worst sleep you had experienced in a long time. Your wife rubbed your back, you drank Gatorade, and you slept for a couple of hours before feeling normal again, at least temporarily. Your temperature ran high and your HRV dropped to the lowest number you had seen. Tests for Covid and flu were negative, but you still did not know what it was. That same weekend, while staying at a friend’s home, you slept in a normal bed beside your wife for the first time since the injury and did not wake from serious pain, even while still feeling sick.
You got your house back this week, and some of your old self with it. The bone is still in pieces. The nerve pain hasn’t let go. And whatever knocked you flat during those final two days still doesn’t have a name.