Here's the scoop for interested parties.
About two months ago she started developing pressure sores on her right toes, then got an ingrown toenail. Pete tried to treat and take care of all this, called the podiatrist, but you know it takes forever. Finally she had surgery and the podiatrist could not get an adequate blood pressure in her feet and sent her for a doppler to check blood flow to the feet. The first test was done in NA and the guy said she had no blockage the problem was no circulation in the foot. Now, the toe is red, swollen and she is in pain, so back to the podiatrist. He takes one look at her and sends her to a vascular surgeon, Daniel Lipski, who previously started the fistula in her arm. He sends her for another doppler and that guy says he isn't sure she doesn't have a blockage in the leg, but he is sure she has peripheral artery disease caused by diabetes.
Now she needs an angiogram on both legs to see if there is a blockage and also on the fistula in her right arm that they say is not maturing. If there is a blockage in one or both legs, they'll attempt a stint. If that doesn't work they'll have to harvest something to use from the left leg to do a bypass. If there isn't a blockage, then she loses the toes. The doctor was available to do this on Thursday, but no place to do it. Now she scheduled for Monday at the earliest, unless there is a cancellation. Pete says that seems an eternity, as she is in agony. To keep her out of pain means keeping her asleep, then with the meds and not being able to put pressure on that foot, getting her about and to dialysis is no small feat.
I'm at the place where I can't even say for sure what I feel, but hysterical probably comes close. The thought of them starting to take her apart, piece by piece, is just about more than my mind can stand. I keep praying and praying. My heart and mind and my spirit are just sick. So, I imagine what Pete must feel and I just sink a little lower. I think about the first bad place, the heart attack, and how desperately we wanted her pulled from the clutches of death, not knowing what agonies she would face. Not knowing a person could even live through what she has. Not wanting to know such suffering. I can't come to grips with it. I can't make it feel okay.
Is there a statue of limitations on how many times your heart can be squashed flat? Don't even answer that, I'm afraid I already know.