"Wait...Josh is WHERE?!?!?"

(Warning: lengthy, somewhat incoherent, sometimes nauseating ramblings about my recent interment at LDS Hospital follow. May cause drowsiness. Do not operate heavy machinery or automobiles while reading.)

I write this from the comfort of my own home sitting on my own couch. It has been a roller coaster of craziness over the past several days…and I wanted to chronicle what happened and explain everything. More than one person has been heard bits and pieces of our little family saga and was surprised to hear that I spent nearly four full days in the hospital. It came as a surprise to us as well; so here’s a little recap of my week.

I have dry feet. It’s something that I have had for several years, and it’s something that several members of my family have as well (OMINOUS FORESHADOWING NOTE!). Normally a little foot cream keeps it in check, but it the skin will occasionally crack and split, making it pretty sore and tough to walk on. I usually apply some Neosporin and it mends itself over a couple of days. I developed one of these cracks on the ball of my left foot, near the outside of the foot, a week or so ago.

For a while, it wasn’t too uncomfortable. These splits in the skin can get a little painful when I walk on them, but I kind of get used to them and don’t think too much about it. This particular sore hung around and got progressively tenderer each day. By last Friday it was really sore, and my foot started to swell up a bit. I stepped up my treatment, wrapping my foot in moleskin, more ointment, bandages, anything that took the pressure off of it. The outside part of my foot got really tender, and even putting on my shoe became painful. We had a busy weekend, full of errands, family reunions, and birthday parties, and I was on my foot quite a bit. When I took off my sock on Sunday night and removed the bandage, it looked pretty ugly. It was really swollen, and discolored, and I was beginning to understand that I might have a real issue here.

I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, so I went to bed hoping that the foot fairy would visit overnight and spackle my foot back together. I woke up with a bit of a fever, some nausea, and no real improvement on my foot. I finally decided that it was time to see a doctor (I know…I’m an idiot), so I hobbled to the InstaCare. It’s a little bit disconcerting to explain to a qualified professional what is going on, take off your sock, and watch his eyes widen and see him scramble for some gloves. He even brought a couple of nursing students in to check out the carnage, explaining to them “if you see something like this, let the doctor know immediately”. Oh joy.

He made an appointment for me to be seen at the wound care clinic the next morning (calling it an “act of God” to get me in so soon), but as he continued to examine the wound and was able to push a swab over an inch into the wound, he became more concerned that it needed immediate attention. He directed me to the emergency room at LDS Hospital and told me to step on it (Ha! Foot joke!). Again, it becomes disconcerting when you check in, casually notice the sign that reads “Patients will be seen in order of importance”, sit down in a waiting room with a half dozen people, and YOU ARE CALLED BACK WITHIN TWO MINUTES. Fantastic.

I was shown to a “suture room”, equipped with a small bed that was obviously used for short term visits, which became a bit of a torture device over the next seven hours that I occupied it. They ran a whole gamut of tests, finding elevated white blood cell counts (indicative of the infection), high blood sugar counts , and elevated heart rate/blood pressure (I guess I finally got it through my thick head that I was not doing so hot and was a little nervous). They hooked me up to an IV, started pumping me with antibiotics, ordered an MRI on my foot, and told me the only place I was going that night was upstairs.

Stacie had arrived, and decided to run one of our cars home so that my dad could bring her back up with some personal items for me. This sentenced my poor mother-in-law to an extended visit with our kids, but she was so sweet to help us out. Conveniently, Stacie got back to the hospital mere minutes after I was taken upstairs for an hour-long MRI, so she had to sit and wait until they brought me back. I finally got taken to my room and just before midnight I got tucked in for an extended stay.

Nights in a hospital are a real adventure, and the first night was even crazier. They were running so many tests, checking my vitals, drawing more blood, etc. that there wasn’t even an hour long window of time when I could sleep. I was tethered to an IV tree, and they hooked me up to a heart monitor, which I learned to loathe. It consists of five adhesive patches that are stuck to your chest and stomach, and if they come off even a fraction of an inch, the monitor begins a droning BEEP, causing me to scramble in the dark and feel which monitor wasn’t on. The adhesive disks didn’t really agree with my hirsute self (I don’t look like THIS or anything, but I’ve got some coverage), and it was a constant battle during the balance of my stay. It’s crazy how a small BEEP can sound like an air horn in the middle of the night!

The morning came, and with it came a slightly clearer picture. I had some severe cellulitis in my foot, which is a skin infection caused by bacteria. In other words, the infection was eating a hole in my skin, almost through the top of my foot, and it was beginning to spread throughout my foot. They were considering some surgery to clean out the wound, and were continuing the rounds of antibiotics in an effort to kill the nasty infection.

Oh yeah…and they told me I had diabetes.

It was kind of like getting a parting gift on a game show. Go to the hospital with a rotting foot, and you get to go home with a gift basket full of needles, a glucometer, and (hopefully) a new lifestyle. I guess these types of wounds (specifically known as a foot ulcer…Google it if you have a strong stomach. NOT good times) are much more common in diabetics, and my elevated blood sugar tests tipped them off to this possible diagnosis. Further tests would confirm this, but it was pretty obvious to them that I was a Type II diabetic.

Over the course of the next several days, I had visits from dieticians, diabetic specialists, and the internal medicine doctors who all discussed this with me. Each one of them included a bit of a pep talk, and I realized that being diagnosed with diabetes is a really big deal, and can seem overwhelming to many people, although I was able to get my head around it pretty well. Stacie has been diabetic for around six years now, so I’ve lived vicariously through her, and I was comfortable with the testing, carb counting, injections, etc. Sadly, my family is no stranger to diabetes either. My dad is diabetic. So was my grandpa. So were both of my grandpa’s parents. I have two uncles with diabetes. In my mind, it was never really a question of “If?”, but “When?”. Apparently, that time is now. If I’m being completely honest, I kind of suspected in the back of my mind that it was coming on. My energy levels have been so low for a little while, and looking back, it’s pretty clear to me that I’ve been hauling this around with me for a little while.

The MRI showed that the infection had not spread into any of the bones, so I was going to be able to keep what was left of my foot. There were no pockets of infection, so surgery was not necessary. Basically I needed to stay off of my foot and allow the antibiotics to wring the infection out of my foot tissue. This, of course, meant some more time in my prison cell, I mean hospital room.

I consider myself a world-class sleeper. In high school, when I worked a double shift at the movie theater, I would lie down on the cold concrete floor in our changing room and take an hour-long nap. I can sleep anywhere, anytime. But I can truthfully say that I didn’t get more than two hours of consecutive sleep in the four days that I was there. The constant tests, the aforementioned monitors, not to mention getting my petite frame comfortable on that hospital bed, proved to be a lethal combination for sleeping. I have started catching up now, thanks to sleeping in my own bed next to my sweet wife, but rest is not what you get in a hospital, that is for sure.

Thursday morning, the podiatrist woke me, clipped off some of the dead tissue, and dressed my foot. I was told that I had finally worn out my welcome, and was going to go home. The day before, they had placed a PICC line in me, which is basically an IV line that can stay in you for an extended period of time. You can see a picture of one HERE; it’s not really that gruesome. Basically they insert it in your upper arm, and snake the tube through your vein into the main vein in the center of your chest. Kind of an interesting deal; they did it at my bedside in full masks and gowns and had to later check their work with a chest X-ray to make certain that it didn’t accidentally make a U-turn up through my neck (Seriously). This allows me to go to the Infusion Clinic at the hospital and get more IV antibiotics, which I have to do every day for the next 10 days. This is on top of the oral antibiotic that I am taking twice daily. It was one nasty infection, apparently.

I am going to start seeing Stacie’s endocrinologist (who also treats my dad…maybe we can get a group rate) to manage the diabetes. For now, I am taking insulin shots to manage my blood sugar levels and to keep the infection from flaring up. My pancreas has been working overtime for who knows how long, and this will give it some rest. We hope to transition to oral medications in the near future, and diet/exercise will help me to achieve this. I suppose this will have to satisfy my sweet tooth for now:



That will only be stuck in your head for like three days, max. And no, I have no idea why Archie turns into the Trix rabbit when Sabrina kisses him.

I want Stacie to know how much I love her and how appreciative I am of how she took care of things. I can’t imagine a good week for something like this to happen, but this week was especially busy for her at work. Her boss and team were willing to cover for her but there were some things that she had to be around for. Besides winning our bread, she hauled the kids around, and brought them up to the hospital to put a smile on my face. Enclosing Jaden in a hospital room filled with cool things that he couldn’t touch was a challenge, but I cherished the moments I spent with them and I appreciate the extra effort that she took bring them up. Her long holiday weekend has gone from possibly going camping to trying to keep me off of my feet and chasing our kids around all day with little or no help from me. Sorry sweetie…but I sure love you!

Taking care of Stacie and the kids (and all of my loved ones, for that matter) is something that I love to do, and I try to do everything that I can for them. I also know that I tend to not devote very much attention to myself…as is evidenced by letting a tunnel of festering bacteria rot my foot apart to the point that I could barely stand before I go to a doctor. I realize that if I want to be around to take care of my family, I must take care of myself as well, especially with my new diabetic lifestyle. This will be my greatest challenge, but I am looking forward to feeling better and living better. And being able to put weight on my foot again.

Lastly, I want to thank everyone for their kind words and concerns. Every Facebook post or phone call that I received was uplifting to me. I especially want to thank Stacie’s parents and my parents for their help. They were both trying to get ready to leave town this weekend, but dropped everything and rearranged their lives to help take care of our highly emotional daughter and Tasmanian Devil-esque son. I don’t know what we’d have done without you!

My bed beckons…so I will end this long narrative. Sorry for the length, but I needed to document what has been such a crazy few days. No four a.m. wake-ups for vitals, no incessant beeping. Hallelujah!