Two Steps Forward …

Two steps forward, then back one. Isn’t that the way it goes sometimes? Uncovering my surgical site to air felt so good, like progress. Then a few days ago, as Caroline greased my chest with Aquaphor, she pushed her glasses up and looked closely at the tender redness all around the incision. “I don’t like this, Mom. It doesn’t look right. There’s like little white spots.” She took a couple of photos and uploaded them to my Brigham & Women’s portal. We expected a call the following morning since it was sitting in my portal for them to review early in the day. 

As the day progressed, discomfort increased. Concern increased. The reply to my message said someone would call me that afternoon. When 4 o’clock rolled around and no call I was so disappointed. Another night to endure with no answer. Of course, by that point I was in the self-diagnosis mode. Suspicious of a yeast infection, Google confirmed yeast infections can happen after surgery. Now I was even more desperate to begin treating it. I sent another message that evening with an urgent tone, “we are very concerned, please call me.”

The following day, I waited and waited. Discomfort intensified. I couldn’t escape the smelly feet odor emanating from under my shirt. It seemed more potent as the day wore on. Worry was unavoidable. By 2 o’clock I called the office. “They are in clinic today but I’m sure you will get a call. I will let them know you are anxious to talk with them,” the compassionate voice on the other end said. At 4 o’clock I was becoming unhinged. “I can’t go another night without treating this,” I said to Caroline. I called the office again. Of course, the answering machine and the dreaded our-office-is-closed-if-this-is-an-emergency message played in my ear.

In my desperation, my only choice was to page the on-call plastic surgery resident. Surely someone could call in a prescription for an anti-fungal ointment! By the time the resident called, I couldn’t hold back tears nor disguise my frustration. As I spilled out my sob story, my phone beeped. I had another call coming from a 617 number. The resident said she would call back and make sure I had been helped. 

Finally after two full days of trying to get their attention, we had prescriptions for oral medication and ointment to treat the infection. That night, I was back to Caroline taping ABD pads to cover the surgical site once again. So much for two steps forward!

Oh, and the resident, true to her word, called me an hour later. I apologized for being so emotional and thanked her for caring enough to follow up with me.