Why this happened is not a sexy scenario at all. I'd like to say it was a tragic professional career ending volley ball accident or that I injured it on a tough land when nude parasailing in Orient Bay on the French side of St. Martin...mais non! Just a good old fashioned case of the Rheumatic catching up with me. It runs in the family like my penchant for left leaning politics, a fine musky barnyard cabernet and an unusually keen interest in Chrystallography... but I digress.
In my search for the person who could put not only my hand but my life back together, I stumbled upon HSS and Doctor Scott W. Wolfe. His HSS bio was short and filled with awards, publications, similarly esoteric intrests (I mean who dosen't love a guy whose intellectual curiousity is peaked by reconstruction of scaphoid nonunions, I mean REALLY?)
Besides all the good stuff above, the guy just looked...well...nice.
That word is truly undervalued, underestimated and understated, particularly in this case. All readers who come to these pages will attest, it is rare to find a web page devoted to a sole medical professional by a patient with only the warmest things to report. In truth, I know of none other. For me to take a moment away from my preoccupation with personal trials and tribulations is a feat of some importance. I feel lucky if I get to post a minor inanity here and there on "mindfulthings", let alone anything requiring additional mental strain. That said, you know that this is one special doctor.
My consult was thorough, professional and informative. I couldn't have been treated any better if I was Nancy Reagan. And in my family, that's saying something. The resulting surgery was rushed and fit into the busiest schedule imaginable. All of this occuring a mere 72 hours before Christmas Day. The hospital was very good and with the minor inconvenience of not having seen my husband for many hours before the surgery, it was commendable overall. You know it's a good place for surgery when they inscribe an unmissable black X on the proper hand before the operation. No mixups. Very reasurring.
The event lasted six hours and afterwards my husband was told that the hand, tendons, wrist and surrounding stuff was in much worse shape than originally thought. I was cauterized and excised and fused and tendons were transfered and tied in in unusual places, stitched and given a rather good once over as well as a fine stock of hardware I'm excited to see set off the nearest metal detector. Once I woke up, I went home. (No overnights for me!) Dear Joe had to pull the drain out himself the day afterwards which was a nasty job on my end as well as his. Yuck is not a big enough word. Let it suffice to say this deed must be done in the bathtub or other basin with a good working drain.
The aftercare was fantastic. Actually I'm still an ongoing case and as my Rheumatic acts up here and there, there might be more for the good doctor to do. I'm so glad he's young and energetic. The office and office staff bear mentioning as they are just as spectacular as you'd expect to find working with this caliber of physician/scientist. I was delighted with his referal to the talented and caring Mary, the Rehabilitation Specialist. She saw me through my rehab and the winter with the warmth of a genuine friend.
My scar is minor compared to what it was and could have been. My fingers work! The wrist was fused as opposed to replaced upon my request. Strength over mobility. A good choice I think. I can't say having surgery is as fun as say...wacking your knee into the corner of 1950's metal office desk, but hey, if you consider having use of a useless hand... it was like hitting the lottery.
In short if you're in the neighborhood of the Milky Way Galaxy, and you've injured your hand, or other upper extremity, you can do no better than to seek out the medical wisdom of Dr. Wolfe currently at HSS in New York. Tell him I sent you.
