Some people might know that I received another angioplasty with stent placement several weeks ago to help the blood flow in my leg. When they performed the ultrasound, we saw that my leg which used to have just 8 inches of clot following that first excruciating surgery, was now completely full of blood clot from toe to hip all over again. No wonder I'd been having more pain! It sounds like that's just part of the game, sometimes more clot forms during procedures but I needed those procedures to live so here we are.
That news was definitely a blow. Sometimes I just wake up at night and want to reach into my leg and rip out that painful system of clots and scars. It wears me down and tries to kill my spirits.
Even though the clot is mostly inoperable, my interventional radiologist had thought that opening up the pinched stent would allow the good blood to move more freely and help me get some freedom from the pain and swelling (some days my leg is so full of blood & fluid that I walking on it becomes nearly impossible). I had SO much hope for that stent surgery! I honestly believed in my heart that it would help and I could begin to get my life back. Unfortunately it did not. Several days after the surgery my leg began filling up with fluid again, the pain returned, the swelling reigned, and my leg was purple.
Sometimes things happen differently than what you'd hoped for or believed. That doesn't mean you give up hope.
I spoke with my interventional radiologist again today and he shared that there is one last stent surgery, extending the stent further out, that has a tiny chance of finally helping.
Tiny chances are my wheelhouse. There was a tiny chance that I would survive the first surgery, a tiny chance that my feeding tube would work and I could avoid intervenous nutrition, a tiny chance that our young marriage could survive a tragedy like this, a tiny chance that everyone we love would pull together and help us pay this mountain of medical bills, a tiny chance that hope would remain in this dark time. Hope remains, here we are. Cheers to tiny chances!
My doctors feel that this surgery is the last chance for my leg but I've heard that before. Nothing is the last chance until you make it the last chance. I am 28 years old. This is not my last anything.
Keep praying for me. Keep sending me your good thoughts, your hope, your love and energy. I feel it every day. Keep believing in me.
Lots of Love,