In January, I had open heart surgery. I now am in possession of a
pig-part-heart. My aortic heart valve was removed and replaced with a
porcine aortic valve. The surgery was to have been performed January 2,
2018, but was postponed as I had contracted methicillin resistant
staphylococcus aureus (MRSA), a most virulent strain of staph.
The 24th day of December, 2017, I had scrubbed my cell floor on my hands
and knees, something I had done thousands of times before. After having
cleaned my cell, I noticed a small abrasion at my left knee on a scar
from an old ACL surgery. Being ever mindful of infections, I wrapped the
abrasion in a powered bleach poultice. The next day the abrasion had
metastasized and my leg had begun to swell. I knew I had contracted
staph.
December 25th, 26th and 27th, I submitted to the Estelle Unit Medical
Dept. requests for medical treatment (RMT), citing MRSA for cause. These
RMTs were ignored. Thursday, December 28, at 0500 hrs., when the cell
doors were first opened for the day, I made a beeline for the infirmary.
In route to the infirmary I attracted a gaggle of prison guards ordering
me back to my cell or be subjected to physical assault. By the morning
of the 28th, my leg had swelled to where my pant leg was stretched tight
against my skin and the wound had drained pus and blood, not only
through my trousers, but through my thermal underwear as well. The need
for medical attention was readily apparent.
Standing outside the prison infirmary, I informed this gaggle of guards
there were two options available to us. 1. I be allowed to access the
infirmary; 2. They place me in isolation, but if it was to be option #2,
I wasn’t going easily.
At this juncture a nurse intervened advising me to return to my cell and
I would be summoned to the infirmary when a primary healthcare provider
arrived. I responded I would go for the okey doke one time and did
return to my cell. Several hours later I was returned to the infirmary
and immediately placed on a vancomycin IV for MRSA.
December 29th, I was transported to the prison hospital in Galveston per
the aforementioned open heart surgery. The only reason I boarded the
transport bus was I was in the hope I would be hospitalized and treated
for MRSA. No such luck. When it was determined surgery could not be
performed, as I knew it couldn’t, I was treated like a leper. Swollen
leg, pus and blood encrusted clothing, difficulty ambulating and all my
pleas for medical attention were totally ignored. Twenty-four hours
later I was returned to the Estelle Unit and immediately placed on an IV
regimen of vancomycin, and extremely strong antibiotic. There was talk
among the Estelle medical staff of saving my leg. Yeah, it was like
that.
While on the vancomycin regimen I was informed by medical personnel it
would be at least a couple of months before open heart surgery would
even be considered as the porcine aortic valve I was to receive was
extremely susceptible to infection and before the surgery could be
performed it must be ascertained the MRSA had been absolutely
eradicated. January 9, 2018, the plug was pulled on the vancomycin
treatment. January 17, 2018, I had a porcine aortic heart valve
implanted to my heart.
January, I was transported from the hospital in Galveston, to the
hospital at the TDCJ Beto Unit in Tennessee Colony. Once arriving at
Beto, it was determined my white corpuscle count was high, indicating I
had an infection, further indicating my body was rejecting the porcine
aortic valve, indicative the open heart surgery had been performed too
soon after the MRSA treatment. I am currently on an IV regimen of Ancef,
another very strong antibiotic.
Presently, it’s wait and see.
Aside from the dry run to the prison hospital December 29th, once the
MRSA treatment was commenced, overall, I have few complaints concerning
the instant medical care I have received. But there have been occasions
of incompetence and ineptitude that a University of Texas Medical
Branch, John Sealy Hospital, Galveston, TX medical worker confided to me
would not be tolerated on the “free-world” side of the hospital.
So here I am, an 18” surgical scar, running slightly left to right
between my pectoral muscles. It looks like Picasso put me back together.
I have always relied on my physical strength to see me through
adversity. In the future, I’m not so confident that will be the case.
PTT’s statement “Our militancy tends to be inherently ableist,” keeps
running through my mind. On top of everything else, January 2nd, while I
was being infused with vancomycin, a dumbass pig gave my prison issue
jacket to a prisoner being transported away from the Estelle Unit. That,
in and of itself, is no biggie–except the jacket had my corrective
lensed eye glasses in the pocket. TDCJ does not want to replace the
glasses, though I am designated visually disabled.
A day in the life…