Taking a vacation from the vac

On July 27, 2023, I was connected to a wound vac to help speed the healing of the large wound on my lower right leg. My relationship with the vac has been rocky, but I eventually learned to appreciate the vac.

Here’s my post from early September that details how I came around.

This really sucks

On October 11 — 2+ months later — my wound care doc surprised me with this query:

Doc: How would you like to take a break from the vac?

Leah: Uh YES where do I sign?

After the doctor was finished poking and prodding the wound, the nurse bandaged me up with ultra absorbent materials and compression wrap. I walked out of the clinic a free woman. Even though I had made peace with the device, I would never choose to have a wound that requires a wound vac. Not being tethered 24/7 was incredibly liberating.

The doctor made the decision to test my going vacless because the disadvantages of the vac (primarily damage to the surrounding healthy tissue) were outweighing the benefits. Over the weeks of wearing the vac, the necrotic tissue had cleared, the wound was healing, and the skin on the sides of the wound was starting to grow over the edges of the wound. All good developments.

Two weeks later, still vac free, I seem to be in a new phase of wound healing. On Tuesday the doctor gave me his blessing to return the vac. On Wednesday I packed up the device and dropped it off at the UPS store. I’m exulting in my freedom.

There are still limitations, of course. The healing process is not complete. I will need to wear and change dressings for the foreseeable future. I cannot shower without special accommodations made to my bandaged leg. Straightening my right leg while standing isn’t possible, which makes it hard to walk. The worst: leg pain is ever present.

The slow pace of my healing marathon continues to vex me. I want to jump for joy with every good development because I think I’m nearing the end of this or that health crisis. Instead, when I look too closely at the future, I see an ultramarathon, not an ordinary 26.2 miles.

What to do?

Sitting down for a nice long meditation — focusing on my breath instead of predicting when I might travel again or at the very least start walking briskly — seems to be a better choice when I’m impatient. Which is a lot of the time. To that end, I’ve returned to Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm by the late Thich Nhat Hanh for meditation and breathing help.

You might remember this book from an earlier post of mine, in which I share how I navigate fear. In short, by befriending it, not by running away.

This same book includes numerous simple breathing exercises, which I’ve started to practice to help me with my leg pain. Focused breathing calms anxiety and is available throughout the day and night. Once I get some more practice under my belt, I’d like to write an article for Lagomorpha on breathing through the pain. Stay tuned.

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A few of you have asked to see photos of my wound and the healing progression. I’ve collected images in a public Google doc.

Please note that the images are graphic. As I compiled the images, I found myself becoming agitated. The images evoked that perilous time. As I was living those moments, I was successful in protecting myself from their full impact. Gradually, I’ve started to look more closely and remember. It’s frightening to me because July 9 — the day the infection took over my leg — was the day I could have died. I seem to be out of the danger zone with respect to my leg wound, but the current state of my leg — while healing — is far from healed. It serves as a reminder of time I’d like to move on from. It’s like I started a marathon on July 9 with little training and exhausted at the outset. Today I’m in the middle of the race with only one way to go — to the finish line.

Leg wound healing in photos

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