In my weariness of writing about Mike's medical marvels, I guess I kind of dropped the story before telling the end. Even my own two sisters weren't clear about how things ended up.
So briefly, turns out that Mike's knee and thigh were indeed infected. The good news is that none of the three bacteria they identified are of the resistant sort. So they released him from the hospital on Friday night, but not before setting him up with IV antibiotic therapy once a day for 4-6 weeks, thereby enacting Plan B.
Mike's been down this path before, 7 years ago. It was a frightful experience, complicated by the fact that I was 7 months pregnant and not at all interested in earning my nursing degree by trial and error, which is precisely what they wanted me to do -- flushing IV lines and hanging antibiotics and making sure the bubbles were out so I didn't do something silly like accidentally kill my husband.
So when that became an option again last week, I immediately coiled into a fetal position and wailed "No, no! I can't! I won't!" And know what? I don't have to.
Turns out they have a nifty place just a few minutes from our house where Mike goes every morning to get his antibiotics from friendly and very skilled professionals who wouldn't dream of killing him with a bubble in his line.
Aside from all of that, he's doing very well. Getting around the house without the use of his walker, pretty much. Starting to wean off his pain meds. Showing the 33 staples in his leg to anyone foolish enough to look. Lucky for you, I think the toes were enough. I'll spare you the pic of the staples.
And that my friends (I hope!), is THE END.