"You're not on the list..."

July 22, 2016

I sat in the examining room awaiting the surgeon. Hubby was with me. I can't recall what Hubby and I discussed as we waited. I do recall the feeling of "this is it." I had gotten my MRI on July 20, two days previously. I'd receive the results today.

Would it show any bone necrosis? And what about the titanium rod in my femur? How on earth do they remove that? That was one of my biggest fears -- the removal of that rod which is now part of my bone. And that when the surgeon opens up my hip he'd find dead bone tissue and have to amputate my leg and I'd awake from surgery an amputee. My brain can jump to the craziest scenarios.

What if the MRI is completely clear? What if surgery isn't warranted? Hell it has to be warranted, my chromium and cobalt levels have risen to monitoring range.

Where did I miss it along the way? How could this happen, the miss of these rising metal levels? I know the answers. I just wish details had not been missed along the way. But that is life. Plus, we don't know how much, if any at all, the increased metal levels are associated with my widespread nerve damage. In a phone call on July 8 the surgeon told me that folks with my kind of widespread nerve damage typically have levels 5 to 10 times higher than my current increased levels. But, still, the metals have risen to monitoring range, and that's not good. He doesn't want me to get my hopes too high -- hopes that once we get the hip out and my metal levels down that that will make much difference with nerve damage improvement. I'd been working on that, in my head.

On July 21, the day before this meeting with the surgeon, I'd mustered the gumption to call the representative insurance company for the manufacturer of the recalled hip to see if I needed a new claim number. With butterflies in my stomach, I made myself make that call. It ended up not good news, which caused more anxiety and trembling and worse-case scenario mind scenes. I just hate this shit. Having to stumble through more god-damned hoops.

I'd been having PTSD-type symptoms for weeks. Not only because rising metal levels and the surgery and thinking about how I was going to manage the nerve damage through my recovery from surgery, but from having to communicate with "authorities." It's a real sore spot for me, "authorities." Since the end of June, I'd been muddling through and managing self-blame, anger, doubt, grief, trembling, anxiety, depression and all sorts of bizarre scenarios in my head.

Dr. Surgeon entered the examining room. As was his manner at my June, 2016, and previous visits from 2008 through 2012, he was pleasant.

After greetings he sat down. "Well, your MRI results look good. There is no evident bone necrosis or tumors or fluid build-up, which is what I look for in these situations."

That was good. Metal leeching can cause all those problems. Thankfully, I hadn't developed those yet. Even though my MRI looks clear, he still recommended the surgery due to my hip-specific symptoms which I began to notice in February, 2016. And because my metal ion levels have risen to the point of needing monitoring. And I do have serious widespread nerve damage.

We discussed the surgery and the risks, and what I could expect. And that I'd still have foreign substances and metal in my body, but the new implant shouldn't leech metal. Somewhere in the course of the conversation, the surgeon stated, "We won't do anything with the titanium stem in your femur. We just replace the ball-and-socket...."

I interrupted him, almost jumping out of my chair and hugging him, "Oh my gosh! So it's easier!?!"

I felt a huge wave of relief. Huge.

He chuckled a little and with his arms and hands motioning a calm down direction he said, "Well, it's still major surgery. And there are risks. But right, we don't mess with that titanium stem. We only replace the ball-and-socket with a metal-on-ceramic-with-polyethylene implant..."

I then said, "The manufacturer is refusing to pay."

Dr. Surgeon was not happy; I could tell by his facial expression and tone of voice. "Why not?"

I handed him my letter from the manufacturer's insurance company. It's dated 10/31/2011 and states the manufacturer will pay any out-of-pocket expenses incurred for exams and treatments as a result of the voluntary recall. There is a claim number on the letter. There is no expiration date stated in the letter.

"I called the manufacturer's insurance rep yesterday, thinking I might need a new claim number since this one is from 2011. The rep told me that they never received verification that I had received one of the recalled hips. I was like, 'What?! I've got the letter right here in black and white.' She said they'd never received any medical release forms from me, that no providers had ever sent any charges toward my claim so nothing was ever verified. She said the cut-off date for settlements was November, 2015, and that it was a 7-year recall, and they were no longer paying out on the recalled hips. I asked her, 'Shouldn't I have gotten a notification or something in the mail?' She said that there was a global mailing but that I didn't receive anything because I wasn't on the list because my recall had never been verified. She said she's sending me the medical release forms in the mail and for me to sign them and send them back so my hip-implant could be verified. After the phone call, Hubby looked up who paid those bills for my rechecks on my hip in 2010, 2011, 2012 after the recall. My primary and secondary insurance covered those at 100%, so there were no out-of-pocket expenses and thus no charges were ever submitted toward my claim number."

"Well, I'm not surprised," he responded.. "I've been through similar with other patients. Surgeons aren't big on lawyers, but I suggest you get a lawyer. I will gladly work with them and provide whatever they need -- tissue samples, your old hip that we're removing. Whatever is needed."

He then explained the typical legal process and what we could probably expect in that regard.

At the end of the appointment I asked if he has a chelation protocol to help bring the metal ion levels down after we remove the leeching implant. He said no, but that the levels will come down on their own. It takes a year or two, but they do come down. He's done 50 to 100 of these revision surgeries.

The day before, I had already made an appointment for the following Tuesday, July 26, with a local lawyer who works with a larger class-action firm in these cases. I had been in touch with the local firm previously on a few different phone calls from the beginning of July, but called them on July 21 to set a face-to-face appointment after talking with the manufacturer's insurance rep earlier that morning.

The letter from the manufacturer's rep arrived on Monday, July 25, along with the medical release forms. I took them with me to the lawyer appointment on July 26.

Lawyer advised me to not sign those forms. So I didn't.

I'm to only fill out forms from their firm or the class-action firm. If I have any questions about anything, I'm to call or go by their office.


~*~
On Monday, August 8, I closed my pet-sitting business. Depending on how I'm doing, I'll reopen in latter March, 2017.
On Monday, August 8, I received my epidural, the 13th since January, 2014.
On Monday, August 8, eight years and two days from my initial surgery on August 6, 2008, I received a packet via FedEx from the class-action law firm. It contained a cover letter with instructions, a questionnaire, and medical release forms. It was hard to get started on the questionnaire, but once I started, things rolled along. It ended up a piece of cake, compared to compiling the Knapp complaint in 2010.
On Wednesday, August 10, I mailed the packet back to the law firm -- 32 pages of information. I never imagined I'd be in these type predicaments.
~*~