Thursday, February 4th, 2010 | 0 comments
It’s been 23 days since the surgery. My knee is healing, but slowly, and with so many backward turns and false starts that it’s hard to quantify. I forget the cane often, and limp back for it, annoyed. It seems impossible that someday I’ll put the cane away permanently, or walk without a limp, or snuggle down to sleep without pain, but I know it will come eventually. My Healer is faithful.
Patience has never been my strong suit.
Rehab is interesting. It hurts, don’t misunderstand, but in an odd way, it feels good to feel a little stronger and to challenge myself physically, even a tiny bit. The night after rehab is sort of horrifying – the pain wakes me endlessly, and I almost crawl into the kitchen at 2:00 AM for a Vicodin. By the end of Rehab +1, the pain has receded, just in time to do it all again. Three times a week for a month; week 1 will be finished tomorrow.
Other than rehab, and wandering from room to room, I watch a lot of TV. A LOT of TV. While sitting, and pedaling away on my little bike pedal thingie. I pedal for hours. Watch TV and pedal. Pedal and watch TV. I can’t get comfortable lying down, so naps are out. I can’t get comfortable sitting in one place, so just sitting around is out. Pedaling isn’t comfortable, exactly, but I have the illusion that I’m helping myself a bit, so I pedal.
I’m really tired of pedaling. Really tired of it. Tired. Of pedaling. Very tired.
Monday, February 1st, 2010 | 0 comments
If you know me even in passing, you probably know that I had total knee replacement surgery on January 12, 2010. It was, at least so far, pretty much an amazing journey. I’m posting the details because that’s just what I do. Please feel free to ignore.
January 12, 2010
Bob and I got to the hospital about 8:00 AM for a 10:00 AM surgery. We’d pre-registered, so we just did the financial arrangements and then I was taken back to be prepared. IV started, questions answered – the questions that I answered endlessly: name, date of birth, and which knee was being operated on. The anesthesiologist wandered past, looking like he needed a haircut and a hall pass, and explained that all the discussion about spinal vs. epidural vs. general anesthesia was moot – they did it one way at that hospital, and that was the way it was going to be – “light” anesthesia and a spinal. It wasn’t a point for negotiation. He did tell me, though, that as the spinal wore off, I would get feeling back first in my toes. So if I felt my toes, I might want to find the morphine pump. Good to know.
I remember Bob coming in briefly to give me a kiss, and being wheeled down the corridor and into the OR, and thinking, “Oh, this isn’t good – I’m awake in the OR.” And that was that until about 4:00 PM.
I woke up in the hospital room, strapped to the CPM (Continuous Passive Motion) machine and with all sorts of tubes. I remember hitting the morphine pump a good bit, since I could feel my toes, and having some soup from the cafeteria. They got me up to sit in the chair beside the bed, which was not as dramatic as it sounds – I was so groggy that it didn’t really register. The nurses brought in a cot for Bob, but neither of us got much sleep since the oxygen monitor kept beeping – it seemed to beep continuously all night. He must have been exhausted; I certainly was.
January 13, 2010
The first day after surgery is just a day to be endured, according to the doctor. I stayed in the CPM pretty much continuously. Bob went home to sleep, and some kind soul forgot to turn the CPM back on after he left, so I got some sleep, too.
I finally met the physical therapist assigned to me. She had me walk to the door of the room and back, a distance of about fifteen miles or so. I was very shaky and very emotional – lots of tears that seemed unconnected to me, like a fever – something going on that was beyond my control completely. The pain was, it seemed to me, under control – significant, and about what I expected. Until the PT cranked up the CPM a bit too far, too fast and it felt as if my pain medication just stopped working. Not a great sensation. She ratcheted it down a bit, and things improved.
January 14, 2010
The worst day so far – the day the drain in my knee was removed. It felt about like you’d imagine – it was incredibly gross. I cannot imagine why a person becomes a nurse, or a doctor, or anyone who would do that to another human being, because I’m still shuddering two weeks later. The morphine drip was removed, and I was changed to Percocet for pain. And being tube-free, the PT included a walk to the nurse’s station (directly across from my room). Like yesterday, I felt very shaky and very teary, but not in insupportable pain. The CPM had become my personal challenge, and I cranked it up to 90 (degrees? percent? degrees, probably) by bedtime.
January 15, 2010
I came home Friday, January 15. I very much dreaded the whole business of getting into the car, but it was not nearly as bad as I’d feared. When I got home, the phone started ringing – people delivering the home version of the CPM, a truly horrifying potty chair, and a walker. I strapped myself into the CPM and tried to duplicate the hospital routine, staying on the machine most of the day.
January 16, 2010
First visits from the home health care team: nurse and physical therapist. The nurse ran through the blood pressure and heart check, and said she’d be back on Monday to check the Coumadin levels. (The orthopedic surgeon prescribed Coumadin for five weeks post-surgery to protect against blood clots.) The PT guy was gentle and persuasive; I liked them both very much, and was so grateful that I had them around. I sort of settled in for the long haul. The PT discouraged the use of the CPM – he felt it would be more beneficial to walk, which I tried to do, but with limited success.
January 17 – January 22, 2010
More of the same: CPM for 6-8 hours a day, since I was having a hard time walking, hobbling around on the walker (which I loathed), wincing every time my foot hit the floor. I remember roiling around in bed, unable to settle down or find anything close to a comfortable position, and not sleeping very much. I felt jumpy and anxious, very wired and frantic. I was trying to soldier through, but the jumpiness and hysteria were much, much worse than the pain. I had a-fib almost continuously, starting on Tuesday night, which left me very dizzy and light-headed. I remember very little about this time, with a couple of exceptions. (Exception: if your doctor tells you to take a stool softener while you’re taking a narcotic pain reliever, listen to the man. Listen carefully.) I know that the PT came on Thursday (January 21), but I’d fallen earlier (not to the floor, thank God, but against the piano) that morning and that I wept throughout his visit, not from pain but from fear, the a-fib and the recurrent panic attacks. Oddly, Friday (January 22) was my first reasonably good day – the first day in which I was up and out of bed for most of the time.
January 23 – January 25, 2010
Finally, I just had a melt-down on Saturday morning (January 23). I knew I was irrational, I knew I wasn’t doing what I needed to do to recover (per the PT’s instructions – too much CPM, not enough walking, and no exercises at all), and I was frightened of the heart problem and being put back in the hospital. Bob and I talked endlessly (thank God for Bob) and when he ran into our neighbor on his way to get the mail, who’d been through two hip replacements, we concluded (with her help) that the problem probably was the Percocet. She spotted me some Darvocet for the weekend, and by early Monday morning, I contacted the doctor’s office and they phoned in some Vicodin in time for the PT session on Monday afternoon.
Allow me to add that Darvocet is largely useless for significant pain, and that Vicodin is a lovely, lovely drug. I understand House a little better now. Plus, I have my mind back, which is not a small thing.
During that PT session, the therapist tossed the walker and I was able to walk with a cane, and to go outside (!!!!!). He cleared me to take a shower (!!!) – bliss!
January 26, 2010
I went back to the orthopedic surgeon’s office for my first outpatient visit. No waiting around this time – they took me back immediately, which was a shock, since I’ve spent up to an hour in that waiting room. The nurse removed the staples, which hurt like crazy (exactly as I thought it would – most things about this process were not as bad as I feared, but this was actually worse). The doctor cleared me to drive, so the home health care was coming to an end, sadly – I looked forward to those visits, even through the PT had a certain sadistic streak. (Actually, he was a sweetheart, and probably would be a great dog trainer – lots of positive reinforcement and positive, assertive energy.)
January 27, 2010
This was my second day actually up, out of the bedroom, and starting to resume some normal household tasks. I did two loads of laundry, puttered around, and felt marginally human again.
January 28, 2010 – January 31, 2010
One good day seems to be followed by a bad day; one day relatively free of pain usually coincides with PT and is followed by a day when I just start to think that I can’t stand the pain one more minute. Standing is not the problem, by the way – the knee will bear my weight without a lot of uproar. Flexibility is the problem. Stretching the back of my leg to push my knee flat is just misery, and working on the knee flex (pulling my knee to my chest, for example) is, unimaginably, worse. My legs are strong, the muscles are working fine, but the flexibility, never very good with my left leg, is an endless challenge.
February 1, 2010
This was my first trip to rehab. Bob drove me (I will never stop being grateful to him) and we met the therapist who is associated with the doctor’s office. Everything was dandy until the therapist plunked me on a stationary bicycle – with the first rotation, the pain ratcheted up to 12 (on a 0-10 scale) and I promptly burst into tears. It was the worst pain by far that I’ve experienced during this little journey; it was cataclysmic. I’m still not over it, five hours and one Vicodin later. The therapy guy (Jim) actually apologized for having the machine set incorrectly, which didn’t impress me much. Because even after all this uproar and two weeks after surgery, I didn’t know my knee could hurt like that. Hurting like that is bad. Bad. I do not recommend it.
And there we are, all caught up.
Tuesday, January 5th, 2010 | 0 comments
I’m boring me, and I am me.
The journal over the holidays would have been much like I feared it would – endless rambling about how hard I’m trying to cowboy up about this surgery, and how much of a failure that effort has been. That wouldn’t have been fun for anyone, least of all for me – dwelling on all of that feels like circling the drain.
I try to remember (and try and try and try to remember) about all of the people who would be grateful and thrilled to have access to good health care, and have the chance to be able to walk at all, let alone walk without pain. I try to tell myself that it will be fine, and that God is still in control even though I am not right now. I do try.
I’m ashamed to say that I cry out to God, asking that I have the strength to endure what must be endured. This is not suffering – not real suffering. This is a fat old lady with a bad knee. It embarrasses me that I even pray about it at all. Other people have much more pressing needs. And I am such a drama queen.
I’ve discovered, though, that when I am the most authentic with God – when I just whine and complain and fuss about what is really bothering me – that’s when I feel the most that I’m in real relationship with Him. But He doesn’t want our sanitized prayers. He wants us, warts and fears and cowardice and shivers and all. There’s a lot about this surgery thing that worries me and frightens me. Have I overstated the pain I’m in now? Should I wait until the pain is worse? Is this the right timing? Am I too young to have an artificial joint – will I need a replacement too soon? Am I lying to myself about what I can and can’t do? Can I manage the physical therapy, which no one has ever implied will be easy? I’m a huge, whiny baby about pain – I don’t even get a flu shot. Am I just not trying hard enough with what I have now? Will I be able to try hard enough when it really hurts?
And on and on and on. But … but. God made me. He loves me even though I over-think absolutely everything to the point of paralysis. He knows my heart; it’s His. He knows I am trying to do the right thing. And He knows that if I can find a way to deny my own life – my own reality – I will do it in a heartbeat. I imagine Him smiling just a little at my wayward, stubborn rebellious insistence that everything be done my way, in my timing, which is always Someday Soon, never Now. My way is not the painful way. Our way never is. And still, He is in control.
Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. Hebrews 4:16
Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009 | 0 comments
My very favorite Bible teacher, Beth Moore, had a recent health scare. As she posts about it on her blog, she says, much more gracefully than I could, what I wish I’d known about faith and healing a lot – a LOT – of years ago.
There is no way I can emphasize strongly enough that the outcome of the story I am about to share with you has nothing to do with God’s extravagant love for me, the right kind of praying, or the fact that “He’s not finished with me yet.” He loves us all extravagantly, whatever the outcome of medical tests. He does not play favorites. He hears each desperate cry and esteems the groanings of our souls. He doesn’t let our lives be touched or even ravaged by disease because we didn’t get our words exactly right or because we yelped, “Help my unbelief!” He’s not a mean, distant God playing Monopoly with human lives. And He’s not finished with a single one of us or we wouldn’t be drawing terrestrial air into our lungs and coursing our eyes over words on a computer screen. The fact is, He has a sovereign plan that is for good and not evil and He is writing a story of on-going redemption with each of our lives. Our lives are woven together through seasons. It’s one person’s season to experience this. And another person’s season to experience that. Neither is loved more. Neither is more dispensable.
~~~~~
I think the holidays have Officially Begun: Alice is home! And cooking! A few days ago, I told Justin that I was cooking less than usual these days, and after the requisite pause, he said, “I didn’t think that was possible.” Thank you, son, but it is – oh, it is. The time spent on my feet is limited by the number of times my knee becomes unstable, which is completely unpredictable. So not much is happening around here that doesn’t involve a lot of lounging around.
Tuesday, December 15th, 2009 | 0 comments
After three days of no significant pain, today the knee was back with a vengeance, telling me very clearly that if I’d canceled the surgery, I would have been very, very sorry. So after a quick trip to the grocery store for milk and crackers and blueberries, I took something for pain and snoozed the day away with the television on in the background.
I’ve never been to a long-term-care hospital, but I very much doubt that three hour naps to Criminal Minds re-runs are on their agenda. So maybe I can wean myself from television as an extra added attraction to the whole kneediness procedure. The fantasy version of myself watches almost no television; the real version rarely has the television off. I’ve tried endless times to boot the TV out of the bedroom, for example, but I cave in and retrieve it almost immediately. I clearly need a televisionectomy, and this may turn out to be the golden opportunity.
Or not. I suspect that I have a fantasy version of rehab, too. But then again, I have a fantasy version of almost everything. Made it easy to vote for Obama, the fantasy President. (Oh, was that me? No, that wasn’t me, it was my Evil Twin, the Republican.)
The highlight of the day – Justin brought Scamp over to visit the old folks. That dog is a circus on four paws. He just flies between Bob and me at first, courting pets and scritches and ear-snuffles, then trots between us, then flops down, giving us the Princess Diana eyes and rolling onto his back to lure us to come to him for those tummy rubs. I picked up an armful of sticks while I was standing in the yard and he began to dance around me, looking expectant – all sticks clearly belong to the dog. All your stick are belong to me. Okey dokey, then.
Monday, December 14th, 2009 | 1 Comment
I spent the morning driving around picking up lab results and the EKG and delivering same to the orthopedist’s office; I finished around 1:00 PM and rewarded myself with a Wendy’s float because … well, self-evident.
The orthopedic scheduler – Marcia – was significantly humor-deprived when I told her that a Valium needed to be part of the whole catheter plan. “They don’t pre-medicate at the lab,” said she.
“Well, I pre-medicate. I think I need to do that.”
“They do it all the time. You’ll be fine.”
You’ll note the lack of on-topic response. Also the humorlessness. Such is life in the medical zone. I better get used to it.
Sunday, December 13th, 2009 | 0 comments
So far this Christmas season, I have not:
- been shopping in a bricks and mortar store; the Internet is my friend
- baked a single thing – no, not one
- planned for Christmas dinner. Most of that will be left in my daughter’s capable hands, but I’m starting to get jumpy that I don’t even know what her plans are.
- wrapped even one gift
- felt the tiniest modicum of holiday spirit, probably because Bob and I aren’t exchanging gifts this year. Theoretically, we’re going to install a gas fire place instead; in reality, I doubt that we’ll get around to it until … well, ever. Even this adorableness hasn’t made a dent in my Grinchosity.
If the cute doesn’t make you feel a touch of Christmas, I fear you are – well, I am – a hopeless case.
Wednesday, December 9th, 2009 | 0 comments
I have a Knee Date – January 12, 2010. I’m already counting up weeks and planning – hoping – to be All Better by the end of March, for Sarah’s third birthday. Which is a little bit nuts, I grant you – it will unfold as it unfolds, and my job is to adjust and work hard when that’s appropriate, not to get tied to a specific date. I put my gym membership on hold, very sadly. I really wish I had a way to get in some kind of shape before The Day.
I started a Knee Blog, so that I can chronicle the journey – translation: blow off some stress by writing about it – and not fog the lense here endlessly. I know I’m excited. Well, a little excited. OK, maybe not so much.
On a much more positive note, we went to hear John Robert’s Christmas concert last night. Middle school music can be a little rocky, to put it kindly, but John Robert did beautifully – he even volunteered for a solo! I can’t even imagine playing an instrument in front of a hundred people, however kind-minded the people, so he gets full marks for courage, but he also played very well. It was hard to believe that he’s only been playing since September.
Tuesday, December 8th, 2009 | 1 Comment
I think the idea of someone cutting into my KNEE with a KNIFE has me a little bit wired and jumpy. And absentminded. Because when I came out of the doctor’s office this afternoon and looked for my keys, I realized that I’d left them in car. Hoping I hadn’t locked them in the car, as I tend to do when nervous and preoccupied, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the keys were, indeed, still in the ignition and doors were unlocked.
Until I realized that I had left the car running. For about an hour. In the parking lot. Running. Not turned off.
No surgical date yet, but clearly, it can’t come too soon, for everyone’s sake.
~~~~~
In a moment of hysterical optimism, I signed up for Holidailies, 2009. Participation requires a daily post, from December 7 through January 7. So yes, it started yesterday, the day I did not post anything. So I’m off to a rousing start.
I’m not sure what I’m going to say – variations on “ouch” and “my knee hurts” and “owie” and such, probably. But I’m going to say it every day. Well, every day but one.
No, really.
Thursday, December 3rd, 2009 | 0 comments
Well, I’ve made the decision, finally – a new left knee will be my present from Santa this year.
I went back to the doctor this morning, to ask him about a new symptom – my knee goes “out” periodically now. I’ll just be walking along, minding my own business, and it feels as if the knee hyper-extends. And wow, pain. Pain. Plus pain at night, and cramping behind the knee, which was also a new wrinkle. So we were moving rather quickly in the wrong direction, and, you know, pain. I’m not a fan of pain.
After maneuvering my knee every possible way, the doctor gave me One Of Those Looks and delivered himself of the opinion that there was nothing holding my knee together at this point, and that the time had come. Not someday, now. Well, soon – as soon as my cardiologist and primary care doctor sign their respective release forms, the surgery will be scheduled, in about six weeks (that is, sometime in January). I’m walking the release forms around tomorrow and Friday, to get the show firmly on the road.
I’m scared, I grant you that. But it’s nice to stop dithering and get this over with. I’d been so longing for a sense of peace about this – some assurance that I really do need this, that surgery is the best option, and that there is no point in waiting – and I got that, today, in spades. Now the challenge seems to be to keep hold of the status quo until January. Because that hyper-extending thing could make things a lot worse in a hurry. So just a little longer ….
