Four Weeks

Clearly I haven't spent the past 4 weeks working on my tan

I am halfway to my post-op appointment where, please God, I will find out that I can ditch at least one of the crutches. I am 2/3 of the way to being able to drive and go in the pool. I have stopped the insane sweating. I am done with the hospital bed. I am so done with the iron supplements.

I am starting to feel pretty normal, other than being unable to get the song "Tennessee Waltz," complete with Lawrence Welk-type orchestration, out of my head. It's been two weeks since I took any pain meds so I don't think this is opiate-related, but I have no other explanation.

I also have this overwhelming urge to go shopping. I don't have the stamina to shop or try a bunch of things on, and I don't even know what size I will end up being when all is said and done; I'm not about to actually go to the mall. So what is driving this shopping desire? I think I've been watching too many episodes of "What Not to Wear," which is shown in reruns two or three times each weekday. I think Stacy and Clinton would agree that a brand new hip deserves a brand new wardrobe, so if anyone wants to nominate me to be on the show you have my blessing. Shut up!

Sleeping is still not a sure thing, and before this I was a really good sleeper, so I'm perplexed and not quite sure how to fix it. I've ruled out heavy drinking and sleeping pills, for now. I am still unable to find consistently comfortable sleeping positions throughout the night, and often wake up long before dawn. But that's OK! I can take naps any time I want to.

Not that I'm just sitting around doing nothing all day in my jammies, although occasionally that happens. I confess that I have read my share of People magazines, although I draw the line at The Enquirer and I've avoided the most ridiculous daytime TV shows. (Note: "What Not to Wear" should NOT be categorized as crappy daytime TV.) Most days I try to be as normal as possible by getting up, showering, making an attempt to tame my hair even though blow drying is out of the question, and putting on "real" clothes from the loungewear family (i.e., sweats).

I attempt to sit upright each day for as long as possible. I try to get up and walk around throughout the day and/or get out of the house if someone is willing to come get me. I'm not yet ready to walk in my own neighborhood since our streets are not well paved and the terrain is hilly. I am able to shower standing up on one foot. I can do light housework, such as cleaning up cat barf, doing laundry, and washing dishes. Monday I even vacuumed half of the main floor (it is possible, just takes a while) and cleaned the upstairs bathrooms. I actually sat on the floor and scrubbed from there - it's easier than mopping upright.

Which leads me to ... I can sit on the floor and get up from the floor using my good leg. It's a neat party trick.

I have not yet tripped, fallen, or accidentally put my full weight on my right leg as so many PAO patients do. In some ways I wish this would happen so I could test out my hip, but I know it's not ready. Don't worry mom, I'm not planning to actually do this.

My upper thigh is still numb, lumpy and a bit swollen. The scar looks really good and doesn't hurt when I touch it. I occasionally feel odd twinges of pain in my outer hip which I imagine are screw heads poking me, but since I'm not sure what screw heads feel like this could all be in my mind. I feel odd pulling sensations in my muscles. Sometimes my knees hurt, especially at night. I know how important strong quads are to keep the knee joint stable; my quads are not just weak, they are pathetic after four weeks of atrophy. My hope is the knees will be just fine once I build the muscles up again -- I've never had knee problems and don't want to start now.

I actually feel like I could walk just fine without my crutches, but I'm not going to be a fool and try it. There will be plenty of time for walking. I'm sure I'll look back fondly on these lazy, boring days when I'm in the midst of physical therapy hell in September.

Farewell to Fragmin

Today was my last Fragmin (anti-coagulant) injection. To say that I am happy about this is a gross understatement. The injections weren't really all that bad, and didn't really hurt (just a bit of a sting), but I just never quite got used to giving myself a shot in the abdomen each morning. I dreaded it each day.

And a cheery adios to my elastic TED stockings as well. I actually ditched them yesterday since my legs are not swollen and we are experiencing a heat wave here. Plus they were pretty stretched out and I don't think they were compressing anything.

I've been looking forward to these milestones. Next milestone? I can stop taking iron supplements (they do yucky things to my digestion) in just over a week. After that? I get to drive and go to the pool in 3 weeks and 2 days! At that point I will also go back to the office part-time.

I'm OK with "OK"

I hate countdowns, and yet there’s no other way to describe this last week. Every morning brings me one day closer to the inevitable. I’m lucky that the weather is beautiful and I am home from work this week, making it hard to wallow in self pity. I’m trying to get out of the house as much as I can since I may be stuck inside during the most beautiful part of the summer. Right now I’m at a coffee house blocks from where I live, just because I didn’t want to drink coffee and type this at home. Plus there are no chocolate croissants at home, and I just had to have one this morning.

So far I’ve been sleeping at night and I’m able to eat. When I’m anxious about something I have trouble with both of these functions. I’ve had intestinal issues but I’m not sure if those are caused by nerves or the abundance of iron I’ve been taking as prescribed. I haven’t had any memorable pre-surgery nightmares yet. In fact, I’ve been sleeping better and more than usual, which is strange. Perhaps my body is preparing itself.

People have been a bit too cheery around me at times, which I’ve found mildly annoying, but I realize that’s all par for the course. Everyone keeps telling me that I’ll “be OK.” Science can make almost anything OK nowadays. We’ve come to expect that modern medicine has a quick fix for everything. Feeling out of sorts? Pop an anti-depressant. Aches and pains? A bionic joint will fix you right up. Even previously fatal diseases such as cancer and HIV can now be treated with varying degrees of success. People are accustomed to seeing their ailing friends back in action quickly after medical interventions.

In the scheme of health care, I know that my malady and its correction are pretty minor things because hip dysplasia is life changing, but not life threatening. I will live through this. But it’s a longer recovery than most orthopedic procedures. It’s a rare enough condition that my spell checker doesn’t even recognize it. The surgery to correct it is so rare that my primary care provider, and many orthopedic surgeons, have never heard of it.

So most people don’t have any idea what this surgery entails. They envision me bouncing back quickly and feeling no pain; back to my old activities with no reminders of my problem. In reality, I know that the recovery period for this surgery is approximately two years, and I need two surgeries. Even if I do the second one as quickly as possible (six months after the first), my total recovery time will then be two and a half years. A time during which I will experience pain, frustration, and limitations on my activities. As soon as I’m somewhat recovered from the first PAO, I’ll undergo the second, and my crutches, walker and cane will reappear on the scene. My co-workers will again have to pick up the slack for me while I’m out of the office, and they may not be as happy to shoulder the burden a second time. Even after a full recovery, I’ll still be limited from certain activities for the rest of my life, and it’s likely I’ll still have some (manageable) hip pain. It doesn’t sound much like bouncing back, and it isn’t the wonderful recovery people are expecting. It’s hard for casual friends and acquaintances to be supportive for that long.

Upon reflection, I’ve realized that “you’ll be OK” is exactly what I might say to someone facing surgery too. It marries concern with optimism and, I suppose, depending on how you define “OK,” it is likely true. This surgery and the recovery afterward will contain awful parts and good parts and I’ll probably experience both discouragement and progress in a single day. In the end, however, I know it will all be OK.

Intestinal Fortitude

So you take the iron supplement with vitamin C because it is better absorbed in an acidic environment. You don't take your calcium with your iron though, or the iron blocks absorption of the calcium. If you take iron on an empty stomach you might get a stomach ache, but if you take it with food you might not absorb the nutrients in your food correctly. The NSAID prescribed for my swollen hand (auto accident) should also be taken with food, but should not be taken with the iron. OK, I am now not sure what to eat when and what pill to take with what.

Juggling meds is not something I am used to, because meds and I don't normally run in the same circles. I am supposed to bring a "full list of all prescriptions" to my pre-op appointment. A week ago that list would have been a whole lotta nothing, but now it's filling up fast.

The iron is prescribed to build up my blood for the autologous blood donations (two units, two donations) I am so looking forward to. I have rubbery hide-and-go-seek veins that know how to retreat deep into my arms beyone reach of needles at just the right time. The digging around for a vein has been so painful in the past that I have actually passed out. Oh yeah, I had better get used to it because they are going to be sticking me all over in the hospital as well, and after I'm out of the hospital in order to monitor the blood thinners. Did I mention the blood thinners? The ones I will be injecting myself with IN MY OWN STOMACH for ten days???!!!

I think it might be more than just the iron supplements that are making me nauseous.