It’s a little creepy when you can hear the drills and feel the pounding of hammers and whine of suction machines during surgery. Four weeks ago I had my hip replaced. I wasn’t aware I was only having a spinal (they paralyze you from the waist down) until the day before. During the procedure, I could hear the nurses talking about American Idol and my surgeon giving a blow by blow of what he was doing to me to his students. My anesthesiologist’s name was Igor. In my haze of drugs I remember asking him if he had seen my spectacular calves. I could hear as they relocated my new hardware back into my new joint. I could feel the pounding as my surgeon drove the shaft of the hardware into my femur. I mean I couldn’t feel it, but I could feel my body being shifted with every hammer stroke. I found myself laughing inside. It was funny. I opened my eyes and Igor asked me if I was okay. I tried not to laugh and said yes (I think). I had been secured in a vice on my side during the surgery. My bare butt was cold, and I remember telling them about that. But I knew I was in the hands of the best. I hate hospitals. I have the feeling it might be because of my previous experiences that I don’t remember, when I was a year old and had my other hip fixed. But this time it was okay. One thing I noticed was that everyone was very gentle; they more likely than not would touch you; I don’t like being touched by strangers, but it was very comforting. They all had great humor, from my surgeon signing my left thigh with a flourish in red sharpie (part of their protocol), to my anesthesiologist asking if all his patients could be like me. As I entered the OR, the nurse said to everyone: This is Robin, and what are you getting done today? I said: I’m having my left hip replaced. Everyone cheered and hooted and hollered before the nurse introduced each person individually to me in a flourish. I was already slightly relaxed from the three Tylenol I had just been given. The joviality greatly helped my nerves. I appreciate that, and I also appreciate that my surgeon called Lee personally to tell him my surgery went “perfect”. I also recall him saying during surgery: Let’s get her fixed so she can get back on her mountain bike. Music to my ears.
I was up walking with the aid of the walker the next day; the only discomfort was the swelling in my incision and the disturbance of my muscles and tendons. I had about 30 staples from mid thigh closer to the back that went up and circled around on my butt. It was a relief to get those out, believe me. Now is the difficult part; the rules. I hate rules. The lesson here is patience. I am not a patient person. I have to adhere to certain rules; no bending, no twisting, no pivoting on my foot, no angles of 90 degrees at my hip joint; I am grateful that I have strong legs. The oddest thing for me is that when I step down on my operated leg, I feel no pain. That’s bizarre. I guess I had just grown used to the constant grinding and aching every time I took a step. I can’t recall when it started, but I know I have been complaining about it for years. I even had times over the last few years that it hurt so bad I could barely walk. I had to rest between steps, and (between you and me) have a little cry because it hurt so much. I refused to take any medication, opting for acupuncture treatments and high doses of fish oil. That saved me. I was born with hip dysplasia, like dogs get, and at one year old had my right hip fixed. I didn’t find out until last spring that my left one was deformed also. I was walking on 10 percent cartilage in my hip joint. It was disgusting to hear the grinding and feel it as I moved certain ways.
So now it’s about recovery. I do my strengthening exercises faithfully because I know they make me more flexible and stronger every day. I have a physio appt. tomorrow and my brilliant physiotherapist is very pleased with my recovery. I’m already back on my bike although stuck inside on a windtrainer, but I’m okay with that. Every day I get better and better.
I was hoping to be able to write during my recovery, but I’ve found that part of me is temporarily blocked. I haven’t had the aid of the pain medicine like I did with my ankle which isn’t a bad thing; believe me I don’t advocate drugs to get into the creative space I need to write. Quite the contrary.
Every day a new muscle aches, which lets me know that things are getting stronger. Yesterday I stopped using my cane. I am taking each day as it comes, and am using Reiki to help things along. I have a stack of things I figured I’d do while I was recovering, but I haven’t had the energy. I guess I’m using what I have to heal.
