Hip Update

Four and a half months out from surgery, the hip is doing great. There’s still an occasional bit of discomfort, and it doesn’t feel quite the same as a normal hip (maybe it never will?), but it works just fine and the relief from pain and debility is wonderful.

Now, if the cranky knee on that side would just quit bothering me….

Stepping up, rung by rung

Yesterday, during evening barn chores, I achieved a considerable step up in the path of my recovery:

I climbed the ladder to the hayloft, wrestled two hay bales from the stack to the ladder opening, dropped them, climbed safely down, and moved them to the opposite end of the barn.

This was not easy. I still lack strength enough in that left leg to climb the ladder normally, so had to do the gimpy hitch-step: while grimly clutching the ladder, lift good foot up one rung, raise bum-side foot to join it, repeat. Coming down it was lower bum-side first, etc.

As for moving the hay, well, no way was I going to try lifting 40 to 50 pound bales. So they got to where they had to go through a judicious mix of sliding, end-over-end flipping, and held-vertical corner-walking. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.

This is for me a big deal, another thing I no longer need to rely on others to get done. About the only barn chore left to accomplish now is getting a 50-pound grain sack from where the feed store delivers it (lower level at rear of bank barn) into a cart, up the drive to the main level of the barn, and out of the cart into the grain bin. Which will need doing in a couple of days. Which I’m not ready for yet, so will gratefully accept help – this time around. I expect to be able to manage it myself next time, in a couple of months.

Now, if I could just stop needing the cane to walk down stairs….

Midsummer Update

Greenheads and a heat wave. Whadda revoltin' development. At least Ben is placidly enjoying his daily cold hosing instead of going through his usual shrinking shying "Stop stop I don't like it!" dance. He even likes having his face misted. Then he wants to go right back inside the barn to wait for the evening's blessed banishment of the bugs, when it's finally safe to emerge for overnight turnout. I've whacked off several inches from his unkempt shaggy mane, just rough-combed out most of the snarls and then hacked away with the scissors, never mind the long, fussy, arduous mane-pulling process, which Ben hates anyway. It actually came out looking good.

I continue to improve, slowly; can't go for the long walks I'd been building strength with while it's so brutal, but am managing Ben's mucking, feeding, watering as well as the usual ruck of daily chores without trouble. I can now walk a lot without the cane at home and when doing barn chores but need it on stairs, especially going down, and feel safer having it with me in the outside world. I expect there'll continue to be improvement over the coming months, but if I never got beyond where I am now, the hip replacement would still be worth it, oh yes, so very much worth it all.

The results are in

And it appears that taking on the mucking of Ben’s daily output hasn’t harmed my recovery; indeed, one might consider it a new phase of physical therapy, advancing me beyond mere walking. I haven’t felt much discomfort while doing it, nor subsequently, nor stiffened up afterwards when immobile for long stretches; if anything, I’m doing better post-mucking today than the first day, Saturday. It’s still impossible for me to climb the ladder to the hayloft or haul hay bales about, but I’m getting help with that till it’s back within my power. I’ve been taking the cane along on the mucking runs, to help on the uphill push of the loaded (not TOO loaded, mind you) cart, but leaving it hanging on the fence during the manure-forking process. Today I didn’t even need the cane for the uphill.

Ah, the cane. I’d like to ditch it entirely, but it’s not quite time yet. I hardly use it at all at home, indeed have reached the “Now, where did I leave that thing?” point in our relationship, but it still feels safer to use it to steady me when I get up after sitting for a while, at least for the first couple of steps; to help haul my carcass up the stairs; to offer support on my daily walks. I’ve tried parking it on my shoulder when I’m out walking, yesterday and today, and seeing how far I could get before needing it. The answer has varied but, well, let’s just say I’m not going to be putting in any canefree miles just yet.

Still and all, things are progressing nicely, and it’s good to be back to taking care of Ben again. He seems happy to have my attention and is diligent about leaving lots of material for my physical therapy sessions at the farm.

Moving onward and upward

Big plans for the weekend: I'm going to see if I can take over Ben's care. Two days ago I mucked out the run-in AND scrubbed and refilled the bathtub that waters Ben and his two buddies, hauling the hose there and reeling it back, and doing all this after having walked a mile and a quarter before driving over there; then I went grocery shopping and hauled home several bags of cat litter and canned food, among other things. No pain or stiffness as the day went on, and I woke up the next day feeling fine.

So I'll be taking over from Renee, who's done the Benster-care for the last few months, over the weekend and on Monday, and if three days of barn chores doesn't lay me low, I'll take over for good -- no doubt needing someone else at first to throw down hay from the loft for me, for however long it takes to build back up to being able to climb/descend ladders and pick up hay bales. But that, too, will come.

I’ll be careful, I’ll listen to my body, and if it says “That’s not a good idea, ya know,” I’ll back off. But I do feel it’s time to at least try.

Whadda revoltin development

So we finally get perfect walking weather after that ambition-sapping stretch of heat wave, and I can finally get back to strength-building, walking walking walking, pushing past the personal best (two miles!) I’d achieved just a couple of days before the hot humid horrors descended.

Not so fast, there, podner.

I’m sick – started a sore throat last night, woke up every hour or two to be reminded of it, and awoke this morning to confirm that, yes, indeed, I do have a sore throat, the soreness now creeping into the ears; my head is getting stuffy, and overall I feel crappy – mild enough that I can still sit quietly and proofread but crappy enough that going out for a two-mile, or even a one-mile, or even the half-mile end-of-my-street-and-back walk is probably not going to happen. Well, I’ll try the end-of-street walk after I’ve had my coffee.

And I’d been doing so well! Not only the walking, but getting around the house without needing the cane most of the time, even on the stairs; finding my range of motion in that leg increasing; being able to lift more, with greater ease – heck, yesterday I even mucked Ben’s run-in. Granted, there were probably no more than a half-dozen dump piles (a minuscule output for the big bay doofus), I was using a Smart Cart, easier to maneuver than a wheelbarrow (especially with one hand while the other pegs along with a cane), and by the time I’d dumped it and put the cart back in the barn I was done for the day on exerting myself – but still! I’d planned to muck again today, but unless I start feeling better (maybe the coffee will help) that’s not going to happen.

Grumble grumble grumble.

I must be feeling better

At least, one would assume so given that:

This morning I walked a mile and a scootch loop, with one crutch, and that used as a cane for more than half of the distance;

This afternoon I walked a half mile with the cane only, and not too many rest stops along the way;

At home I hardly need the cane at all, other than on the stairs;

And now I’m comfortable enough sitting at my office computer to go back into my raw photo files and spend a pleasant half hour or so editing the following images from a ramble around the farm in Essex where Ben lives, back in October:

Triumph!

Yes! I did it! I did it! YES!

Today I cleaned the catboxes! All of them!

From Sally’s two on the third floor….

To Ted’s first-floor cage-enclosed covered-top oversize and the open box by the half-bath off the living room (relic of paranoid Squash’s immutable refusal to go to the basement where the departed Smedley used to ambush him)….

To the paired lineup of eight, count ‘em, eight big boxes in the basement.

Did them all. Did them all standing, leaning over on the cane with the bad leg stretched out behind me, except for Ted’s. Ted’s needed kneeling and bending forward, a maneuver I’ve been practicing for a week, getting the various body parts slowly accustomed to the required range of motion, and by golly, it went perfectly. Even getting back up on my feet was no problem.

I DID IT! and I feel fine, not stressed by the extra efforts at all. The hip is as comfortable as it began the day, arising from a good night’s sleep in the lift chair – which is where I plan to continue sleeping for at least another week or two before I try the bed again. It really is making a huge difference.

I feel like singing! Well, I did but it scared the cats, so I stopped. And dancing is right out for now, even with my trusty cane. So I shall settle for spamming friends with my good news and sitting about smirking in triumph.

Sure doesn’t hurt to save the ten bucks a day I was paying for the service, either.

Mostly Forward; One Step Back

The hip recovery moves on apace, with much progress and one small setback.

I’ve had the okay to drive for a week-plus and have been enjoying it: going over to visit the horse, running errands, just getting out and about on my own, and relishing the liberation. I wouldn’t be comfortable driving any more than local distances yet, but in time my leash should lengthen and eventually begone.

My physical limitations on movement are likewise easing; I can safely and comfortably bend forward farther than 90 degrees now, and continue to add increments of flexibility within the confines of what my body’s reactions tell me is appropriate. My stamina is still small but I try to push its bounds gently on my daily walks – still taken with one crutch for now, rather than the cane that serves me indoors, for safety’s sake and because I tire more rapidly when caning rather than crutching on an outdoor expedition.

I plan tomorrow morning to try, for the first time since shortly before the surgery, to clean the cats’ litter boxes myself, a task requiring kneeling and bending as well as stair-climbing. Easing into the motions and positions necessary for this have been part of my PT routines for the last week and now it’s time to see if I’m ready. If it’s too soon, I’ll call the woman who’s been doing it for me and let her know she needs to keep on, but I’m hoping to win back that further bit of independence.

My physical therapy at home has ended, as my therapist and I agree that I can take my rehab from here without her further guidance. I’ll miss Kristin’s wonderful help and direction; this recovery wouldn’t have gone nearly as well without her assistance, and I made sure to tell her so.

So, all in all, it’s a happy story, except for one thing: I must retreat from sleeping in my bed. For the last few days I’ve awakened with discomfort in my hip, and yesterday it was edging into outright pain territory; indeed, the hip ached all morning, enough that I forbore the usual round of exercises and eventually gave in and took an oxycodone, something I hadn’t needed to do for quite a long time. I have tried to find a comfortable way to sleep on my right side, my usual presurgical position, but no arrangement of legs and pillows has produced a workable solution. I suspect I’m rolling over to side from back during sleep and stressing a joint not yet ready for that.

So last night I went to bed in the lift chair where I’d spent the first nights sleeping at home, and was decently comfortable, enough so to sleep well till my first bathroom-run wakeup. Then I moved to the living room, to the narrow confines of the couch, with no room to lie other than flat and straight on my back, and slept well there. I got up this morning with a much more comfortable hip. Eureka!

Of course, it’s not all sunshine and kittens; now my left knee is grumbly, perhaps from being stretched out straight all night instead of slightly bent over a pillow. So I’ll try a knee pillow for it tonight and see if that’s what it wants.

I daresay setbacks are only to be expected, but they still annoy me.

A Final (I Hope) Wrap-Up Report

How well is my recovery going?

So well that yesterday, in three separate ventures, I walked with just one crutch a total of almost a mile. I can take several steps independent of any aid. My pain level has dropped to occasional minor discomfort, needing only Tylenol once in a while; my flexibility is increasing daily; my strength ditto.

I’ll be seeing the surgeon on Tuesday for follow-up; I hope and expect to be given the green light to drive – freedom at last! I’m ready to get back to work full time. Getting back to doing horse chores no doubt will take another month or more of further strengthening, but it too will come soon, I’m sure.

I am forever grateful to all the people who’ve helped me through this process: the medical professionals, the friends who’ve been doing so much for the housebound invalid, the folks who’ve cared for my animals when I couldn’t, and all who’ve offered moral support. I could never have gotten through this without you all! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Stepping Out

Major advances today during physical therapy. I’ve felt a significant surge in my ability to ambulate over the last few days, a marked lessening of the need for even one crutch’s support. When my PT arrived I demonstrated this for her: I walked entirely unassisted for four steps, right-left-right-left; turned with the crutch, and walked four unassisted steps back. Now, mind you, they were shorter than my normal stride, but neither were they hobbling gimps; they were real steps. A day shy of three weeks post-op, I walked without aid.

Kristin was gobsmacked. She’s been surprised and delighted all along at how well I’ve progressed, but this just amazed her. I then tried ambulating with my cane rather than the crutch. It’s not as reliably steady a feel, but no problem; let me get a few days farther along and I’ll be caning merrily around the house; for now, I prefer the greater security of the crutch.

We went downstairs to the garage so I could practice getting in and out of my car under her supervision, both passenger and driver side. Piece of cake. We went for a walk outside, me back on both crutches for safety’s sake though I needed very little of their support, down the driveway as far as the mailbox, then instead of turning back we kept going onward down the exit drive all the way to the street, a doubling of distance. I stuck my toe over the property line in triumph, then we marched back up-slope to my condo, moving right along. Well, yes, yes, I was a bit winded by the time we got back, but oh! What an invigorating expedition it was!

To be fully back to myself, able to do everything as I had before the hip went to hell – able to muck a stall, push a loaded wheelbarrow, haul hay and shavings and grain – I know is still some months away. But by golly, I’m going to get there, and do it faster than your average bear.

A confession: I did take one oxycodone today, a couple of hours before PT, because the exercises and house chores I did in the morning got me to hurting. But this doesn’t depress me; it’s not a defeat; it’s merely being sensible, not trying to be a hero. I doubt I’ll need another today; I’ll go on tomorrow and thereafter without taking any unless I push myself too far and need the relief; and I have no doubt that I’m very nearly done with that drug.

The ravelled sleeve knit up

What a difference a day makes! Yesterday was another day of no oxycodone, any modest discomfort eased with ice and Tylenol, of following faithfully the prescribed exercises and even expanding upon them, of walking outside despite the chill in the air, of resting when tired and enjoying quiet amusements.

Last night’s sleep, taken in the lift-recliner? The best so far; just one wakeup after the first hour and a half, then back to five deep and restful hours. I drifted up to wakefulness, arose eventually and fed the cats, then crawled into my bed upstairs and drifted back down for another hour-plus slumber.

Today when my physical therapist comes I’ll ask her to assess whether I’m ready to move up from one crutch to a cane, at least indoors. I see my surgeon next Tuesday and hopefully will be given permission to drive. Recovery marches on!

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care

It was another night of broken sleep last night, one of the worst since I came home from the hospital, and yet its very brokenness encourages me.

I have, in fact, slept remarkably well since the first night or two at home. Oh, I’ve had to get up two or three times for a bathroom run each night, but that was my pattern before the surgery, and I’ve fallen swiftly back to sleep most times and slept deeply. I credit a good part of my rapid recovery to such restful nights’ restorative powers.

Over the last few days, as I’ve tried with indifferent success off and on to move from the lift-chair recliner to my own bed, I’ve also been weaning myself off the oxycodone. Yesterday, for the first time since the operation, I took none at all, just a couple of Tylenol for the minor discomfort that bothers me at times. I do wonder whether it’s the opioid withdrawal, however modest its effects given my low dosage and limited time on the things, that’s playing havoc with my sleeping, rather than the place where I lay myself down, since last night said place didn’t seem to make much difference.

If I’m right and withdrawal rather than positional discomfort is what’s keeping me awake, then in a few days, when the body’s readjusted to its drugfree state, I should do just fine wherever I settle for the night.

In the meantime, I can and do nap when I feel like it, and it’s amazing how much reading you can get done in the wee hours with no competing distractions.

Oh, and I feel stronger when I walk now, which is entirely with one crutch; the crutch takes very little of the left leg’s burden at each step. The thought did flit through my mind this morning: “Time to downshift to a cane?” but that may be too much too soon; I’ll discuss it with my physical therapist this week.

Ups and Downs

Ups and downs, ups and downs, there’s been a fair passel of ‘em over the last 24 hours.

I hit the recliner*-sack early (for me) last night but couldn’t quite drift off; the left leg was twitchy. Finally I gave in and took half an Ativan (my fallback prescription for restless leg on the rare occasions nothing else will work) and decided, what the heck, let’s try the bed again. So up the stairs I hitched, got settled, and drifted off to a good four hours of deep sleep. Who’dathunkit, huh? When I woke for the inevitable bathroom run around 5:00 a.m. I decided to finish the night in the recliner. So down the stairs I hobbled, got settled – and discovered that, after hours of unaccustomed stretching out of the leg, the hip was now achy. Sigh…. Up to the drug stash; one 5 mg oxycodone down the hatch; back into the recliner, and down into Morpheus’s welcoming arms….

At 8:00 a.m. the rumbling of the basement garage door opening sent the cats clumped asleep on me fleeing wildly and I woke up in time to greet the friend delivering groceries. We chatted, she departed, and I decided to feed the frightened felines, most of whom emerged from their hiding places by the time I’d finished dishing out the morning meal. I carried Sally’s up to her second-floor realm, eyed the abandoned bed across the hall, and decided what the heck, I’m up here anyway, so heaved myself back in and dozed off.

The arrival an hour later of the woman who’s cleaning the catboxes for me woke me up and I stumped back downstairs for breakfast and some reading for pleasure, then proofread a job. That done, I assembled a batch of paperwork and lurched up to the second-floor office and its computers to take care of various banking, bill-paying and bookkeeping that needed doing. Given how uncomfortable the office chair is for me, even padded with a pillow, I’d been dreading the duty, but it had to be done.

Well, at least Sally was happy about the hour I spent in there; I sure wasn’t. I had to get up and stand or crutch-walk about now and then to get through what all had to be completed, but completed it was at last and I could lumber back downstairs, suck down another oxycodone, fix myself a much-belated lunch, and collapse into the living room recliner, icepack at hip, rest and repast restoring me to comfort and good humor.

It’s a damned good thing I set up the mini-office downstairs before the operation; there’s no way I could do extended work in the upstairs office, not for almost a month before the operation, in fact; not now; and not, I suspect, for some time to come.

So it’s been a time of ups and downs, stairwise, physically, and emotionally as I contemplate what I can accomplish now on one crutch (got the plants watered, even upstairs where I have to fill the can at the bathtub faucet, an awkward process even with two good legs), what the accomplishment takes out of me, how far I’ve come and how far I still have to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*I may have been unclear in previous missives: I have two recliners at present. The sleeper is on loan from a friend and lives in the front room downstairs; my own recliner, less comfortable for sleeping but just fine for lolling about, lives in my living room, flanked by side tables for laptop and printer/scanner and facing the television.

A Small Setback

Last night I tried sleeping in my own bed, having prepared it with the occupational therapist’s help with the necessary hip precautions designed to keep one from putting certain torsional pressures on the healing joint.

It did not go well.

Oh, it seemed comfortable at first, though a bit odd to have my upper body only slightly raised on my own slim wedge pillow, instead of the larger angle the recliner provides. But I soon discovered that, even when I put a pillow under my left knee, that whole limb, from hip on down to ankle, was not enjoying lying flat. I started getting the occasional spasm of restless leg, and no amount or variation of repositioning within what was feasible could relieve my left leg’s discontent. The hip itself began to ache.

So finally, after an hour and a half of trying to get beyond uneasy intermittent dozing to real sleep, I gave up and hobbled down to the trusty recliner, where I spent the rest of a blissfully comfortable, soundly sleeping night.

I’m going to try taking a nap on the bed this afternoon, see if I can retrain myself to sleep there, and hope that it won’t take until the hip precautions are finally lifted and I can again sleep as I prefer, curled on my right side, to be at ease.

Or maybe I’ll just invest in my own sleeper-recliner so I can give back my friend Annette’s generous loan of my present salvation and still get a good night’s sleep.

My recovery has been going so swiftly and so well, it’s no doubt salutary to be reminded now and then that I am, in fact, getting over a major insult to the old body.

Today's Update

Doing well, is what it is. Yesterday was a down day, tired and achy; not surprising given how strenuously I’d overdone things Tuesday, and the discomfort was exacerbated by attempting to wean myself entirely off the oxycodone. After a discussion with my surgeon’s office I did take a couple of minimal doses to help rest and icing work their magic.

So this morning I find my energy restored, my comfort re-established, and so far no need to take any analgesic despite having done the usual morning chores and the first set of PT exercises. I won’t try to be a hero if I get significantly achy, but hope to go opioid-free today; we’ll see. Today will be a good day to work on the one job I have, do some light reading, and otherwise continue convalescing.

And tonight, a next step, hopefully: sleep in my own bed rather than the recliner!

Progress Report

And it’s a good one.

At the moment I’m sitting quietly, resting and icing an achy hip. But fear not – the ache, and it’s a mild one, is from what I’ve already done this morning:

Got up, washed, dressed.

Fed the cats, the first time I’ve been able to do that myself – yes, including taking one bowl upstairs to Sally’s realm.

Tossed a bag of laundry down to the basement, then followed it down and started the wash going.

Gone up to the second floor again to fetch down some clothing.

Had an extensive physical therapy session, including another trip to the basement to flip the laundry from washer to dryer. I now have approval to walk with one crutch whenever I wish. My PT is amazed at how well I’m doing – after all, at this time two weeks ago I was having the surgery.

So, yes, all in all, things are going very well indeed. If it turns nice this afternoon I will go outside for a bit of a walk; yesterday was gorgeous and I went out three times, walking short distances each venture but the total was probably a good city block’s length, if not more.

Right, right – don’t get cocky. But I daresay optimistic is okay.

Well, that was instructive

I hitched upstairs to my office this morning, to get something and say hello to the cat who lives in that part of the townhouse. While there I succumbed to temptation and turned on my main computer, if only to download and dispose of all the email that’s accumulated since I shut it down late on March 26th. Of course I couldn’t leave it at that; I wound up sitting down to pay some bills online as well as sort and dispose of the mail backlog.

Hoo boy. My hip is NOT ready to spend time in an office chair, not even with a plump pillow intervening. It was a relief to finish the tasks and get back to the relative comfort of the recliner, where I plan to spend the rest of the day. Here I’m much more at ease, and here I’ll be working on my first proofreading job since the surgery. It’s promised to be not too long, not too difficult, and not urgent, so it should be a good test run to see how resuming work will go.

Dunno if I’ll try to repeat yesterday’s walk outside; the day isn’t quite as pleasant. But I’m tempted to give it a go. Perhaps it would make a good mid-read break from the proofing.

Baby steps, O impatient patient; baby steps.

Don't Get Cocky

As I keep reminding myself, that’s good advice, and its truth is evident this evening. After today’s triumphant walk, I spent the rest of the afternoon resting in my faithful recliner, quietly reading, and felt good enough at suppertime to heat up one of those meals-in-a-bag on the stove and hand-wash the dishes after I’d finished eating. Now I’m tired and a little achey and not inclined to do anything more strenuous this evening than sit here and read.

So much for giant leaps forward. But I’ll take what I can get and be grateful.

Getting Out and About

Another great step forward today – I walked outside this afternoon. My physical therapist asked me if I wanted to try, and by golly I was ready. So she slid rubber-soled slippers onto my feet and out the front door we went, me in my nightgown and robe, she at my side, ready to catch me.

But no fear of falling! I peg-legged it down the stairs and crutched merrily down the driveway, employing an alternating-crutch-swing technique that let me power up to a respectable speed with a substantial stride. We went all the way to the mailbox stand so I could send out an envelope, then headed right back before I could overdo it. I had no trouble getting back up the front stairs; wasn’t even all that tired or sore at the end of today’s grand adventure.

It was wonderful. Fresh air and sunshine! Being able to walk straight and free without constantly having to maneuver around stuff! Out!

We decided not to bother with the usual round of exercises, since I’d already done one set that morning and the walk was enough for the afternoon; if I feel up to it I’ll do another set this evening.

I have the therapist’s okay to try this again tomorrow, solo, with the promise not to overdo it. Huzzah!

Shampoo!

Tonight I washed my hair.

Let me step back and try that again.

Tonight I washed my hair!!!!!!

It’s been a week since I could say that, and it’s just been AWFUL to feel how dirty it’s become, how grubby I’ve felt. Just a week? It feels like forever!

So a little while ago I grabbed a bath towel from the half-bath, stripped down at the kitchen sink (crutches propped nearby), leaned over, and let that hot clean water run over my tacky head. Lather. Scrub. Rinse. REPEAT, luxuriating in the sensation of layer after layer of accumulated dreck washing away.

I quit after two rounds, though I daresay my graying mane could have done with a third, if not a fourth; didn’t want to overdo it. Instead I toweled, rerobed into my night clothes, and crutched back to the half-bath to hang up the towel and brush my CLEAN(er) hair.

It was necessary to resist trying to dance with crutches. Singing was on the program, though, along with a giant smile.

We’ll see if I’ll be up to doing that every day – although I must say, now that I’m settled into my recliner, I feel fine. But even if it’s only every other day, still the psychological boost from accomplishing this is marvelous.

A Good Night's Sleep

It really does make a difference.

Until last night, my post-surgical nights have been a jumble of fitful broken sleep, never more than a couple of hours at a time of true slumber. No surprise, that, in the hospital; at home, though, it didn’t get much better. The living room recliner, where I’d planned to sleep, turned out to be neck-crimpingly uncomfortable for very long. I transferred myself, the first night, around 2:00 a.m., to the couch.

The transfer process itself was slow, clumsy, curse-riddled, but ultimately successful enough that I decided to continue there. In daylight the setup got rearranged to something usefully better. It still wasn’t all that comfortable; I still slept fitfully; but it would do till I felt strong enough to go upstairs to my own bed.

Trouble is, that couch is low enough to make getting up for the bathroom runs difficult. Last night, having awakened a couple of hours after settling in, I almost fell back in mid-rise. My stiff body ached. That was it. I pulled the blanket off and crutched out to the dining/front area where my last hope sat: another recliner, kindly lent to me by the good friend who’d hauled me to and from the hospital.

This recliner is all upholstered (no hard wooden arms), and motorized to lift one up or gently settle one back at whatever preferred angle. Into this I settled, and proceeded to sleep deeply and well for a good three hours, then after the inevitable bathroom run for another blissful four. I awoke refreshed and minus most of the usual stiffness. Even the two cats lying on my lap didn’t make anything hurt.

Okay, all right, I hear you saying “What took you so long, you looney?” -- a legitimate question, to which I reply that the first time I tried sleeping in it I got a neck crick; the position of the head roll at the top was just wrong enough not to work for me. So while I’ve been enjoying lounging in it as a change of pace from my own recliner, and found it perfect for dining from at Sunday’s feast, it didn’t register as a bed for the night till all other options were exhausted.

What made it work this time was hitting upon just the right pillow – a thin, near-worn-out, floppy but still serviceable dogbone neck pillow that had been my mother’s for many years. With that in place, sleep came to stay.

And the ultimate goal: my own bed? I want to get stronger and steadier first, but the physical therapist took me upstairs yesterday and I have the go-ahead, with suitable precautions, to get back into it when I feel ready. Hopefully a few more good nights’ sleep in my wonderful friend’s wonderful recliner will do the trick.

post-Niagara report

Been updating status on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/laura.graf.395

Bottom line: Worth the trip.

Barreling Toward Niagara

So this is (almost) it. 24 hours till I, as they say, go under the knife. How am I doing?

Surprisingly well, actually. Between so many people telling me of friends and acquaintances who’ve done wonderfully with a hip replacement, my own excellent prior experiences with this hospital and its personnel, and the frank and full explanations of my surgeon and his staff, I’m confident this will go well. I anticipate my own stubborn determination coupled with the help of others will see me through a swift and thorough recovery.

No doubt, as the time for departure gets closer, I’ll be having some eeps, some shivers of apprehension; but mostly I’m just feeling “Hell, yeh, let’s get it done!”

The Pain Has Won Two Battles

I’ve been trying to keep up with as much of my life’s routines as possible, despite my debility’s steady narrowing of their scope, giving ground only grudgingly. But yesterday and today, the pain has won two battles.

Battle the First: Cavalry Maneuvers

It’s been over a month now that I surrendered the stall mucking and other heavy lifting to hired help. Renee’s done a wonderful job of it at a remarkably reasonable price, and I’m fortunate to have her tending to Ben’s swamp. But still I clung to feeding lunch to Ben and his two white buddies, and to bringing the big brown doofus into his stall at night. Yesterday that ended.

Tuesday’s nasty storm left the farm awash in heavy snow with half-concealed stretches of ice. I arrived already in pain, heaved myself from the car into the barn, collected the lunch grain, hobbled out to the top of the short driveway sloping down to the run-in….

And stood there, staring at the impossible terrain I’d have to negotiate without falling. Stood there, leaning on my cane, and began to sob with pain and frustration and fear of falling: “I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this….” The horses gazed eagerly up at me. Food human! Lunch is coming! I looked down at them, frozen in place: “I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this….”

But of course I did do it, I found a way, swinging wide across the bordering lawn, clinging to the fence when, after agonizing inching, I reached it, my feet and cane sinking erratically into the crusty snow with every cautious tiny step. I did what had to be done, I made it back up the slope to safety, and I faced reality: I cannot do this anymore. So I’ve made the necessary arrangements, put into operation now the plan I’d devised for post-op. The pain has won this round.

Battle the Second: Operation Cleanup

Cleaning litterboxes daily is one downside of maintaining a feline tribe in residence, but one I’ve never minded, even though it requires trudging from top to bottom of my four-level townhouse. It’s been awkward and uncomfortable having to do the necessary bending and kneeling with a bum hip and, lately, equally grumpy knee, but quite manageable. Until today.

Today was different. Today, I awoke to life without ibuprofen. I’ve been taken off it for the remainder of the run-up to the surgery, and while I do have hydrocodone to tide me over the difference in pain control is hideously apparent. The knee especially stabs me with every step, to the point that I fear falling at any moment I’m moving and not holding on to something solid.

As you may imagine, cleaning litterboxes and descending stairs with bucket of gleanings in hand was flat-out awful this morning. I did it, because it had to be done. I won’t do it again, though, until I’m healed enough from the surgery to manage it. Once again, my post-op planning has a solution in place, and the person I’d lined up to hire for long-term litter mucking, taking over from my friend’s short-term kind help, will start doing it tomorrow.

I hate hate hate having to be dependent. I’m not thrilled about the extra expense, either. But reality doesn’t give a damn about that. Let me rather be grateful that I do have solutions to hand, and focus on reaching the point that I no longer need them.

The pain has won some battles, but I will win this war.