Ben is bending! A bit.

Today I brought Ben in at midday, ahead of another storm forecast to sweep over us this afternoon/evening and run through tomorrow. Imagine my surprise to find him grazing (between bouts of STARING) in his first field! I daresay it didn’t hurt that Herd King Counterpoint was lying down for a nap in the lane near where Ben was.

The Benster was still very nervous about being brought in past the Dread Calves of Doom (quietly lying half-inside their shed), despite multiple carrot pieces finding their way to his tense mouth. Still plenty of high-headed stares, some snorts, and enough muscle-tensing for a thorough isometric workout. But indeed he did come along with fewer and shorter stops, and overall I thought he was not as close to freaking out as he’d been yesterday. You might say Ben’s terror level started when they moved in next to him at DOOM!!!!, went through Doom!!! yesterday, and today reached Doom!! Let’s hope he gets down to WhaddayaGonnaDo? soon.

For those following his health issues: On being put back out yesterday late afternoon, Ben got up from rolling without difficulty and after shaking himself walked off with a relaxed stride, so the hock injections this summer seem to be holding up well. His hind pasterns/fetlocks do sink, especially the right where he had the two suspensory pulls a year or so ago, and the left fetlock is enlarged and puffy-looking, but he trots out evenly without any sign of a limp, so his failing suspensories are still pasture-sound functional.

The DCoD had their first lesson at being yoked together yesterday! Alas, I missed it, but did see a short phone-video of it today. The little guys did very well, and looked immensely cute in their wee yoke. Hopefully I can get some photos this weekend of them harnessed together.

...and we all survived.

Today I led Ben past the Dread Calves of Doom and we all survived, an outcome I wasn’t sure of till the very end.

It started with a nasty cold rain, not pouring but not quitting either, as I drove over to the farm. I worried that Ben would take a chill, since he certainly wouldn’t be sheltering in the run-in, not with the DCoD looming beside the paddock he’d have to cross to get there. I wanted to get him out of the rain and into his stall in the barn, but would either of us survive the attempt? I’d tried luring him in from the far field yesterday, and had some greater success than before; he’d come halfway into his first field. But there he’d stuck, dithering about between bouts of snorting and rigid staring, before it was All Too Much and he trotted hastily back through the gateway to the far field.

Sure enough, he was way out in his far field in the rain, looking hunched and miserable as I drove past toward the driveway. No help for it; gotta rescue the boy despite himself. I took halter and lead rope and gimped out past the run-in, through the paddock, through the first field, and called to him from the gateway. He came, licking his chops in anticipation of treats. Instead he got a halter onto his upheld head – a halter on which I did not snap the throatlatch. Better to let him slide out of it if he flung himself suddenly into plunging away than for me to be yanked off my feet and for him to bolt with the lead rope flapping between his front legs.

We started in – Ben looking looking LOOKING toward the little hut where the DCoD lurked placidly cud-chewing, stopping every few steps to LOOK even harder and tremble; me quietly, patiently encouraging him, giving him time to collect himself, then gently tugging him into motion again. I kept as much of a wary distance from him as I could, unhappily aware that, since Ben was between me on his left and the calves to his right, if he plunged sideways away from them I’d be right in his panicked path. I took him at a sharp angle from the gateway across the first field, away from the DCD toward the paddock gateway.

Getting through that gateway was an inching progress of tiny step tiny step HALT STARE persuasion QUIVER STARE coaxing tiny step HALT etc. etc., punctuated with Ben’s running commentary of snorts and blows, but we made it through and began creeping across the paddock toward the run-in and its exit, only yards away now from the focus of DOOM. I’d moved to Ben’s right side by now, just in case. Ben was wide-eyed, shaking, stiff with fear, but it looked like we’d make it! The gimpy-legged old woman would get her terrified Thoroughbred to safety!

Then it got worse.

Oh, no, not Ben; no, I happened to step over a yard-long, Y-shaped piece of vine lying on the ground. It leapt up and snagged the left ankle of my sweatpants with its tiny thorns and wouldn’t shake off. So there I am, a gimpy-legged old woman leading a terrified Thoroughbred with a yard-long piece of thorny vine flopping from her ankle.

I tried stepping on it with the other foot to wrench it off while also sidling sideways and watching Ben for an explosion. It snagged the other pantleg without giving up its first hold. Great. Now I’m a gimpy-legged old woman leading a terrified Thoroughbred with a yard-long piece of thorny vine clinging to BOTH legs and flopping about between them.

Somehow I made it to the run-in gate without falling. Ben was teetering on the edge of losing it completely, sidling and lurching as much as walking, but he never quite went over the edge. At the gate I snatched a moment when he was in rigid stare mode to reach down and rip the vine away. Then I got the gate open and Ben through it. He scurried out, looked back at DOOM, then dived for a hurried mouthful of grass – and I knew then we’d make it. Oh, he was still fired up the rest of the way into the barn, he still stopped at the entrance and needed coaxing to go in, but that grass-dive told me enough brain cells were still functional that we’d be all right.

He was shivering in his stall so I went to the tackroom to get his polar fleece sheet. Drat! I’d brought it home. So I drove home to fetch it, drove back, put it on the less shivery but still wet horse, and departed -- into departing clouds and emerging sunshine. Yup, I went through all that for a rainstorm that ended an hour later. Still, I don’t regret it. Ben will get some drying-off and warming time. His fields are eaten down and the grass has died, so it won’t hurt to give him a big hay feed, more than he’d stay to eat in his run-in thanks to the DCoD. I’ll go back and put him out in a few hours, knowing that if I do need to get him in again, I can do it.

And we will all survive.

Sunday: No Surcease from The Horror!

Sunday at the farm was much like Saturday: placid calves, horrified horses. Ben still wouldn’t come with me beyond the gate between his fields, not for carrots, not for cookies, not for nuthin. I guess it’s understandable he’d be more distraught than the white boys, since the Dread Monsters of Doom live right next to him and menace his path to the run-in (though he did manage to overcome his terror long enough to come in for his breakfast grain):



Cholla and Counterpoint at least have Ben’s territory to absorb the first charge of the savage cattle before they surge into the white boys’ bastion:



As you can see, Ben is on alert at a safe distance (he hopes); Cholla has weighed gazing versus grazing and gone for the sensible course, and Counterpoint keeps watch from the lane. It’s a nervous business, being so close, and he grows increasingly fidgety. Is this really such a good idea? Perhaps his forward observation post should be somewhat less forward?



Or maybe this is a Very Bad Idea and he should get the hell outta Dodge while he can!



Run away! Back behind the lines!



And so I left them yesterday, doing what comes naturally in the midst of unnatural HORROR:

Ben: The Horror! Part Two -- It Gets WORSE

When last we saw our mighty Thoroughbred, he was warily watching the newest members of the Alprilla Farm family – two barely-month-old bull calves, destined to be oxen laboring (but not too hard) in the fields and woodlots of the farm. Their pen was what humans would regard as a safe distance away, but to Ben’s troubled mind, not far enough; no; a few dozen miles would be much more reasonable.

Alas! Rather than their departure, what the horrified horse witnessed on Saturday morning was just the opposite.

They moved in next door to him.

Yup, Cedar and Clay have acquired more elaborate digs, a much larger pen and the shed formerly home to the pigs raised at the farm this summer – and it’s all right beside Ben’s run-in! To wit (scaring the hapless giant witless):



You can just see Clay lying down, below the distant greenhouse, waiting for Noah and Cedar to get back from a training session. The foreground here is Ben’s first field, and from the angle below you can see just how far Ben thinks it safe to stay away from Monsterland.



Even at that distance you can see how on guard Ben is. The white boys aren’t as upset, although they’re not too happy about it either. Periodically the three of them will gather to stare at the Brown Menace.



Cholla (far right) isn’t as gobsmacked as the other two, and at times will wander off to gobble what’s left of the grass, while Ben and Counterpoint keep watch.



Ben tries to stay as close as possible to the white boys – safety in numbers and all that – but sometimes it just gets to be too much and he has to leave them to their fate and retreat.



Noah has been working on the calves’ basic training, mostly halter leading, obeying simple commands, and so forth. On Saturday he took Cedar out for a long field walk/training session. Clay wasn’t too thrilled at being separated from his best buddy, and softly lowed now and then, no doubt adding to the horror for the horses.



But then... What was that? Yes! There in the distance, across the little pond, there came Noah and the Lost One returning!



Clay rejoiced!



And so it was that Noah brought Cedar back, having hashed out who was boss at some length during their expedition. The two calves rejoiced at being reunited – and yes, I tried to photograph their antics but they were too busy cavorting to pose for me. After a few minutes and several failed attempts to capture the wily Clay, Noah managed to get the halter on the frisky Beast of Burden In Training number two, and they set off for his lesson.



Clay got over his silliness and settled down to lead politely.



Noah fetched some grain from the barn for his tired first student.



And then he and Clay set out for the fields.

And how did the horses react to all this? What did they think of all this to-ing and fro-ing by the Dread Monster Calves of Doom?

Nothing good, you can be sure! Cholla and Counterpoint watched with dismay.



Counterpoint, mindful of his duties as Herd King, rushed in closer to monitor the developing crisis.



Ben stayed back. No way was he going to come any farther in than the gate between his fields!



I couldn’t lure him any closer, not even with cookies, and this is a horse who’ll do almost anything for a cookie.

Noah and Clay disappeared into the far hayfields. Cedar settled down for a lonely nap. Ben and the white boys watched... watched... finally relaxed enough to drift back into their fields and go back to grazing.

Though now and again, Herd King Counterpoint would take up his watchman duties and check Monsterland for stirrings of Doom.



The End – for now....

Ben: The horror! The horror!

Well, Ben’s alert level may have dropped from DEFCON 1 (“It’s the end of the world as we know it!”) to 3, maybe 4, over the last couple of days, but he’s still wary of the latest inhabitants at the farm where he lives.

Disturbing, they are, to any self-respecting horse. Unsettling. Not to be trusted. Gotta keep a sharp eye on them whenever they’re visible, make very very sure they don’t try something, even (shudder) get loose! Who knows what they’re capable of? It could be anything!

What new inhabitants? you ask. What could be so perturbing to a normally calm and easygoing fellow, who’s been around the block more than a few times?

Why, none other than these fearsome beasts:





Yeppers, great big Ben is askeered of two month-old bull calves who don’t even come to midthigh on me. They’re Dairy Shorthorn calves, rescued from the usual fate of such critters and destined to become a yoke of oxen working on the farm. Very friendly little guys, love to have their ears and tiny horn buds scratched. Names are Cedar and Clay. They’re still figuring out this whole halter-leading thing and getting used to life outside a dairy barn’s veal-calf cages.

Their wee outside pen is visible from Ben’s run-in paddock, about 30 yards away, and the big goofball has been gobsmacked by them since their first appearance. He seems to have given up spooking backwards into panicked flight at any movement from them, but he still watches tensely whenever he comes in from his fields, even when they’re lying down and only the tip of a red-brown ear is visible. Heck, today he was staring over there and they weren’t even outside; they were staying in the barn because it was chilly and misty, and Cedar had the runs.

I do hope Ben gets used to them soon, since he’s going to have to live with them being around, and even the sturdiest gelding’s ears can get tired of being constantly pricked in alarm. Not to mention the fact that his stall in the barn is across the aisle from theirs. He’s out 24/7 for now, but winter is coming....

Cats: The Good Life

Some photos of the resident felines enjoying life, just because.

First up, Pumpkin (foisted on me by my vet's office) and Peanut (adopted from the local shelter), hanging out on my bed, now that summer's over and the annoyingly slick sheet is covered with a snuggly comfy blanket:



Next, Squash, brother of Pumpkin, and Schooner (shelter kitty) bask after breakfast by the slider to the deck:



And finally Stanley, youngest shelter graduate in the household, contemplating (a) life, the universe, and everything, or (b) his next meal:



Or perhaps he's pondering what a handsome fellow he is:

So, about that cranky knee....

The knee has continued to bug me, be weak and ouchy and uncooperative on stairs, so I decided to see what a physical therapy session could tell me.

Turns out the knee is bothering me because my ankles pronate and throw the whole leg out of alignment. Both legs. I was turned loose with a recommendation for arch supports (over the counter recommended brand; if they don’t do the trick we’ll go the cu$tom route) and some exercises to do to strengthen the hip, thigh and around-knee muscles. My hip is doing well for where I am post-surgery, the therapist said, so at least there's that -- not to mention, I can stop worrying about having to have a knee replacement. I’ll continue seeing the therapist twice a week for a while, and we’ll see how things go.

So I’ve been walking with supports, and doing the exercises, and boy do I ache! More than when I went in for the PT visit, but I expect that’s from the muscles, tendons, ligaments being asked to work differently than they have been. As they get adjusted and strengthened, the pain should go away. Meanwhile, there's always ice and ibuprofen.

I did a mile-plus hayfields walk yesterday and today at the farm, finishing tired and a little achy, but well satisfied. And yes, I did have my cellphone along – also the cane. Not to mention, on today's walk, Tedder the German shorthair pointer who lives at the farm, and who ran joyously several more miles than I walked.

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.

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*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.