It’s been a minute, my esteemed blog subscribers. Sweet Jesus, it’s good to be back among the living, breathing and semi-walking, as I type this on my painfully slow, AI-averse 10-year-old MacBook. Like me, it probably needs new parts and a good sanitizing.
Nearly three weeks ago, on June 3 to be exact, I had a partial right knee replacement. My surgeon used MAKO robotic arm-assisted technology, a procedure that provides precision joint alignment and conserves more healthy tissue. This often means there’s less pain and a faster recovery. And you can walk more naturally, sooner.
A partial’s not as bad as a full replacement, people said. Less painful and shorter recovery, people said. You’ll be hiking the Appalachian Trail in no time, people said.
I have two words to say about this: People lie.
Luckily, for those people and me, I made it through the first (read: worst) week, and I’m improving with each passing day. By the second week, I had kicked the narcotic pain pills to the curb.
Today, a couple of extra-extra strength Tylenol help me tolerate lingering muscle soreness and tingly nerve pain. As of last Friday, in-home physical therapy – five times a week for two consecutive weeks! – has become a fading memory in my rear-view mirror.
I like what I see. Thanks to my tough-love nurse, Rebecca. She’s a keeper. But I’m pretty sure if she had her druthers, she would stash me in the lower level of our quad home until Halloween.
Thanks to my home PT guy Chris, I’ve done enough ankle pumps, heel slides and leg lifts for a lifetime. Or at least until tomorrow when I begin out-patient PT with Bianca. We have a history from when I did pre-op PT to strengthen my leg muscles, glutes and psyche. She’s smart, tough and downright humerus. (See what I did there?)
They say when life tosses you lemons, stuff them in your bra, then store them in a cool place — because you never know when you’ll need a stiff drink with a twist on the patio — even if it’s 98 degrees in the shade. I’ve caught a few lemons over the past couple of months, including these:
- When a pre-surgery CT scan shows “something” in the deep tissue of your right thigh, and it’s not cellulite, and an MRI confirms the something, which leads you to visit an orthopedic oncologist named Moore (in practice with Dr. Les!), who gives you the best news possible: “It’s benign. Let’s keep an eye on it. Get your knee fixed.” (Bless you.)
- When the 45-minute knee surgery becomes a three-day hospital day since you’re unable to skip down the hospital corridor like the 80-somethings with their new parts because your surgical block wore off and you saw the moon and stars at 3 in the afternoon because nobody gave you pain meds often enough. (That was every four hours, not eight, right?)
- When the same geniuses who gave you oxycodone after you told them you didn’t do well with it are surprised as your blood pressure tanks, your head spins around like Linda Blair in “The Exorcist,” and you nearly hurl. (A waste of hospital oatmeal.)
- When you suddenly realize the honeymoon is over, Lucy, and you have seriously underestimated post-op bone pain and would rather undergo open-heart surgery because cardiologists don’t have the gall to ask you to walk on your cracked chest. (Yet.)
- When pain relief comes in the form of oxy’s less potent cousin, hydrocodone, a.k.a., norco (which Rebecca insists on calling “nArco” because she watches too many drug-lord cartel miniseries), that sneaks up on you, lures you into four hours of pain-free bliss and then snap! – you’re on a zofran anti-nausea drip and ordering a side of prunes for dessert with a Miralax chaser. (Trust me, it works.)
Moral of this story, and frankly, any time someone wearing a badge with capital letters after their name asks you to rate your pain level: Lie – and tell them it’s a 10. Always.
(An aside to our beloved Madison, my four-legged heavenly nurse: Where are you when I need you, baby girl? “I’m up here looking down on you, mother, thankful I’m not sprawled out in my hunter green leather chair across from you on the sofa hearing your pitiful moans watching tears roll down your cheeks … who has ‘ca-ca eyes’ now, Mama J?”)
God, I miss that little angel.
Speaking of heaven, learning to use stairs after a knee replacement is an important lesson in itself. Here’s the cute mantra to remind you which leg goes first: “Up to heaven with the good leg, down to hell with the bad leg.” You’ll know immediately if you do it wrong.
Granted, going up isn’t as hard as going down. (I’d normally delete that sentence, but it made me laugh out loud.)
Picture standing atop a Black Diamond ski run in Colorado looking down and thinking you will die on this hill unless you are somehow able to navigate mogul bumps the size of Volkswagen Beetles.
Every time I go down the stairs, I tell Rebecca, “I really don’t like this.”
I know, she says, checking her Apple watch for Kohl’s text alerts. “Just do it.”
My own little cheerleader. Bless her heart.
And then, I gingerly take one step at a time – holding the cane in my left hand, handrail in my right, bad leg first, then good leg last – one by one descending those seven steps to hell. Or as we like to call it, our family room.
Trust me, it gets better. Nowhere to go but up. That’s no lie, people.
P.S. A special mention of deep thanks and continued encouragement to my Texas cousin Jamie and our dear Canadian friends Jim and Parise, who have helped us through this journey. Happy healing!
22 Comments
Elaine
So happy to hear that you are doing so much better! You have surely had a time of it! Three weeks I’m sure seems like years, BUT you will be happy with the results once you are able to walk without discomfort and run up and down those 7 steps! (I’m sure Rebecca wasn’t actually watching her phone for Kohl text alerts? Or was she? Love your sense of humor! Love and hugs to you both.
Jennifer John
Thanks, E.
Verna Smith
Hi, sweetie. So sorry to hear you’re not doing well. Tell Rebecca not to overwork you. Maddie is watching over every move you make. They are both trying to make you feel better. Sending love and prayers from Verna and David. Hope we get a chance to see you both soon. God bless.
Jennifer John
Thanks so much, V. We sure miss you both. Let’s make a plan!
Judy McWhirter
Keep your chin up, but don’t get a replacement. Hope you are feeling better soon.
Jennifer John
Thanks, Judy. You mean a full?
Laurie Alkidas
I’m rating my enjoyment level a 10 on this rollicking narrative. You have to be feeling better if you can write this! Thank goodness it’s shorts weather so you can see your new knee at all times!
Jennifer John
Thanks, Lip. I’m gonna need some clam diggers!
Kathie Grevemeyer
So glad to be back with the group. I’ve looked at this page and cannot figure out how I unsubscribed. Not a techie, but I don’t understand.
Sorry to hear you have stairs — that is a challenge. I also remember the poem to use which leg when. You mentioned cane so I’m assuming you have graduated from the walker to the cane which is wonderful. I hated that walker and the professionals pound that you CANNOT move around without it. I have a ranch, 1500 sq. feet, believe me I could get around the furniture as hand holds very well. My family was just as strict, but since I live alone, I kept it to myself. Compared to you, I breezed through the full replacement, but the Oxy scared me to death and I only took it a couple of days. It didn’t make me ill, but my daughter said I was a different person. Not in a good way, apparently. I hope your PT people are good. It makes such a difference when you are happy with the exercises so you do them. Keep me posted!
Jennifer John
Thanks, KG. Good to have you back! I can’t ditch the walker just yet. Too risky, they say. Only use the cane to do the stairs. Time will tell.
emily everett
Yow, that all sounds so miserable. Glad the worst is behind you! But be careful going down.
Jennifer John
You’re such a dope. xxoo
Ronda Seifer Walis
No walk in the park for you, sistah. More like hellweek on steroids. Having had ACL knee surgery in the past, I can say you aptly paint the picture of pain. God bless, Rebecca! Don’t get beat up at PT. Keep on truckin’!
Jennifer John
You know it, sistah!
Martha
Very funny recap of a not-so-fun time. Rebecca checking her Kohl’s alert while you were navigating Heaven and Hell – priceless!
Jennifer John
You know it’s true. Thanks, cookie!
Lenore Devlin
I’m so sorry to hear of your travails. I have to say I laughed so hard I cried. You do have a way with words. Hope you are strutting your stuff soon. Love you, L
Jennifer John
WTH? Thanks so much, L.
Laurie Marlow
I’m thinking that kinda SH** could only happen to you! However, if things had gone smoothly, how could you have written something so funny you almost made me pee my pants? Glad you’re finally on the road to recovery. Thankful for Rebecca and dear Madison watching over you. Wishing you only good things from now on, my friend!
Jennifer John
Thanks, Laurie. Really miss seeing you!
Julie Sayers
This got lost in my email, and I just read it now. Hoping you are doing even better by now!
Jennifer John
Thought maybe you were away. Thanks, JS!