Not for the Squeamish

Before:

After:

Post Op

I came out like this:

So many drugs, so much sleeping. Nodding off in mid-sentence. Oh yes, my husband has video. He just kept laughing, he couldn't help it. I was laughing too. I smiled and laughed a little too, but fell asleep before I could be annoyed.

I could see progress by day three. But it's very strange to not be able to move my leg when my brain says 'go'. It just lays there like a lump of swollen nothing. There is a triangle shaped bar hanging over my head. In my drugged haze I first wondered why there was a musical triangle there. Also wondered where the rod was to tap it. A day or so later I realized it was there to hold onto as I sat up. I had no idea how handy that thing would be over the next six days.   

I had a visitor. I think I fell asleep mid visit though.

My first hospital 'meal'. They just sent it without asking me what I wanted. 

Clearly I am not on the Cardiac ward.

Pre Op

I started off like this:

Then I had a few moments of anxiety just before going into surgery. 

I started to cry and freak out. I really hadn't until that moment.  

But in keeping with all that I have done to distract myself leading up to surgery, I did this:

I wanted to make sure they chose the correct hip. 

As it turned out, the nurse wiped it off and the surgeon came in and did his own artwork:

More handiwork:

And Then . . . A Spider Crashed My Party

Today was my last day with trainer Larry. He's been a great support and worked me hard during the last six weeks. Not hard enough to hurt myself more though. Frankly, if I hadn't been working out with him I might have hurt myself. The regular training has helped keep things in perspective. When I am able to work out again, I'll be coming back to him to get myself in optimal shape. Thanks Larry!




After a day of running around, err, driving around for the kids, with a nice lunch break with my friend Laura in between, I was ready for some girls night fun. I had cast a wide net of invitees, though only a small group was able to make it. We had a great time! Sipping margaritas (we sent Kim off to back to school night and Katherine back to work, mildly inebriated), a few nachos, outside on the patio on a still warm September night. It was all good1 I even got a very thoughtful present form my friend Charlene and beautiful flowers from my friend Liz.

And then . . .  A Spider Crashed My Party. No. Lie. Charlene saw this GIANT orange and black spider, just dangling off to the side of our table. She started talking about how she had a dream about a spider, and I slurred that 'dreams really DO come true'. Then April the waitress came out to have a look. Then another waitress came out. Then Alfredo came along with a broom. I pointed out that he should sweep it AWAY from our table. Clearly this spider had no intention of obeying anything Alfredo's broom had to say. So it jumped off it's string, and no lie, flew across my table, right in front of me, across the table next to me where Gabby was sitting and over the back side of the couches we were on. Alfredo was not pleased. My friend Marisa jumped over the back of the couch and tackled this insect, sans broom (or perhaps she wrested it away from Alfredo), and made short work of it. All this while the rest of us creamed like little girls who don't want boy cooties and scrambled out of our seats like we don't have hip injuries or imminent surgery. Well, they all did. I jumped up and then winced. But I screamed too. Peer pressure and all. (The spider is in the top center of the picture.)

After all the hype died down, it was just Liz and I. I happened to mention Abba to her, and of course she found he postage size 'dance floor' in the restaurant bar. This. Then she drove me home.

Everyone wished me good luck. But mostly my mom friends are just jealous that I am going to get a nap. A good long, drug induced nap. And then not have to get up off my a$$ for six weeks. Come on. I have to have an up side if I have to endure a broken pelvis. I'll take a nap as a side benefit. It beats the hell out of what Marisa gave the spider for its trouble.

No One Told Me There'd Be Math

Although this is a study for a condition different than mine, it is very, very similar, and affecting the same joint. But seriously, it looks like a math flow chart to decide what to do! The scary part is that after months of diagnostics, evaluations ,pondering, denial-ing and overeducating myself via the internet, I actually understand what's on this chart at first glance.

Bonuses

There are plenty of good days, where my hip hurts but it's tolerable. After my Rookie Move day, this week has been tough. Sunday I played soccer with the kids with wild abandon. Ok, not wild. Ok, and not with abandon. But with energy and disregard for my hip. The result has been a less than pleasant week. I just wanted to throw in the towel and stay in bed. 

Monday I could barely walk. Tuesday I couldn't work out with my legs, so trainer Larry put me through the paces with my arms. Feel the burn. Wednesday I pushed it pretty hard on the elliptical (I had to burn off the extra peanut butter I ate Tuesday night in self solace). Today, I was finally able to do a bit more. I popped my left hip (the good side) back in last night. Great, now I am worried that I have dysplasia on that side too. Truth be told, I've been worried about that since I first had pain back in 2009. It was in my left hip first, then mysteriously disappeared. All along otherwise it's been my right hip. 

Once it popped back in I felt a lot better, albeit with some pain. I got a small elliptical work out in before my training session, and ended up walking my son to school to register for kindergarten. A long, slow walk in the hot summer sun was just the thing to . . . 

a) burn bonus calories?

2) get a tan? 

d) require a heating pad, an ice pack and a muscle relaxer? 

** bonus points for you if you get the sequencing movie reference **

Anyway, in the midst of this it hurts/it doesn't hurt week, I received in the mail an amazing item from a fellow PAO/hip sister. She was kind enough to send me a couple of extras of the bracelet she created as her personal mantra. The acronym is very fitting, and I was grateful to receive it. What I am also grateful for is the community of hip sisters that is available 24/7 via the internet. Many of the people on the lists and groups have already endured surgery and recovery. Yet they remain on the lists as wonderful resources for those of trying to sort through diagnoses, 2nd, 2rd, 4th and more opinions, and surgical choices. To that end, persevering and overcoming seems a more likely bonus heading into this weekend, rather than throwing the towel anywhere but in the laundry.

Hand and Footwork. A Pictorial.

Apparently this is the direction my feet go when I'm not looking.

Trainer Larry's torture machine.
I mean, crutches strengthening machine.

I had a choice of ellipticals. It was overwhelming.

Pulling my weight. Well, hopefully not MY weight. 

Rookie Move

rook·ie   (rk)

n.

1. Slang

a. An untrained or inexperienced recruit, as in the army or police.

b. An inexperienced person; a novice.

2. Sports A first-year player, especially in a professional sport.

---

[Perhaps alteration of recruit.]

* * * *

This whole dysplasia thing is bizarre. One day I have pain, the next, very little. So after a few days of lessening pain, I woke up to a virtually pain free day yesterday. So what did I do? Play soccer with the family. Rookie move. It was just some kicking around on a field. But after five minutes, I started to ache a little. Ever the 'tough minded' one, I kept going, even drop kicking a few balls and running a bit.

Big. Mistake.

Today, my good side feels worse than my affected side. I literally almost had my husband run out to the drug store for a cane. I can barely stand on that side. Great too because that's the side I sleep on when my affected side hurts too much at night. Well done new kid. Well done.

Happy Hips

Wait, am I supposed to eat this??

Many people respond, "Oh, isn't that what dogs get? I have a Lab who . . ." when I tell them I have dysplasia. I have never heard of a dog getting hip surgery. Perhaps some do. But if they can eat what's in this can and get better, how come they haven't figured out how to can something for people?

I'm in Paining

I may have overdone it. I'll see tomorrow. We went away this weekend, sans children, and did a lot of




. . .  Walking. Walking people!!! Get your mind out of the gutter,

I have been going easy on what I do for exercise the past few months. My a$$ can attest to that, but I can no longer turn around enough to see it well. Blessing and a curse. Anyway, I have been taking Advil very sparingly, though I have taken it in regular and strong quantities for at least five years now. Now that the surgery date is looming getting closer, somewhere in my once-upon-a-time-passed-for-athletic-mind came the notion of training for the recovery pain.

Me: Let me get this straight. You want to stop taking anything that helps even mildly relieve this 24/7 pain now?
OUaTPFAM: Yes.
Me: you're out of your mind.
OUaTPFAM: No, actually I'm in yours.
Me: Ha ha, very funny.  Oh crap, it's true.

Ok, so now I'm having conversations in my head with myself. If you're enjoying this, I can assure you it will only get more amusing when I am actually taking medication in recovery. Plus, I'll be way bored.

I sometimes think that if I'm not in enough pain it doesn't justify the surgery. But that's just crazy. I don't want to hurt myself by pushing my activity level too far. It just doesn't always seem like its real. The plan is this - I'm in pain whether I work out or not. So I figure I'll work out. I walked myself silly this weekend and now I hurt more. But I'm still going to the gym tomorrow. What? Because my OUaTPFAM self wants to know how much pain I can handle before I cry 'uncle'. I want to be as strong as I can be physically going into surgery. But I also don't want to leave out the most important part of training: mental preparation. So I'm in training for the pain.