All lies and public relations propaganda.
So, in the hope that you stumble across this in your search for accurate information, I decided this morning to set the record straight and let you know precisely what you're in for.
First of all, the pre-op exercises are stupid. Do them. They honestly do help even though you'd never believe it. Heel pumps, thigh flexes, and "glute" flexes. I'll explain them all a bit later, but honestly, if you don't know what they are already you've got the wrong surgeon.
Acronyms and Terms:
First thing to do is memorize just a few acronyms and "nicknames" they use because they'll use them all the time and they expect you to know what they're talking about. If you ask them the meaning of any of these, they'll look at you like you're a toothless hillbilly and shame you so badly you'll never ask again and, in so doing, you never get an answer to your initial question.
"POD" means "Post op day" which also means "How many days since your operation" which also means absolutely nothing because some of them count the day of your operation as a "post op day" and some of them don't. Basically, it's an approximation used to let you know when they're throwing you out of the hospital because they need the bed for another slab of meat. It can also mean "your insurance company only pays for an overnight stay so when we wheel you out of the operating room, that makes this POD #1."
There is no acronym for "Day of Surgery" which would clear all this "POD" shit up and the reason for that is to avoid clarity. If there were "PTS" Days, a "DOS," and "POD" Days you'd know which "prior to surgery" day it was, you'd know the "day of surgery," and you'd know "post operation days." They do not want you to know this.
"PT" means "Physical therapy" or "Physical Therapist" and it can mean anything from isometric exercises to a visit from somebody who sizes you up and tells you what exercises to do based on whatever article they read last night in Women's Health magazine.
"Roxies" are Oxycodone pills. These are evidently a nurse's best friend so they have a nickname for them. You can't use this nickname yourself because you're not in the club. They'll say "Roxies" until you're sick of hearing it, but the first time you say it, they'll look at you as if you asked for Beef Bourguignon.
You: "Is it about time for my afternoon Roxies?"
Nurse: "Excuse me?"
You: "My Roxies--you know, the pain pills? I'm dying here."
Nurse: "You mean Roxicodone®? An opiod analgesic? Oxycodone hydrochloride tablets USP?"
You: "I don't know what got into me. I meant 'the little round things that make the bad feeling go away.'"
"PCP" means "Primary Care Physician." That's your regular doctor--the doctor you go to for your annual physical. They'll ask you who your doctor is every time you go in to another room for a test or something, but what they want to know is who your surgeon is. If they want to know the name of your ordinary doctor, they'll ask who your "PCP" is. Just one more way to let you know, subtly, that you're playing out of your regular league.
"Pain Level." Every time you run into somebody, the first thing they'll want to know is your "pain level." This is good, you might think. Then you might think, "Hmmm. What if I tell them it's a 2... will they cut back on my pain meds?"
There's actually a chart, and this is no kidding, with smiley and frowning faces on it and you're supposed to pick the one that best matches your pain level. It's called the Wong-Baker FACES® Pain-Rating Scale and they use it because neither "Son of a..." nor "Uhhh, uhhh, ooooo..." translate well in terms of required medication. The best rule of thumb to follow when asked about your pain level is to never go below 5 unless you're too drugged up to remember the rule. Then you can go with 4. To my way of thinking, if your pain level is above 6, you're not going to be capable of answering anybody who asks about your pain level anyway except with a series of barks, whimpers, or screeches.
The Surgery:
Despite how much you want to, DO NOT watch any of the YouTube videos that show the actual procedure until after your operation. I'm not even going to explain myself any further because everything I say will have a direct bearing on the surgery. Just take my advice. You'll thank me for it later. Seriously.
If your surgeon and anesthesiologist are any good, you'll see them both together for just a few seconds in the operating room and that'll be the last time you'll see them until you're back in your room a few hours later.
One minute you'll be in the pre-op room going, "How long do I have to hang around in here" and the next thing you know, your anesthesiologist is introducing himself. I remember meeting mine in pre-op. I told him I wasn't too keen on the whole "spinal" thing because of a bad experience with a previous epidural steroid injection in the spine. He gave me the pros and cons, I made my decision, he found a vein, and I went to sleep. I decided on the spinal because he said it would make recovery easier.
I remember them moving me to the operating table in the operating room (where I was evidently a real hoot because they were all laughing), and although I have vague memories of waking up in the recovery room, nothing really stands out. My next fully conscious moment was back in my room.
There was no "immediate relief" like everybody had been telling me there would be because my hip joint never bothered me when I was lying down or sitting. The nurses checked on me through the night taking vital signs every hour, but I slept through most of it. The two most annoying things were the catheter and the drain in the incision.
First of all, from what I had read, they were supposed to remove the catheter while I was still under anesthesia. More importantly, they told me I wouldn't be getting one in the first place. So I got the double whammy. Not only did I get a catheter, but somebody was going to have to take it out while I was conscious and I really, really hate that. The drain was placed in an incision made randomly under the actual surgical wound and after a 5 foot length of tubing, ended up in a plastic vacuum device. The drain was on my right side and the catheter was on my left. I could sleep on my back or turn slowly and carefully a little bit to my non-operated side. But that was it.
So the actual surgery day, considering what I'd been through, was tolerable.
People (most especially sisters and/or mothers):
Don't call anybody and don't take any calls after the surgery for at least 5 years if you can help it.
People, most especially your sister if you have one, will question every single action of the hospital, surgeon, anesthesiologist, or nurses as if all these people were hired assassins. Your medical professionals will all be incompetent, will have prescribed the wrong medications, and will be decidedly inferior in every way to "Tim," the GP down the street they've been going to for 15 years.
"Why would they give you THAT???!!!!"
"Oh, no, THAT'S not right!!!!"
"Are you SURE that's what they said to do??!?!?!!"
If you do make the mistake or talking about the procedure to anyone and they tell you that what was done to you will obviously kill you, ask them what the health care professional should have done and then say, "That's what I meant."
Example:
You: "They told me it was okay to sleep on my side as long as I have a pillow between my legs."
Them: "Oh. My. God. Why would they tell you that? That's not right! Are you sure that's what they said to do?"
You: "What do you think they should have said?"
Them: "You should never sleep on your side, only on your back."
You: "That's what I meant."
Them: "They should have told you to use an orthopedic pillow."
You: "Yeah, and they also said to use an orthopedic pillow. I am so forgetful."
POD's
I'm going to go through the first 10 "Post Operative Days." After the 10th day, things settle in and you actually do get better. I've done this a day at a time, so don't get bogged down with how long-winded I appear to be right at the first. As something occurs that you need to know, I'm writing it down on the day it happened to me.
POD #1 [For purposes of this informational article, we're going to call POD #1 "Post Operative Day One" and it will mean the day after your surgery which is what it should mean anyway]:
You're still pretty much zonked on this day and you can't get out of bed. You've had all kinds of opiates and other drugs, so your bowels will be locked up tighter than Fort Knox which means one less thing to have to worry about.
They're going to take you off oxygen, discontinue your IV, and ask you if you want a regular breakfast. Take the breakfast.
If you've got a catheter, now is the time to start bitching about getting it taken out because they won't take it out automatically--it's easier for them when you've got it in. Claim that your bladder feels full, you have the impulse to urinate, it hurts, you're dreaming of drowning in urine, catheters make you sneeze... whatever you can think of to get it out. Just get it out before the Physical Therapist shows up because if you don't, it's one more tube you have to negotiate when you're getting out of bed--and back into bed.
If the nurse takes it out, you'll grab the urinal bottle and hold it down there for 10 minutes. Okay, first you'll silently curse her, and then you'll grab the urinal bottle. It'll feel like you're filling one of the Great Lakes. When you're finished, you're going to have about a teaspoon and a half of red-tinted urine for all your efforts, but at least the tube is gone and nothing's pulling on Junior.
The Physical Therapist will come in and get you out of bed, onto your walker, and you'll walk down the hall of the hospital. You'll be high as a kite, so you won't care that the back of your gown is flopping open in the breeze, but your hip is so swollen and grotesque-looking that only a person who enjoys freak shows would want to sneak a peak anyway. After the little walk, you'll be told to continue with your "heel pumps" or "ankle pumps" which are basically pressing your foot forward as if you're stepping on the gas pedal of a car and holding the position for 5 seconds; your "glute contractions" or something similar which are nothing more than squeezing your butt muscles and holding them for 5 seconds; "thigh contractions" which are squeezing your thigh muscles and holding them for 5 seconds; and something else I don't remember. You'll also forget one of the four. Try and make sure it's the one you hate the most. DO THESE. Nothing terrified me more than the thought of a blood clot sneaking its way into my lungs and killing me before I got a chance to use my handicapped parking authorization. These exercises supposedly prevent that. So far, so good.
The Occupational Therapist will also pay you a visit. He/she will act surprised that the Physical Therapist has already taken you on a walk, and will take you for another walk, and might want you to try the mock car seat thing they have set up to get you home quicker than you should be there. They might also want you to try the little mock staircase thing. Be a sport and give them both a try. Don't get the drain tube (or the catheter if you still have it) hung on anything while you're doing all this moving around. The Therapists don't care about that at all--not their job--so you're going to have to be mindful of it yourself or pay the consequences. I got my drain tube stuck on a bed rail and nobody noticed. I walked away, the drain tube stayed on the bed, and I screamed like a woman. It was agonizing. Thank God it wasn't a catheter, but it very well could have been.
Don't ask the obvious question of the therapists or you'll offend them both highly and they'll answer you like you're a 3rd grader.
The obvious question is: "What's the big difference between a physical therapist and occupational therapist?"
Even after they've explained it to you, you won't be able to figure it out anyway and neither can they.
If you want a suppository at bedtime, you'll have to ask for one because despite what they claim, they're not going to offer it. Yes, they're nurses, but sliding a glycerine capsule up a stranger's ass is not a normal person's idea of a good time, so they're not going to volunteer it. It wasn't my idea of a good time, either, so I didn't ask.
POD #2
This is the day they want you out of there, but don't go if you can help it--especially if you had the posterior method vs. the anterior method. Tell them you'd be more comfortable staying another night and then come up with a creative reason. Don't let them force you out. Tell them something professional-sounding like, "I feel that it would be in my best interests, as a patient, to remain hospitalized for one more night." If all else fails, tell them you're having a new bed delivered and the mattress company just called to tell you Islamic terrorists hijacked the truck. Make sure your nurses aren't Muslims before trying this tact. If they are, change "Islamic terrorists" to "Israeli commandos." This is all about your peace of mind. Lying is sometimes essential.
You honestly do need this day to relax a bit. You've been a bundle of nerves for a month leading up to the surgery and you aren't ready for another slice of the unknown such as, "How am I going to sleep in my own bed with all this going on?"
You already know how to sleep in the hospital bed and it's got all those great buttons on it to get you situated just where you want to be. Plus, you've got a button to push if you want anything. Take advantage of this.
Once you get home, you're going to be all out of whack. If you want anything you'll be screaming yourself hoarse and you're just going to be a nuisance. Stay put where they expect you to be a nuisance. Unfortunately, if you have the anterior method they think it's like having a tooth pulled and the second day is often out of the question. Be persuasive.
POD #3
No choice today--anterior or posterior, you're going home. But that's okay, because you'll want to. There's something about a hospital: 2 nights is perfect, 2 nights and 20 minutes is too much.
They'll give you medicine and breakfast. Then they'll tell you you're being discharged at 9AM.
They're supposed to change your compression socks, but they won't unless you ask, so ask.
The compression socks are horrible. They come in one size: XL. Along with your exercises, they help prevent blood clots so wear them exactly like they tell you to wear them. Wearing them around the clock doesn't hurt anything. You'll have 2 pair, so you can have a pair drying at all times.
At around 11AM, the Physical Therapist will come in and get you out of bed and into a recliner. Yes, I know they told you you'd be discharged at 9AM, but discharge time is 11AM. He/she will ask you where your clothes are and then leave. Half an hour later, you'll say to whoever's there to drive you home, "I guess I'd better get dressed" and they'll help you get into your clothes. Two minutes after you're dressed, the bitchy nurse (there's always one) will come in and give you hell for dressing yourself without a nurse in there. This is the nurse who has been "put out" by any request you made the past 2 days. The same one who, when you push the call button, answers with a long exhalation before saying "Can I help you?" so that it sounds like this: "Ttt-uhhhhhhhhhhhhh... can I help you?"
By the way, you'll have anywhere from 4 to 6 nurses and except for the bitchy one, they'll all be delightful. Try your best to make the bitchy one laugh. She'll hate herself for it and that'll be your revenge.
Five minutes later, an aide will come in to put you in a wheelchair. Remember that this person is not a nurse. They might look like a nurse, but they don't have the first clue. They're going to act like they've never seen a wheelchair before and 9 times out of 10, they haven't. Have them check the wheels to make sure they're locked before you get into or out of the thing and then check the wheels yourself. Your trip to the discharge "lounge" is going to hurt. First of all, you can't bend your leg more than 90 degrees and every wheelchair ever invented bends your leg about 100 degrees. This means you have to rest your ankle against the foot-rest thing from behind and it's not designed to have an ankle resting against it. It's like resting your ankle against a dull knife. And watch where they're going, too, because they'll slam your brand new hip into a wall or a doorway in a heartbeat. Watch other people, too. Don't be afraid to say, "Get out of the goddam way, asshole!" which, by the way, is exactly what I said to a doctor standing in the middle of the hall on my way to the elevator. And you know what happened? He got out of the goddam way.
Next, I got out of the wheelchair and into another recliner. 90 seconds later, I got out of the recliner and back into a wheelchair for a push out to the car.
Going home means getting into the car. And in Nashville, that means traffic, potholes, and at least an hour to go the 7 miles from the hospital to home.
They wheeled me out to the car and my wife came around to help me out of the wheelchair, but there's really nothing anybody can do to help you out of a wheelchair, so I waited.
I remember the aide asking my wife, "Did you lock that wheel?" and my wife saying, "Yes." The aide unlocked the wheel after my wife told her she had locked it.
So I locked it myself before I tried getting out. Don't trust any of the "aide" type employees of the hospital. They're not medical professionals. They're just presentable-looking people with the upper body strength to push a wheelchair. They don't know any more about medicine than a 2 year old.
Getting into our car was ten times easier than getting into the therapist's mock car, but the ride home was torture. Getting up the stairs in the garage was also torture because the only rail is on my non-operated side. They don't tell you this, but unless your stairs have railings on both sides, it's going to be hell climbing them.
Going upstairs was a piece of cake--railing on each side. Up with the good (leg leading); down with the bad (leg leading).
POD #4:
Settle in for the long haul...
Some tips:
Have a chair in your bedroom OR on the same level as your bedroom that will be your go-to chair. Make sure the seat portion is perpendicular to the floor (no slant back like an Adirondack-style chair or even a recliner), and make sure it's got arms. My office is upstairs on the same level as our bedroom, so it was the perfect set-up. I can sit in the office chair, work or watch a movie, then get up and onto that walker every hour or so to stretch my muscles. I try to get up and move 10 minutes every hour. Sometimes I forget. I also use ice packs and frozen peas and carrots, but they actually cause more pain than they alleviate as far as I can tell. I use them to reduce the swelling and that's a laugh because you're not going to believe the swelling. It's just amazing. I saw myself naked in the bathroom mirror yesterday and I looked like a Silverback Gorilla. The hip portion of my ass is swollen up so big that I don't have any semblance of a waist on my right side. I'm all ass cheek from my thigh to my ribcage.
My bandage was changed today. Luckily, a friend of my wife's is a nurse and she came over to do it. She said there were some blisters on the skin from the original bandage and the skin was irritated, but I couldn't see or feel a thing.
She also changed my compression socks and used some corn starch to lubricate my legs which seemed to help considerably on getting them pulled up. My wife has rotator cuff troubles so it's painful for her to pull them up, but she's been struggling through. Hopefully, the cornstarch trick will work. I ordered size XXL on Amazon yesterday so they'll be here tomorrow--maybe that'll help, too.
Link to Amazon XXL TED Socks
(These aren't the actual socks I bought because they quit selling them--these look a lot better)
What you never considered exercise before is exercise now. I've been in and out of bed three times today, went downstairs for a bit, out into the garage for a bit, then back upstairs, and did my usual isometric exercises.
I'm attempting to wean myself from the Oxycodone, so I'm not taking the 12 a day I can take. I took 5 yesterday, but after all that moving around today, I upped my dosage of them to 6.
POD #5:
I want to talk a moment about medications since that's where I left off yesterday.
You'll most likely have these or something very similar:
Oxycodone - a narcotic pain reliever in 5 mg doses. My instructions are "Take 1-3 tablets by mouth every 4 hours as needed for moderate to severe pain."
Tramadol - an opiod pain reliever that's highly addictive, makes you drowsy, and does not do well with alcohol. My instructions are "Take one tablet every 8 hours as needed for mild pain."
Low Dose aspirin - twice a day to thin your blood and prevent clots but not so much that nothing heals. Weird call...
Omeprazole DR - used to treat acid reflux which I don't have. "Take one capsule once a day for 6 weeks." I can only guess the medications might cause upset stomach so these are prophylactic.
Meloxicam - also known as Mobic, I guess, because that's what they all call it. An NSAID that I took for 2 months pre-surgery but was advised to stop 2 days before the surgery and here I am on it again. "One tablet for 6 weeks after surgery."
Docusate Sodium & Senna - a stimulant laxative plus stool softener. This was on advice of my pharmacist who, I'm convinced, knows more about any of these drugs than any medical doctor on the planet. She said "as needed" because you can get dependent on "stimulant" laxatives. You should use a stool softener every day you're taking opiod/narcotic pain relievers, but if it's been 3 or 4 days since you've gone #2, call in the big guns and drink a bottle of Citrate of Magnesium. My wife bought me a bottle yesterday and it was a godsend today. In days past, they wouldn't let you out of the hospital until you'd moved your bowels and if that was current policy, I'd still be in there.
I set myself up a spreadsheet for my medications so I can make sure I'm not abusing the stuff. My first dosing of the day includes 1 of everything and 2 Oxycodones because when you first get up in the morning, you're hurting. At 10AM, if need be, I take another Oxycodone. So far, need has been to take it. At 2PM, I take another Oxycodone, the next Tramadol (every 8 hours), and another baby aspirin. At 6PM, another Oxycodone if need be (yesterday I took 2 at 6PM because I was hurting), and I'm through for the day. I can take 12 Oxycodone a day according to the prescription and I'm trying to limit it to 5 or 6 because they only gave me 90. I don't want to call the doctor's office in 2 weeks and say, "I'm all out" for them to answer, "Too bad." I'd like to get it down to 2 or 3 a day with 2 in the morning and the third around dinner time.
While I'm at it, I might as well go into detail on the bathroom because it's not only the most uncomfortable area in the whole scenario, it's also the most uncomfortable to talk about.
Before your surgery, buy either an extended height toilet seat (mine is 4 inches tall) or a toilet chair that sits over your existing toilet and has arms. I got mine at Home Depot. It's called "Glacier Bay elevated toilet seat" and installation is pretty straight-forward.
Link to Home Depot Extended Height Toilet Seat
I chose this model because my mother was visiting and she'd had a hip replacement several years ago--she couldn't use our regular seat, so I had to have one immediately. No time to wait for Amazon. The one the hospital used was this:
I didn't like the hospital's and I don't like mine. but I think I dislike mine just a little less than I disliked the hospital's. The toilet in our guest bathroom (which is right off my office) is too close to our shower to use a "chair-type" model anyway so the one I got is the best one to ensure a proper fit.
I guess women wouldn't have this problem, but these seats--any of them--are a problem for men after hip surgery. Remember, you're going to be numb for a while and your "junk" isn't going to be functioning at its finest. Also, remember these extended toilet seats or chairs fit inside your existing toilet which means the hole is significantly smaller than your existing toilet and smaller than what you're used to.
What I'm trying to delicately say is to make sure you're pointed down and not straight out when you sit down. I used the "chair model" in the hospital to try before I was discharged; went into the bathroom on the walker, sat down, and promptly pissed all over the floor and my gown because Donald Junior was resting on top of the toilet seat instead of being tucked under the toilet seat. Thanks to surgery, anesthesia, and the accompanying "shrinkage," you're not going to be able to tell your Junior even exists until around POD #8.
Anyway, to bring it back to POD #5, last night I went to sleep around 10PM, woke up to profuse sweating and then filled the urinal bottle to the top. I thought it must have been around 3AM, but I was wrong--only midnight. At 3:45AM, I woke up again, still sweating, and having to go to the bathroom. I got up, ambled into the bathroom with the walker, emptied the urinal and my bladder, and went back to bed. At 6AM, I had to go again so I got up for the day.
The sweating at night concerned me, but so did the swelling so I went internet crazy this morning and found out everything's normal and if I expected to be out jogging today then I was pushing it a little. 5 days since a total hip replacement and I'm already wondering why I can't go out and cut the grass yet. Crazy...
I hurt myself "icing" today because the swelling looks so awful, but as usual, it hurt more than it helped. My internal thermostat is screwed up since I wake up perspiring in a 72F room, but sitting here at noon in a 72F room, I'm freezing to death. If I were shivering, I'd worry, but I'm not; however, about an hour ago, on my 3rd cup of coffee, I got a hot flash that had me perspiring.
Need to watch that, I guess, but that's about it.
Only other thing I want to mention is the occasional dull, debilitating "ache" in the operated leg's thigh and calf. If it were constant, I'd suspect a blood clot, but it's not constant and can be relieved by changing position and stretching the leg out a bit--but not all the way.
POD #6:
You should probably ignore what I wrote yesterday about weaning off the pain medication for two reasons. #1 is that I wrote it under the influence of pain medications. #2 is that less than a week ago, a couple of gorillas tore my leg apart, cut parts out of off with shop tools, and beat other parts into it with a ball peen hammer.
So if it hurts, make it stop hurting.
This morning, it hurt. Specifically my right ass cheek and right lower thigh. A dull, constant ache. I had gotten up to take my medication at 6AM, but I only took one Oxycodone. Then I went back to bed to get some rest rather than pushing it as I have been doing. That was not to be since it was Saturday and things around the house needed tending to and most were things I jealously guard the secrets to, so my wife needed the secrets. I both gave up and got up.
Amazon showed up with my new TED XXL stockings, so the others came off. SO tight. My right ankle was swollen, but the swelling from both legs seems to have gone down. The new socks will go back on after a long, hot shower. I took TWO more Oxycodones at 10AM and around noon, they kicked in just a bit. The dull ache in my ass has moved to my right knee but every time I sit down, for about 10 minutes, my right leg gets what I can only describe as a "charley horse" type cramp that only time will resolve. Very painful and very irritating because I can't understand why it's happening. I'm evidently not bright enough to figure out it's happening because my right side, from waist to toes, is a train wreck.
I've had leg cramps for a few years now, so nothing new about that. They're just scaring me now is all. In another hour, I'll be medicating again. Don't like pain and it accomplishes nothing toward healing. I've got pills; I should use them.
POD #7
This is important: if your mother or any other old person tells you they're simply amazed that you're taking pain medication because they never took a single pill after their hip replacement, ignore them completely. They're either lying to themselves, lying to you, have forgotten, or are trying to let you know you'll never be good enough.
I had a horrible night last night because I made the mistake of talking to my mother before bed and she let me know how lame I am for being in pain after having a total hip replacement 6 days ago, so something must be wrong.
Today was my first day of Physical Therapy and the Dr. said I was doing amazingly well, my hip wasn't dislocated, I didn't have any blood clots, and that my progress was excellent--and well ahead of what he had expected.
So do the exercises before and post -operation. They're so easy you'll be tempted not to do them, but do them.
This was also the first time I've had the opportunity to walk any distance with the walker in a straight line on a level surface: no limp, no pain, no nothing except a little muscle tugging I could feel. I did so well just walking that I decided I'd give the cane a try when I got home and it worked fine.
So I've progressed to just the cane in only a week.
Oxycodone: 2 in the morning with the rest of the meds and 1 at 10AM. I plan to skip the 2PM dose and will just have the Tramadol and Baby Aspirin then unless the little bit of PT exercises cause any pain. I'll take one at 6PM and hope that gets me through the night.
Night sweats are still concerning, but I had them before the surgery, so...
Bandage change today, but it's supposed to come off altogether tomorrow, so instead of replacing it with the waterproof thing, we might just use gauze and adhesive tape to let it get some air. There are a couple of blisters and another nasty looking part where the drain was--hopefully giving it some air will take care of that.
POD #8
My wife talked me into a reapplication of the waterproof dressing, so I went along with her suggestion. No big deal.
The dull ache on the outside of my leg is irritating. It's not pain and it's not treatable with pain medication. It's muscle soreness or muscle something, according to my physical therapist. The guy massages it and when he hits the spot, he always says, "Yeah... there it issssssss..." but nothing except massage makes it go away.
Other than having a huge appetite today that I haven't had in the past, I feel better. Don't feel as if I was run over by a truck anymore. We actually put a cane downstairs today instead of transporting the walker from upstairs to downstairs every time I wanted a change of scenery. I'm not terribly stable on it, but it works okay.
Like an idiot, I took the trash out to the curb today using my cane. Then I walked back up the driveway and damn near fell a few times. Leg hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. Too soon.
Superman is no longer Superman.
Medication constant. No change--no less or more than usual.
POD #9
Our garage door decided to explode this morning so I've been up since 5AM, downstairs, waiting for the garage repairman to show up at 1PM. He finally made it around 3PM and I was standing out there in the garage with him where it must have been 100F while he tried to sell me a new garage door opener rather than replace a part on the one we have that's still under warranty. He finally said he didn't have the part in stock and that it would be $100, so I told him to do what he could and call me back.
Meanwhile, although this has nothing to do with my hip, I found the part on Amazon for $4.15 and called the garage guy back. He'll install it for $80.
All these bastards need to see is one gray hair and they think, "Pigeon..."
And they're right. I can't get up on a ladder...
Anyway, all that time up and about didn't do me any good at all, so medication was the same as yesterday. I did my PT exercises, but the "windshield wipers" where you raise and then move your operated leg out to the side and back again were actually too much and I could only do 2 of them. Shocking to me as they're pretty elementary...
POD #10
Okay, I might add some more later on, but this is it for now. Ten days since the operation.
I had a great sleep last night. Read a book lying on my stomach for about 2 hours and then rolled over on my non-operated side, tucked a pillow between my legs (which I can now do on my own and lift my operated leg on my own), and slept from 10:00PM until 5:30AM. I got up to wheel to the bathroom and decided I'd go back to bed and sleep as late as I wanted to, but something about "breaking the seal" had me up at 7:30AM needing to go to the bathroom again and then again at 9:00 AM, so I stayed up. I put the medication off until 11:00 AM today and honestly could have skipped pain medication altogether. Tomorrow, I probably will skip the opiate pain portion and just take the baby aspirin, the "Prevacid" pill, and the NSAID. No sense wasting it when it's not needed and it really is not needed. I'll keep it handy in case I over-do it or something, but I am not in pain anymore. I'm just in dull ache and not even anywhere near the operation site.
I saw my physical therapist for the 2nd time today. I went in on a cane instead of the walker and he beat me up for that. Too soon. I need to "normalize" my gait with the walker before proceeding to the cane, so don't be too anxious.
"Start in kindergarten and move through 12th grade," according to him. He said he'll get me in a cane, but for right now I need to just remember how to walk without a limp--and I do. Using the walker, I have no limp at all and NO pain in that hip joint. It's pretty amazing. Using a cane, I admit, I'm a bit unsteady. It is too soon. I always feel like I'm about to fall on the cane.
RULES FOR HIP REPLACEMENT PATIENTS:
They'll make you recite these, so learn them and remember them. They're for your own good.
"Up with the good leg, down with the bad." (for stairs)
"No crossing your legs."
"No crossing your ankles."
"No bending more than 90 degrees."
"Keep your operated leg out in front of you."
"Don't bend your leg inward (pigeon-toed)."
And the one I added that actually made the bitchy nurse laugh:
"No dancing, no spitting on the floor."
THINGS YOU WON'T BE TOLD ABOUT THAT ARE NORMAL:
Night sweats: Relax--it's the medication and medication combinations.
Alcohol: If you drink alcohol in any quantity at all, you throw everything into a maelstrom. I had a glass of my homemade hard cider on POD #8 and that night I had horrible insomnia. On POD #10, because I was too lazy to trek upstairs for a baby aspirin and because I'd already worn my poor wife out asking for things, I had a small glass (5 oz.) of red wine. At bedtime, I could not get warm and the night sweats were much worse than usual--plus the odor of perspiration and wine was nauseating. Your best bet is to avoid alcohol until you're off your medications and as a person who enjoys a drink, you can trust me when I tell you that after having had Oxycodone and Meloxicam and Tramadol every day for 2 weeks, a drink's not going to do you any good at all anyway. Having a glass of wine now is like going to a steakhouse and ordering a crouton.
Leg spasms and cramps: There will be nights when you'll feel like you want to jump out of your skin, most usually after pushing yourself that day. On POD #12, I doubled my daily up-and-down the stairs, spent a good deal of time on my feet in the kitchen making Italian Stuffed Shells (no easy feat, pardon the pun), helped my wife prepare ingredients for her amazing fried rice, and kept monkeying with the cable modem. That night, every minute or so, lying in bed, I had to move my operated leg. Up, down, sideways, back and forth, rocking--anything. Just felt compelled to move it. It's okay--just the muscles knitting or re-learning to work.
Modern Living: Now that you're incapacitated, you're going to notice that there are dozens of little things that go wrong in a house every single day. You usually just fix them and move on, but now that you can't fix them, they'll drive you insane. I started making a list of things I need to fix when I can ambulate normally--just things that have broken since this operation--and I abandoned the list because it was too depressing.
Physical Therapy: Can't say it enough--you would never, in a million years, think these little, inconsequential, childish exercises could help you in the least. Do them faithfully. It's nothing short of amazing how the human body responds to the smallest thing. And do not get cocky. My little journey with the cane on POD #8 set me back about 3 days because I got cocky.
SYNOPSIS:
If you live by yourself, get somebody to stay with you OR take care of you for at least a week. Spouse, friend, professional--anybody. But this is something you cannot do alone. My wife took one for the team--no ifs, ands, or buts. She transformed herself into a champion nurse, caregiver, and attendant and performed like a pro. She's got to be ready for a return to the status quo, but never the single complaint. Demanding? Trying? Taxing? You bet. Work all day in a high stress job and then come home to take care of an invalid--nobody's idea of a fun vacation and I don't know how she manages it.
So this is no cakewalk, but it's not as horrible as the day of surgery or the first few days after surgery make you think it will be. Those first few days, I was questioning whether the limp/pain was so bad that I couldn't have put the surgery off a few years... or decades... But then I remembered our last 3 vacations where I was so limited in what I could do because of my limp, my pain, and my hip--and what a burden I was...
But this was never supposed to happen to me.
Superman's not supposed to need new parts.
And it wasn't until POD #8 that I finally admitted to myself that old Dr. Christie was right. I did need a hip replacement after all.
So tomorrow, I'll do the PT exercises like I'm supposed to and I'll keep doing the ankle pumps a million times a day because I'm still scared of blood clots, and I'll amaze at what the human body can do with a little help from medicine.
PT is relatively easy. You've got nothing else to do anyway, so you might as well, right? It is important to note that you'll need a ride to and from PT for at least a month or until your doctor lets you drive. No kidding, I could drive tomorrow BUT you never know when that lunatic is going to pull in front of you or cause you to move or bend in a way you're not supposed to. Yeah, I could drive in a normal city with normal drivers right now. But I don't live in a normal city with normal drivers. I live in Nashville.
That pain and soreness in your thigh is not a fractured femur. It's pretty much just muscle, tendon, and bone pain from that spike they drove down into your femur to ankle your new hip ball. This is one brutal operation but all the precautions you're going to read are just that--you don't have any of these "could happen" things or you'd know it. A little pain and a little stiffness isn't a broken bone or a dislocated hip joint.
I hope this little epistle will help you a bit if you're going to have a hip replacement. Don't let it talk you out of one, though. I was talking to an old guy at the gym a few weeks ago who'd had two of them and he said, "The first day, you're going to wake up and say, 'Why the hell did I ever let them do this to me?' and at the end of three or four days, you're going to wake up and say, 'What the hell was I waiting for?'"
