On the one-week anniversary of the knee surgery, I was feeling pretty good. My movement around the house was smooth. I didn't need the walker and many times didn't need the cane. While I still haven't been sleeping well, it seemed I had enough energy to test some limits.
I became more convinced after my Monday therapy. Afterwards I felt invigorated and ready to put a little time in at work.
So the next day, I thought I would just drop in, conduct a weekly meeting, tidy up some loose ends and paperwork then go home. My wife had an appointment in town. She could drop me off at 9 a.m. and pick me back up at noon. It seemed perfect.
What the visit turned into was a lesson on how sensory deprivation combined with pain numbing drugs as a recuperative strategy.
While at home, I had very few things to concentrate on - keeping my leg elevated, figuring out my crossword puzzles, reading news events and an occasional TV show.
It would seem very little of my body's energy was expended so it could focus on repairing the wound.
I mistook that energy as getting back to normal and arranged for a three-hour visit at work. It fell apart the moment I walked in.
My antenna went into high gear to acknowledge my settings, say hello while mentally trying to connect what happened one week ago to today, calibrate what needed to be addressed today and what can wait and why. Earlier I was determined to be clear headed so I skipped the pain killers. So now my body's defense mechanisms (I could hear "Danger Will Robinson") starting to kick in and draining my energy. I was sweating heavily under my dress shirt and across my brow.
I rushed through the agenda as quickly as I could and made my way back to the office where I sat resting, drinking water and slowly answering emails, waiting for my wife to pick me up after her appointment. It was the longest "short" morning I've had in a long time.
Are there any physicians out there who can explain what happened here?
Previous post
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Caution: Knee surgery results, therapy not for squeamish
It's Day Five since my knee replacement. I've been to the grocery store (briefly), had lunch at a pizzeria and helped straighten up my home office.
I've also had some fitful nights when pain woke me up, an upset stomach from not eating enough while on pain medicine and frustration from being so darned bored. In other words, I'm recuperating about as planned, even better.
I'm one of the lucky ones. I had a knee replacement done about eight years ago and thought I knew what to expect. Truthfully, this one is going far better than the last. Sure, there is still pain, just not as severe; my hospital stay was short and while my range of motion is restricted, I'm able to walk with the aid of just a cane rather than a walker (the kind with neon yellow tennis balls stuck on the front legs) a lot sooner than before. Now that benefit is a little risky because it makes me cocky, feeling I can rush things along - which I can't.
I'm also lucky because I waited too long for the surgery. I was in such great pain before the surgery, the recovery is less painful and at least now I know this is an end.
And there's the real answer to when you should have your own knee replaced - when you don't have another choice. Now I will suggest you evaluate that situation very carefully.
In today's world of instant gratification, some people want the option of replacing a knee because they feel discomfort maybe because the cartilage is worn or you tore a meniscus. But brother, it's not like popping in a new battery into your iPhone and on you go. There is no "on you go."
In this case, you have to be marathoner not a sprinter
And you need to be less self-conscious about how your legs look in shorts (see photo above - that's going to leave a nasty scar.)
Replacing a knee is not for the squeamish. But pain is minimized, and therapy - if done right - is purposely long to ensure the recuperative effect lasts. But understand that, at least in my case, the end justifies the means. Contrary to what my wife believes, I am not a big fan of pain.
Some researchers have found four overarching themes why some people put off their decisions.
One conclusion was people needed more education and support about total knee replacement which is one of the reasons I am writing this blog.
You really can return to a normal life like walking the dog, gardening or doing housework with very few restrictions.
My goals are returning to snow shoeing this winter, bicycling to work in the spring and taking long walks with my wife at night. I'm more than halfway there now that I took that leap of faith.
I learned early on that delays and excuses will not make the situation better; only action can take care of that.
The next phase is therapy which will be tough because of the scar tissue and the massive swelling of the leg that will come down but only over time. See you on the back side.
Last post
Thursday, July 26, 2012
With surgery completed, new lifestyle begins
In the parlance of restless sleepers, I'm a tosser. Just ask my wife. I'll find a comfortable spot on the bed with two pillows - one under my head and the other off to the side. I first lie on my right side, then on my left side, on my back and finally on my stomach which is where I usually end up. Then I settle in and wait to go deep. That lasts for about fifteen minutes before I get restless again. It's a routine I must follow or it takes much longer to fall asleep. It's almost like a cat that has to twist in a circle before it settles in.
I've tried going straight to the stomach and forsake the drama but that has yet to work. Colleen's not too happy with my nocturnal habit but most times she does get used to it.
Tonight it's going to get worse.
Following my knee replacement surgery Tuesday morning, I was released from the hospital this afternoon, nearly a day early. because there were no complications, the range of motion was improving and I was able to walk a long distance with my walker.
So we packed up and headed home.
Not the home I left, but rather an accommodating home that holds a temporarily handicapped resident for about three months. Furniture was pushed back to widen passageways, throw rugs were removed, a side table was brought into the TV room so I could continue my computer work and Colleen put together a shower stool for easier showering.
Those are the easy ones. But these past two nights at the hospital forced me to take a hard look at my sleep position alternatives. There is no way I will be able to toss and turn.
Hospital beds can be maneuvered electronically and mechanically in all sorts of positions. But the one at home just lies there, mocking me again to find my own mysterious comfort position. With my 31 metal staples in a perfect line, each twist brings a shot of pain. If I lie directly on my stomach with legs straight out, I'm also pressing my wounded knee to the mattress. Not a good choice.
Lying on my sides is out of the question because those previously mentioned muscles and tendons come alive. The least objectionable position may be lying on my back sandwiched between two large pillows to minimize my swaying and twisting. I will still feel the muscles underneath the knee - already sore from being held aside as my new metal joint was installed - stretch and complain quite bitterly for awhile. But that's just a prelude to my off-site physical therapy awaiting at 9:30 a.m. Friday.
Earlier post
I've tried going straight to the stomach and forsake the drama but that has yet to work. Colleen's not too happy with my nocturnal habit but most times she does get used to it.
Tonight it's going to get worse.
Following my knee replacement surgery Tuesday morning, I was released from the hospital this afternoon, nearly a day early. because there were no complications, the range of motion was improving and I was able to walk a long distance with my walker.
So we packed up and headed home.
Not the home I left, but rather an accommodating home that holds a temporarily handicapped resident for about three months. Furniture was pushed back to widen passageways, throw rugs were removed, a side table was brought into the TV room so I could continue my computer work and Colleen put together a shower stool for easier showering.
Those are the easy ones. But these past two nights at the hospital forced me to take a hard look at my sleep position alternatives. There is no way I will be able to toss and turn.
Hospital beds can be maneuvered electronically and mechanically in all sorts of positions. But the one at home just lies there, mocking me again to find my own mysterious comfort position. With my 31 metal staples in a perfect line, each twist brings a shot of pain. If I lie directly on my stomach with legs straight out, I'm also pressing my wounded knee to the mattress. Not a good choice.
Lying on my sides is out of the question because those previously mentioned muscles and tendons come alive. The least objectionable position may be lying on my back sandwiched between two large pillows to minimize my swaying and twisting. I will still feel the muscles underneath the knee - already sore from being held aside as my new metal joint was installed - stretch and complain quite bitterly for awhile. But that's just a prelude to my off-site physical therapy awaiting at 9:30 a.m. Friday.
Earlier post
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Post surgery and the infamous pain day
Midnight is here. Time for a pain pill (Percocet) and a much needed sleeping pill. Despite bringing earplugs to block hospital noise, I was only able to catch cat naps from 9 am on.
My next scheduled check-in came thankfully a little at 420 am. That gave me a good four-hour sleep from which I was awakened for another pain pill; stripping off the big bandage, and disconnecting tubes including the drainage from the wound site. Getting more freedom today to really push therapy which everyone is telling me will be tough, rough and worth it.
During my 8 am med routine something new was introduced. I get to shoot myself up - an anticoagulant called Lovenox. Even though I was a child of the '60s, I've never injected anything in my body so I was not sure about this one. Then I thought about my son, Michael who recently discovered he has Type One diabetes. Even though he had a strong almost panic aversion to needles, he does this all time. So it looks I'll be the block off the old chip. I did it today with no problems and will continue to do this every day for a week and a half.
After dressing in street clothes and eating a healthy breakfast we traveled slowly with my walker, Colleen following behind with my recliner to morning therapy session. Most all therapy will be done in this chair the comfort of which belied what I was going to experience.
I was joined by four others, two of whom had knee replacements. The therapy was not for strength but rather to gain confidence and range of motion. It proved to be easier on some while others weren't as comfortable with the pain.
An aside for the moment about Mayo Health Clinic System personnel. I've been in my fair share of hospitals in my life so this observation is qualitative in nature. Not only are personnel here helpful but very friendly, familial friendly as though I'd always been here. Very open, communicating all things you should need to know and even a welcoming "town square" conversation even about family life. They all end their discussions with something you rarely hear in a hospital "Is there anything else I can get you? They have that "improve the patient experience" down pat.
11am and I've earned my "green feet" designation meaning I can travel the halls unaided except for the mandatory walker. If I'm caught walking without the walker, I'm back to red feet and have to sit in the corner with no TV for two hours.
The afternoon therapy session is just a repeat of the morning so it already seemed like a routine.
Tomorrow - barring any surprises - the highlight will be taking a shower. And hopefully learn what time on Friday I can go home. Who knows? Maybe a Dino's Pizza is calling my name by then.
Earlier Post
My next scheduled check-in came thankfully a little at 420 am. That gave me a good four-hour sleep from which I was awakened for another pain pill; stripping off the big bandage, and disconnecting tubes including the drainage from the wound site. Getting more freedom today to really push therapy which everyone is telling me will be tough, rough and worth it.
During my 8 am med routine something new was introduced. I get to shoot myself up - an anticoagulant called Lovenox. Even though I was a child of the '60s, I've never injected anything in my body so I was not sure about this one. Then I thought about my son, Michael who recently discovered he has Type One diabetes. Even though he had a strong almost panic aversion to needles, he does this all time. So it looks I'll be the block off the old chip. I did it today with no problems and will continue to do this every day for a week and a half.
After dressing in street clothes and eating a healthy breakfast we traveled slowly with my walker, Colleen following behind with my recliner to morning therapy session. Most all therapy will be done in this chair the comfort of which belied what I was going to experience.
I was joined by four others, two of whom had knee replacements. The therapy was not for strength but rather to gain confidence and range of motion. It proved to be easier on some while others weren't as comfortable with the pain.
An aside for the moment about Mayo Health Clinic System personnel. I've been in my fair share of hospitals in my life so this observation is qualitative in nature. Not only are personnel here helpful but very friendly, familial friendly as though I'd always been here. Very open, communicating all things you should need to know and even a welcoming "town square" conversation even about family life. They all end their discussions with something you rarely hear in a hospital "Is there anything else I can get you? They have that "improve the patient experience" down pat.
11am and I've earned my "green feet" designation meaning I can travel the halls unaided except for the mandatory walker. If I'm caught walking without the walker, I'm back to red feet and have to sit in the corner with no TV for two hours.
The afternoon therapy session is just a repeat of the morning so it already seemed like a routine.
Tomorrow - barring any surprises - the highlight will be taking a shower. And hopefully learn what time on Friday I can go home. Who knows? Maybe a Dino's Pizza is calling my name by then.
Earlier Post
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Knee Replacement day: Not bad ... So far
Even though I've had many surgeries before this one, my anxiety level was embarrassingly high this morning and even the night before.
The nurse said waves of heat were coming from my body. BP was 154 over 125. I was assured "we have meds for that." It is a hospital after all. Deep breathing, distraction, talking with my wife - nothing calmed me. What's with this? Wife Colleen chalked it up to old age; I thought it was related to having too many experiences. Been down this road before and all went well. What are the chances I keep escaping complications.
Then there was the filling out of the Living Will. Did I just awaken a subconscious fear of mortality? I'm 62. People my age read the obit section; there but for the grace of God, etc.
But the medical staff was reassuring, confident and very thorough. Knee area shaved, tubes put in and information collected all mixed in with cheerful small talk.
The gurney journey to the OR was bright, cold and busy with everyone readying their respective stations. Lots if talk, instrument alignment and one warm blanket. Did I mention it was cold?
Then when all was ready I sat up on the table, legs dangling off the side. I leaned forward with my forehead resting on the chest of a staffer and stared at the floor.
Behind me, hands were searching out the right spot using the telemetry of the hip bones and then a finger selected the right spot and stopped.
"You'll feel something cold on your back for a minute." it was the numbing medicine prior to the epidural. If something happened after that I don't remember. No counting back from 100. No spinning OpArt. Just "zonk." It was 6:50 a.m.
At 8:20 I woke up in the OR feeling absolutely relaxed and in no pain ... And numb from the waist down. How long this is going to last no one could be sure. But it eventually will be the last comfort I get and most of the day I enjoyed it.
It was a short visit in recovery. I was pretty clear and lucid so they sent me up to my room on the second floor, a short walk to physical therapy the next day.
At about 1245pm, I got my first taste of exercise - moving from the bed to chair. "That's it? I'm raring to go and I merely hop one step?"
They want to ensure I don't get dizzy, faint and crash to the floor. At my 240 lbs., who can blame them?
Meals so far have consisted of coffee (decaf), broth, Jello and juice. Later I can graduate to a solid piece of toast. Oh joy.
All in all, this is a much better experience than eight years ago when i had my first replacement. A lot has changed since then.
Now therapy will be the true test.
That's tomorrow. Later
Earlier Post
The nurse said waves of heat were coming from my body. BP was 154 over 125. I was assured "we have meds for that." It is a hospital after all. Deep breathing, distraction, talking with my wife - nothing calmed me. What's with this? Wife Colleen chalked it up to old age; I thought it was related to having too many experiences. Been down this road before and all went well. What are the chances I keep escaping complications.
Then there was the filling out of the Living Will. Did I just awaken a subconscious fear of mortality? I'm 62. People my age read the obit section; there but for the grace of God, etc.
But the medical staff was reassuring, confident and very thorough. Knee area shaved, tubes put in and information collected all mixed in with cheerful small talk.
The gurney journey to the OR was bright, cold and busy with everyone readying their respective stations. Lots if talk, instrument alignment and one warm blanket. Did I mention it was cold?
Then when all was ready I sat up on the table, legs dangling off the side. I leaned forward with my forehead resting on the chest of a staffer and stared at the floor.
Behind me, hands were searching out the right spot using the telemetry of the hip bones and then a finger selected the right spot and stopped.
"You'll feel something cold on your back for a minute." it was the numbing medicine prior to the epidural. If something happened after that I don't remember. No counting back from 100. No spinning OpArt. Just "zonk." It was 6:50 a.m.
At 8:20 I woke up in the OR feeling absolutely relaxed and in no pain ... And numb from the waist down. How long this is going to last no one could be sure. But it eventually will be the last comfort I get and most of the day I enjoyed it.
It was a short visit in recovery. I was pretty clear and lucid so they sent me up to my room on the second floor, a short walk to physical therapy the next day.
At about 1245pm, I got my first taste of exercise - moving from the bed to chair. "That's it? I'm raring to go and I merely hop one step?"
They want to ensure I don't get dizzy, faint and crash to the floor. At my 240 lbs., who can blame them?
Meals so far have consisted of coffee (decaf), broth, Jello and juice. Later I can graduate to a solid piece of toast. Oh joy.
All in all, this is a much better experience than eight years ago when i had my first replacement. A lot has changed since then.
Now therapy will be the true test.
That's tomorrow. Later
Earlier Post
Monday, July 16, 2012
Knee replacement countdown: One day to go
MONDAY (One day to go): Have to admit, this morning butterflies were fluttering in my stomach. I've been compartmentalizing the emotions until now and the immediacy of the moment is finally upon me. I have lots of loose ends to take care of including showing my wife how I take care of the bills electronically. I'm also dropping off my Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA) papers for the doctor's office to fill out and return to my employer. This secures my leave of absence should I run out of sick days, personal days and vacation days if I'm hospitalized longer than I expect. I am contributing to the economic comeback since with this amount of paperwork, surely it's keeping someone employed at the doctor's office.
And I'm looking to secure two witnesses for my "living will" signature who won't be creeped out by the experience.
"This is for what now?"
"You know, if I go into a coma or on life support."
"Do I have to pull a plug or something?"
"Only if you want to." Stand in line.
Over the weekend, we bought over-sized pajamas and shirts which will be easier for me to change and I settled on the footwear that's secure but easy to slip on and off. My overnight bag is already packed and I laughingly included a book to read. Let's see how pain killers affect my ability to retain an ongoing plot scheme. I'm also including an iPod which is more practical.
One last procedure before I go to bed tonight (besides fasting) - I'm to wipe down my whole body with some antibacterial wipes provided by the hospital which, according to the instructions, "leaves the body feeling sticky." As if I need another reason to not sleep well tonight.
The adventure begins in earnest tomorrow with a 6 a.m. appointment at the hospital. One difference this time compared to my last knee replacement could be the anesthesia - an epidural which will numb me from the waist to the toes. It apparently is the preferred method giving a better post-operative effect - longer lasting numbness, I suppose. And I will still be lightly asleep for the procedure so that takes care of any "tweeting" I had hoped to do during surgery. I'll try after coming out of the recovery room. Time me. See you tomorrow.
THURSDAY (Five days to go): Started on the leg exercises last night, the most important one was the "knee extension stretch," or rather the "let's see how much you can take before it really hurts" exercise. It goes like this: You prop your foot up on a chair facing you and place a towel or some sort of brace under your ankle. Then you put 5-10 lbs (that's right, five to ten POUNDS!) on top of your knee and have it sit for 15 minutes. This passively stretches the ligaments and muscles around the knee which is supposed to improve your range of motion and your balance.
I couldn't find any 10-lb bags of rice lying around so I used my wife's two 5-lb dumbbells and some towels. It wasn't too bad during the process and I actually did feel better afterwards - like fifteen minutes afterwards. That's because when I lowered my leg off the towel (remember, the bone now is ground itself into a socket) and the knee readjusted itself, there was a painful reminder why I was having the replacement surgery. The real fun starts after the surgery, however, when I have to place the weights on the operated knee. But by then I will be in the hospital's physical therapy room, sufficiently doped up and I am hopeful the comparison at that point will be moot. Although I do recall the therapists warning us ahead of time, this is the "least favorite" of the exercises. Apparently we are not doped up enough.
WEDNESDAY (Six days to go): Today, I filled out my Health Care Agent form and the directives should I be unable to direct myself. I've been putting this off for some time now for no good reason other than I didn't want to face my mortality quite yet. That's not a solid reason. I've seen what happens when you force others to second guess what they think you wanted done. It tears apart families, brings a great weight of responsibility on people you love who suffer through the guilt afterwards as they second guess what was decided. If you love the people close to you, fill out a health care directive.
Don't have anyone close? OK, then ponder this: the high cost of health care is primarily tied to keeping sick and dying people alive just a little longer, maybe weeks. I for one don't plan on adding that particular debt to the next generation especially if the quality of life just isn't there.
If you do pen your health care directive, let others know you have one and where it is stored. I filed mine with my hospital and my financial planner as well as giving a copy to my wife.
TUESDAY (Seven days to go): Early in the morning, I visited the MCHS lab to have some blood drawn. And today I stop taking all the vitamins, supplements and, my friend in pain, Aleve in prep for surgery.
Not much else to do until Monday night when fasting begins, an antibacterial wipe down occurs and a fitful night of sleep for a 6 a.m. arrival at the hospital the next day.
MONDAY (8 days to go): Attended the Mayo Clinic "Pre Op Total Joint Class" for a two-hour lecture on what to expect. About a dozen patients - the majority of whom are facing knee replacements - learned we should start doing exercises now to get the body ready, keep pets away and off the bed before and directly after the surgery to avoid infections, leave your wedding ring at home or it gets cut off and we're going to get a lot closer in "group physical therapy." Sadly, I also learned of a change from my earlier surgery: I won't have the CPM (continuous passive motion) machine waiting for me at home. It was such a relief at the end of a tough therapy day to lie down, strap your leg in and let it slowly raise and lower your knee to keep it flexible. I also felt secure at night knowing I wasn't going to twist or roll onto it while deep in sleep. Apparently research found patients did no better and no worse with the machine in recovery. Still I wished they would have asked me. I found great comfort in that slow, humming, hugging contraption.
SUNDAY (9 days to go): "So when are you going to write about how much pain you're in?" She sat staring at me, holding my cane.
"And why should I?"
"To let everyone know that delaying it doesn't make it better." My wife has little sympathy believing I put off the knee replacement far too long.
She's right, of course. I procrastinated about one month longer than needed with lame excuses about family obligations, a business conference in Iowa and some loose ends at the office.
All that did was give the pain more time to worsen and a steady diet of Aleve only slightly numbed the pain. She suffered herself, watching me grimace far too often.
Truth be told, there is never a great time. There will be at least three days in the hospital and afterwards figure on six weeks of outpatient therapy no matter what you have planned. And for you Type A personalities: Do not try to rush the process. You could end up back in surgery or at least leave you with a noticeable limp.
Earlier Post
And I'm looking to secure two witnesses for my "living will" signature who won't be creeped out by the experience.
"This is for what now?"
"You know, if I go into a coma or on life support."
"Do I have to pull a plug or something?"
"Only if you want to." Stand in line.
Over the weekend, we bought over-sized pajamas and shirts which will be easier for me to change and I settled on the footwear that's secure but easy to slip on and off. My overnight bag is already packed and I laughingly included a book to read. Let's see how pain killers affect my ability to retain an ongoing plot scheme. I'm also including an iPod which is more practical.
One last procedure before I go to bed tonight (besides fasting) - I'm to wipe down my whole body with some antibacterial wipes provided by the hospital which, according to the instructions, "leaves the body feeling sticky." As if I need another reason to not sleep well tonight.
The adventure begins in earnest tomorrow with a 6 a.m. appointment at the hospital. One difference this time compared to my last knee replacement could be the anesthesia - an epidural which will numb me from the waist to the toes. It apparently is the preferred method giving a better post-operative effect - longer lasting numbness, I suppose. And I will still be lightly asleep for the procedure so that takes care of any "tweeting" I had hoped to do during surgery. I'll try after coming out of the recovery room. Time me. See you tomorrow.
THURSDAY (Five days to go): Started on the leg exercises last night, the most important one was the "knee extension stretch," or rather the "let's see how much you can take before it really hurts" exercise. It goes like this: You prop your foot up on a chair facing you and place a towel or some sort of brace under your ankle. Then you put 5-10 lbs (that's right, five to ten POUNDS!) on top of your knee and have it sit for 15 minutes. This passively stretches the ligaments and muscles around the knee which is supposed to improve your range of motion and your balance.
I couldn't find any 10-lb bags of rice lying around so I used my wife's two 5-lb dumbbells and some towels. It wasn't too bad during the process and I actually did feel better afterwards - like fifteen minutes afterwards. That's because when I lowered my leg off the towel (remember, the bone now is ground itself into a socket) and the knee readjusted itself, there was a painful reminder why I was having the replacement surgery. The real fun starts after the surgery, however, when I have to place the weights on the operated knee. But by then I will be in the hospital's physical therapy room, sufficiently doped up and I am hopeful the comparison at that point will be moot. Although I do recall the therapists warning us ahead of time, this is the "least favorite" of the exercises. Apparently we are not doped up enough.
WEDNESDAY (Six days to go): Today, I filled out my Health Care Agent form and the directives should I be unable to direct myself. I've been putting this off for some time now for no good reason other than I didn't want to face my mortality quite yet. That's not a solid reason. I've seen what happens when you force others to second guess what they think you wanted done. It tears apart families, brings a great weight of responsibility on people you love who suffer through the guilt afterwards as they second guess what was decided. If you love the people close to you, fill out a health care directive.
Don't have anyone close? OK, then ponder this: the high cost of health care is primarily tied to keeping sick and dying people alive just a little longer, maybe weeks. I for one don't plan on adding that particular debt to the next generation especially if the quality of life just isn't there.
If you do pen your health care directive, let others know you have one and where it is stored. I filed mine with my hospital and my financial planner as well as giving a copy to my wife.
TUESDAY (Seven days to go): Early in the morning, I visited the MCHS lab to have some blood drawn. And today I stop taking all the vitamins, supplements and, my friend in pain, Aleve in prep for surgery.
Not much else to do until Monday night when fasting begins, an antibacterial wipe down occurs and a fitful night of sleep for a 6 a.m. arrival at the hospital the next day.
MONDAY (8 days to go): Attended the Mayo Clinic "Pre Op Total Joint Class" for a two-hour lecture on what to expect. About a dozen patients - the majority of whom are facing knee replacements - learned we should start doing exercises now to get the body ready, keep pets away and off the bed before and directly after the surgery to avoid infections, leave your wedding ring at home or it gets cut off and we're going to get a lot closer in "group physical therapy." Sadly, I also learned of a change from my earlier surgery: I won't have the CPM (continuous passive motion) machine waiting for me at home. It was such a relief at the end of a tough therapy day to lie down, strap your leg in and let it slowly raise and lower your knee to keep it flexible. I also felt secure at night knowing I wasn't going to twist or roll onto it while deep in sleep. Apparently research found patients did no better and no worse with the machine in recovery. Still I wished they would have asked me. I found great comfort in that slow, humming, hugging contraption.
SUNDAY (9 days to go): "So when are you going to write about how much pain you're in?" She sat staring at me, holding my cane.
"And why should I?"
"To let everyone know that delaying it doesn't make it better." My wife has little sympathy believing I put off the knee replacement far too long.
She's right, of course. I procrastinated about one month longer than needed with lame excuses about family obligations, a business conference in Iowa and some loose ends at the office.
All that did was give the pain more time to worsen and a steady diet of Aleve only slightly numbed the pain. She suffered herself, watching me grimace far too often.
Truth be told, there is never a great time. There will be at least three days in the hospital and afterwards figure on six weeks of outpatient therapy no matter what you have planned. And for you Type A personalities: Do not try to rush the process. You could end up back in surgery or at least leave you with a noticeable limp.
Earlier Post
Friday, July 13, 2012
The long saga returns: Another new knee
If I could go back in time, I would tell the younger me to knock it off.
I was ridiculously active in everything involving my legs - running, backpacking, hiking, hill climbing, even leg presses. I had built up strong thigh muscles and often put them to the test. But, over time, it was taking a toll on my knees. Arthritis in my family's gene pool didn't help and eight years ago in Indiana, I had a full knee replacement in my left leg.
About nine months later, I returned to hiking, biking and hill climbing. Unfortunately, I had to stop running which was most therapeutic for me. But at least I was active again pushing the limits, of course. Then, last year, the right knee finally started going out. The doctor found torn meniscus and quite a lot of arthritis. I delayed the inevitable by taking an injection of Synvisc, a lubricant, that helped a little while waiting for the most opportune time for the surgery. It had to be when my wife could take time off to help in the recovery. Men can be such wimps.
Meanwhile, because I couldn't exercise, I ballooned in weight and that just put more pressure on the knee. It got to the point where it's "bone on bone" and a rather painful groove has formed.
So here we are. On July 24, the right knee will be replaced. This is not an uncommon procedure. More than 600,000 replacements are performed each year and in ten years, as many as 3.2 million surgeries could be performed annually. Since this looks like something many of us baby boomers will be facing, I thought I would chronicle the experience and share it with you over the next few weeks both in this blog and on Twitter.
Having undergone this procedure before, I am not looking forward to the journey - especially the therapy - but I anxiously await the destination. I can only hope that since my last surgery the process from operation to therapy has improved (I'm looking at you, doc). I will offer some insights comparing the two experiences and I'd be interested in hearing from those of you who have undergone this type of surgery or even thinking about. Meanwhile, for the rest of you, invest in really good running shoes. You'll thank me later.
I was ridiculously active in everything involving my legs - running, backpacking, hiking, hill climbing, even leg presses. I had built up strong thigh muscles and often put them to the test. But, over time, it was taking a toll on my knees. Arthritis in my family's gene pool didn't help and eight years ago in Indiana, I had a full knee replacement in my left leg.
About nine months later, I returned to hiking, biking and hill climbing. Unfortunately, I had to stop running which was most therapeutic for me. But at least I was active again pushing the limits, of course. Then, last year, the right knee finally started going out. The doctor found torn meniscus and quite a lot of arthritis. I delayed the inevitable by taking an injection of Synvisc, a lubricant, that helped a little while waiting for the most opportune time for the surgery. It had to be when my wife could take time off to help in the recovery. Men can be such wimps.
Meanwhile, because I couldn't exercise, I ballooned in weight and that just put more pressure on the knee. It got to the point where it's "bone on bone" and a rather painful groove has formed.
So here we are. On July 24, the right knee will be replaced. This is not an uncommon procedure. More than 600,000 replacements are performed each year and in ten years, as many as 3.2 million surgeries could be performed annually. Since this looks like something many of us baby boomers will be facing, I thought I would chronicle the experience and share it with you over the next few weeks both in this blog and on Twitter.
Having undergone this procedure before, I am not looking forward to the journey - especially the therapy - but I anxiously await the destination. I can only hope that since my last surgery the process from operation to therapy has improved (I'm looking at you, doc). I will offer some insights comparing the two experiences and I'd be interested in hearing from those of you who have undergone this type of surgery or even thinking about. Meanwhile, for the rest of you, invest in really good running shoes. You'll thank me later.
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