TIME FOR AN UPDATE

I seem not to be able to think of much to write about these days but guess it is time for an update for those of you who happen to check out this blog now and then. Florida is having about as nice a spring as I have seen since I have lived here--moderate days, low humidity, lots of sun.

These would be lovely beach days if one could afford the gasoline to go. Now I hear on the news that rice is being rationed. I suppose at long last the world shortage of food is going to have its affect on us but will probably only hurt us in the wallet because we will continue to buy regardless of the price--that is how we have treated gasoline. And so life will go on and only the very poor will go hungry and on foot.

I'm feeling better and stronger as the days pass. I still have limitations and can't bend very far yet but I manage to get the necessary done. When I get tired I just have to quit and rest. I have never been very good at that but I am improving.

LIFE AT PALM TERRACE

One of the nice things that happened while I was at Palm Terrace was the wonderful visits that I had with family and friends who came. There was a nice day room which had tables and comfortable chairs where visitors could gather. My friend Marty brought a meal one night to share with me and my roommate and another night my brother and his wife brought wonderful salads which we shared while we visited. Another night they came and brought my mom and we had Dunkin Donuts and coffee--what a treat. My niece and her husband came one Saturday and brought the little boys and they were full of pep and ginger and helped me pass what might have otherwise been boring time. All this made my stay easier and helped to pass the time.

Finally I got the word that I would be released on April 2nd to return home. That was both good news and scary news. Would I really be able to take care of myself and do everything that needed doing? Probably not had it not been for my mom who came everyday to help me out. It is not what I would ever want to have to ask my mom to do for me but I know I would have done the same thing were the roles reversed.

Somehow we have made it from then to now and each day I grow stronger. Life is becoming more normal and I am learning what I can do and how much stamina I have--not very much at this point. I'm resting a lot and napping sometimes. I have managed to do my own laundry this week. I have been doing my own grocery shopping and going to church. Last Sunday I played for the early service and it felt really good to be back at the keyboard again.

Being able to communicate by phone with friends has been a great way to stay in touch and pass some time. I'm also enjoying sending and receiving mail--a practice that I am trying to reestablish. Not many people use the USPS for personal messages anymore but I still love to hold something in my hand that has been written by someone that I care about and I think others do too. I am determined not to let the practice die--not yet anyway.

So surgery and recovery are coming to a close as life becomes more normalized each day. I have a lot less pain than before surgery for which I am most grateful. I still have precautions that I have to take for several weeks and continue to go to physical therapy. I want to recover faster than I am and my therapist told me today that I probably had higher expectations than I should. That helps me to assess my recovery and be more patient with myself. Life is good.

PHYSICAL THERAPY 101

About day 3 or 4 in physical therapy at the nursing home I began to realize how much this experience reminded me of nursery school--only for old people and I was one of them. I would arrive at the therapy department at the expected time of my session and there would be a lot of people lined up around the room in wheel chairs and arm chairs for those of us who could walk. The therapy room had lots of things that reminded me of toddler toys only slightly more adult like fitting rubber rings of various sizes over metal rods on a stand and large colored pegs that fit into a rubber peg board on a free standing base. I decided that if I were asked to perform some of these tasks I would just lose it altogether and thankfully I was able to avoid most of them. I understand why they had these tasks because a lot of these folks had had injuries and strokes which impaired their usual abilities.

A lot of the people there, mostly ladies, were pretty bad off and often sat in their wheelchairs and slept between tasks which was usually from the time it took the therapist to turn his or her back and then check back on the person. I just knew that these folks were probably never going to get out of those wheel chairs or ever be able to care for themselves again and that was sad.

On this particular day I heard a therapist say to a patient, "Now you be nice today." Shortly later another therapist was telling another patient to say she was sorry to someone--that was when I realized I was at nursery school. The therapists also had a tendency to over compliment your progress in therapy. I guess that was because they see such little progress, but to me it seemed a little patronizing. I do have a great deal of respect for these therapists and they all seemed capable and happy in their work.

One little lady accompanied her therapy with some sort of chant that sounded very Native American like to me. I never could understand what she was saying or whether it was a happy or a sad response, but she would do her walking exercises with her therapist all the while chanting the same sing songy punctuated ditty over and over.

Now I'm receiving my therapy in a more professional atmosphere but it isn't as fun as when I got to see the dear little old ladies at Palm Terrace in PT 101.

SLIGHT SETBACK

Today I could hardly get out of bed. I think my PT was way to aggressive yesterday. My therapist is Helga and she is the Brunhilde of the department. Actually, I really like her and she is very encouraging to me but she really works me out. When I first met her I was not sure what her name was and when I asked her to repeat it she asked me if I had a hearing problem. I felt like saying "No, you have a speaking problem," but I wouldn't do that to such a nice lady.

So today I have had to take it really easy and I hope that I will be recovered enough to go back to therapy tomorrow. My best therapy tomorrow, though, will be going to the church to practice piano. I have missed it so much and I can hardly wait to get going again.

I hope and pray to awaken in the morning feeling back on track. Peace to all.

BOOTED OUT

On Wednesday following surgery I was informed that I would be moving to a rehab facility the next day or Friday at latest. Since my insurance didn't deal with either of the 2 facilities near my home I had to pretty much go where there was a bed available. That would be Palm Terrace which is not far from the hospital. I had never heard of the place before so I sent my mom and daughter past to see what the place looked like. "Just ordinary," they remarked which raised my anxiety level slightly but lying in a bed one doesn't have much option but to go where told. After all, that which looks ordinary outside could be really substandard inside and with that I wished they had at least looked through the front door.

On Friday a nice young man comes for me in a medical van and whisks me and my stuff away in a wheelchair. I asked him if he was my chauffeur and had he brought the Bentley. He said, "Yes," and away we went. He assured me that I was going to a good facility with a great Physical Therapy staff. That helped my anxiety some. When we got there he wheeled me into a beautiful entryway and down a long hall with staff lined up like servants waiting for the mistress of the mansion to arrive. That is about how they treated me too except for the pricks and pokes of needles and popping of pills.

A couple of hours later my roommate arrived who had been in surgery the same day as I with the same surgeon only for a knee replacement--her second. We settled into our room and soon found that we had lots in common. We were both originally from other states, both divorced, both held lots of similar religious and political beliefs and both desired to be pleasing roommates. We didn't have similar TV interests but I learned to have some tolerance and let her have the control since I would have just as soon had silence. It worked out o.k. And we also found a few things that we both liked to watch.

Surprisingly, from all the nursing homes I had been around in my lifetime as a visitor, I never smelled a bad smell while there, the meals were excellent, the staff was abundant and very caring and the administration was eager to please. I pretended I was at a spa for rest, relaxation and therapy and did my best to be a good patient remembering to say, "Please," and "Thank you" and to smile and pay compliments. Just in case, when I packed to go I had included in my stuff one of those plug in smell good things for the room. The staff would come in and say how good our room smelled and some remarked that it was like a little haven in there. That was nice.

I also packed some treats since I was unsure how the food would be and I got my mom to bring some cokes and a little cooler which I kept by my bed. At night we would get the CNA to microwave popcorn for us and we could have our own little party every night. You know the old adage, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." That is pretty much what our experience was.

Next post I will tell you some of the funny stuff that happened in PT. It was kind of like going to nursery school. Remember, this is a nursing home and not everyone in therapy had just had surgery and was as young as I.

ROOM 815

My friend, Marty, and I were having dinner tonight and she reminded me of an incident in the hospital shortly after I returned from surgery when I asked what my room number was. She and John told me that it was 815 and I remarked that it sounded like a time. Shortly thereafter I asked the same question again and responded with the same answer when they told me my room number. She said that they just looked at each other and made funny faces which I did not see. That's how I am on drugs.

On the second day after my surgery my orthopedic surgeon came in for a visit and found me up walking with the PT's. He remarked, " That's what I like to see." I complained of some pain that I felt in my femur and his response was to ask me if I wanted to see the hammer that he had used to implant the new joint. That was the end of that conversation.

My surgeon's name is Phuc Vo--I've never attempted to call him by his first name. He is a smallish sort of cocky appearing Vietnamese middle aged man. He doesn't give much information nor does he have much to say. He does the surgery and his very able--beautiful female--assistant provides the bedside manner for him. He sort of operates on the principle, "If you are buying I am selling." He was one of 3 surgeons recommended by my rheumatologist and I was sold on Dr. Vo when my primary care physician said that if I were his mother or his wife--I'm sure he added the wife bit to stay on good terms with me--Dr. Vo would be his choice. I found out after surgery that Dr. Vo actually has quite a reputation in the field of orthopedic surgery up and down the east coast so I felt very lucky to have him as my surgeon. No doubt he will get more of my business as I age.

Today I am walking mostly unassisted and carry my cane when I go out, mostly for protection. I figure if someone comes too close I can use the cane for protection. My PT told me today that I am walking only with a slight limp and I feel sure that I'm only days away from walking normally which I have not done in years. I'm driving the car again, went to church yesterday, have been to the grocery, movie and out to eat. Today is only 3 weeks from surgery so I feel truly blessed with a remarkable recovery.

18 HOURS POST SURGERY

About 18 hours after my surgery (March 18th) 2 people came to my bedside and announced that I was going to get up and walk. I thought they had to be kidding and told them so. I had been told that on day one I would sit on the side of the bed. I'm still hooked up to all the post surgery gadgets and in unbelieveable pain when I try to move. I've had nothing to eat since 6 a.m. the previous day and feel like I have been hit by a Mac truck as they say. I was informed that, yes, I was really going to get out of my bed and walk. They grab the surgically altered leg and proceed to get me out of the bed regardless of my desire. And, so I got out of bed, not on my own power for sure, and I walked on a walker around the bed. I dont' know how I did it but I did, and that was my introduction to physical therapy.

Thankfully I was able to return to my bed whereupon I was able to get doped up and rest some more. I don't remember much else of that day except that my beautiful doctor daughter arrived from Chicago to cheer me for a couple of days of my recovery. She and her brother who had been with me for the surgery visited and I think I was kind of in and out of it. I suspect their recollections of me would be funny.

By evening I was feeling pretty good. I had gotten some liquid food, lots more pain medication and the usual hospital picking and poking for blood, etc. Then company began arriving and since I was in a private room and the door was closed the hospital staff left us alone. As is my usual custom I felt it was my duty to entertain and since I wasn't feeling much pain I got pretty high on the party like atmosphere. I think at one point there were 8 people in attendance. At some point, even in my dopey state, I realized that this was not a normal situation and I was way too high for what I had just been through. I didn't mind seeing my loving guests begin to depart for I knew that just like after any party I was going to need some rest. Thank God there was no after party cleanup to do as there is with customary parties.

"YES"

It was March 17th, my long awaited surgery date and I had a list of preparations to follow to prepare myself for the big event. Both the hospital and my surgeon's assistant had called me with instructions almost all of which were contradictory but we got that settled. The instructions were things like fasting, special cleansing of the incision sight--like that does a lot of good 12 hours ahead--changes in the actual surgery schedule, etc. The 2 big things that I thought were important were not to wear polish on my toenails--I could on my hands--and to write in big letters with a permanent marker on the foot of the affected leg the word "YES." I thought that seemed perfectly reasonable and had, in fact, planned to write on the good leg "Not this one, stupid," but thought their request to be more polite. So having done all these things I make haste to the hospital at the appointed time in the afternoon and do all the Mickey Mouse paper work and sign a gazillion papers--everything to protect the hospital and make sure I pay, bottom line.

Finally I get taken to pre-op which is a little nurses station with a big chair and two women, a nurse and a clerk type person. Of course, the clerk's job is the most important one and does she ever grill me--all questions to which they already have the answers right there in black and white. I get the feeling everytime I go to the doctor that I'm getting a memory test rather than treatment for the current issue since they have everything there is to know about me right there on their computer and I see no doctors outside the clinic. Also, at this time the nursey one looks down at my feet and sees my "YES" on my foot and informs me that they are going to cover that up with a pair of socks. Go figure. Anyway, they give me gowns and hospital fuzzy socks to go into the bathroom and put on to which I try to comply but then they want me to walk across a bathroom and office floor with these socks on after which I will be put onto a gurney to go to the pre surgery holding tank. I replied that I would not walk across their dirty floor in socks which would then contaminate the bed that I would be on and asked for my shoes. Now, don't get me wrong, I was perfectly polite in this interchange but I doubt that they didn't get my drift. I later learned that patients wear these socks in and out of bed in the hospital all the time going to the bathroom and out into the hallways to walk. Not this girl. Glad I had comfortable slip on shoes with me. And they wonder how infections get spread in the hospital. In pre op holding I was finally given a ballpoint pen and asked to write on my thigh the "YES" that I had been asked to write on the foot. I don't know how they checked my nails for blood circulation. Maybe they don't anymore.

The best part is that several hours later I came out of surgery to my waiting family and the left leg--the correct one--had a new hip and I had that wonderful morphine pump to get me through the night. I don't remember much of anything until the next day--I was safely in the arms of Morpheus.