I'm comin' home... to see my baaaby!

Finally home after sixteen days in the hospital. I didn't think they would keep me that long but the additional PT was worth it. I find I am fairly mobile at home although I move at the speed of sloth. My walker is even the latest model with dual wheels and the latest in drag/skid technology. It's good to be in familiar surroundings. Pele has been curiously sniffing my knees sensing, like only a dog could, that something occurred there. No nurses in and out asking me my full name and birth-date prior to every poke and probe and serving meals.

I will miss my therapists, Ray and Rhonda, they were especially attentive and encouraging. They said I was one of the most motivate people they had encountered in a long tome. I found that hard to believe as I only did what they asked me to do  - no more. I guess a lot of people walk about five steps then quit and turn around. The stretching hurts so they request a stop to it. I never felt like I was pushing it, I just let them do their thing. Hell yes it hurt - as everyone said it would. I guess I figured that was part of the deal. They brought me close to tears a few times.

The twelve days in therapy had highs and lows. I can't judge progress day-to-day, I have to look at it every 3-4 days to make any sense of it. Some days I was so stiff I couldn't move. Other days I felt loose and yet couldn't do anything additional. One thing I didn't expect was the tightness of the muscles in my thighs. My quads felt as if someone had cut three inches of length out of them and sewed them back together. They are tight and feel hard as iron most of the time. I have more pain from my muscles than from the joints they replaced and all the bones they cut.

I had my ups and I had my downs and each could occur in the same day. I only broke down once and that was the day I came home. I awoke with tighter than normal muscles and felt groggy during the morning sessions of PT. I was laying on my back on one of the big mats while Ray lifted my leg, bent my knee and forced my leg back stretching the muscles - the tears began to flow.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked. 
"No." But I couldn't stop crying.
Ray carefully placed my leg back down on the mat then left to bring back a tissue or two which I took to wipe my eyes. "What's up?" he asked.
"I guess it's just the thought of going home." I answered. "While you're in the hospital you can forget about everything because there's nothing you can do; you're stuck. But now that I'm heading home I am thinking about all the things I need to do, work, home, family responsibilities,  it's overwhelming me because I know how far I have to go down this painful road before I will feel 'normal' again." It all kind of came crashing down on me.

Ray understood. A 30 year-old Iraq Veteran, recently divorced with two small children living with their mother in California. He is moving there next month to be closer to them. He understands how painfully hard it can be just getting back to 'normal'.

I have come to the conclusion that PT is more than just improving the movement in my joints.

Swag Bag

When you go someplace and pay as much as I have for the privilege, one should expect only the finest of Swag Bags. Now granted, this isn't the Oscars but hey, Intermountain Healthcare does OK and they should shell out occasionally to those of us that enter on the red carpet. I got here last Thursday and finally received my Swag Bag Wednesday.

I just took a luxurious shower sitting on a lovely chair made of 3 inch PVC tubing. Clean shirt, shorts - I was feeling like a million bucks. Then it suddenly appeared, the bootie! Placed delicately on the counter next to the sink. It had the familiar kidney shape of a nausea tray - which of course it was. I eagerly tore off the clear plastic cover anxious to discover each goodie donated by valuable sponsors thanking me for my patronage: A new toothbrush, toothpaste, two (yes two) disposable razors complete with shaving cream, and my own personalized deodorant. I spotted something in a shiny emerald tubular case at the bottom and began to remove the razors to retrieve the small treasure.

"Oh, Chap-stick," said the elderly aide behind me, "I think I'll take that for myself." She reached down from behind my soft seat in the wheelchair, grabbed it and quickly lathered her wrinkly lips then placed it firmly in her front pocket and walked out. I was speechless. I still am. Suddenly I no longer feel like a big star! WTF!

Well the last five days in the hospital have gone well to say the least. However I haven't felt good enough to write anything - thus the delay in posts.

I was a little concerned the day of surgery when the anesthesiologist couldn't insert the spinal block. I guess he worked for 45 minutes and still couldn't get it inserted so they went with general anesthesia. He did leave a nice bruise on my back as a sign of his diligent effort. It made no difference in the surgery but I guess I was a piece of work in recovery. Fortunately I don't remember the pain. I've had femoral block catheters in both legs which deadens the nerves at the front of each leg. On a scale of 1-10 my pain level has been a 1. So I can't say how much I have been suffering here because I haven't. I woke up feeling chipper and talkative which was a sign to Marian that things weren't normal. HAHA! Thursday and Friday were good days. I actually got up an walked on Friday. Not a 5K or anything but I made it around the nurses station.

Saturday was a little different. I wanted to get up as my back was killing me. Kind of like that feeling you get when you've been on a long flight. Like a mule has kicked you in the coccyx. Still level 1 pain in the knees, but level 8 pain in the butt! I tried to stand and stretch and made it as far as the door to my room but had to circle back for an emergency landing. The gyro was spinning out of control and the landing gear was blinking red on the console. Not a good start to the day. So Saturday was spent fighting the demons of discouragement.

I did get out for short stroll Saturday night so I ended on a positive note. Sunday the family came after Easter dinner; quite a crowd for this little room. They all had to make jokes about my fashionable bed-wear and my bad case of bed-head. I wouldn't have it any other way. They all wanted to see the "wound" so they took off the covers and the ice packs and the wrappings and the room was filled with oohs and aahs. Everyone wanted to be sure that my robe didn't get lifted too high. They moved it ever-so-gingerly like I was hiding a rattlesnake under there. HAHA! Of course they made more fun of my swollen knees and ankles and Dad's funny feet - They never stop; they are so easily entertained.

Marian has been a trooper through all of this staying with me far longer than I expected her to and doing some of the nurse chores. None of the nurses believe she is the mother of eight kids. I love you Marian Anne!

My Doctor and friend Kirt Kimball nailed the process. The nurses are all over it and the support from friends and family has been amazing. I feel guilty for stealing the prayers and well-wishes from those who are much more deserving and in worse straits than I am. My results will be positive and life-improving; not everyone here is so lucky. I do feel very fortunate.

I hope you all had a good Easter/Passover and have taken a moment to ponder the miracle of the Resurrection and Atonement and how each of you can personally take advantage of that in your life. His suffering for us was more than just for sin; it was for trials and tribulations of all manner. My love to each of you.