Health

Do you know what I did not have to do yesterday? I did not have to go to the orthopedist to get some shots. Every Tuesday for the past three weeks I left work an hour early and drove the ten miles or so to my orthopedist’s office. I would drive the speed limit, or just under, and arrive with a huge lump in my throat because I knew what was coming. Pain. Lots of pain.

While not pleasant, the first shots were not as painful as I had anticipated. Ditto for round two. Round three, however…sweet Lord in heaven. If the first round of shots had been that bad I would never had returned for the subsequent shots. The procedure involves extracting some joint fluid from the knee area before inserting the Synvisc, but this last time Dr. P. had trouble getting the joint fluid out. He apologized and said he’d have to go in again from a different angle. Out came the big needle, in went the small needle to numb again and in went the big needle.

The numbing agent doesn’t really do the job when it comes to the deep tissue, so while Dr. P. was digging in with that needle and fondling my kneecap to get the joint fluid out, I was near tears and clutching David Sedaris to my chest.

“I notice you bring a book in here every time but never end up reading it,” said Dr. P.

“Yeah, well it gets kind of difficult to concentrate on the words instead of the pain and I just give up,” I replied.

Eventually Dr. P. got enough joint fluid out to make him happy and was able to finish the procedure. “I don’t think you’ll ever see me in here again,” I said. He smiled and said he’d like to see me in two months to check my progress and see if the Synvisc has made any difference in my recovery. Hey, if the appointment doesn’t involve needles, I’ll be there.

So with the exception of that appointment two months down the road, it appears the “Saga of Wounded Knee” has come to a close. Thank God. Was that whole series tedious or what? Knee blah blah blah. Knee yadda yadda yadda.

The thing is, while I’m well on the road to a physical recovery, the psychological part of the injury has as tight a hold on me as ever. The first snowfall is at least four months away and I’m already freaking out about winter. Nearly every highway overpass in Michigan is marked with a sign that says “Caution-Bridge May Be Icy.” It can July and 90 degrees outside and this sign will scare the shit out of me because, my God, the bridge may be icy, my driveway may be icy, and every single inch of pavement on which I set foot MAY BE ICY. Then I’ll clutch my knee, remember the horrible feeling of slipping on that ice and want to vomit.

Yeah, it’s going to be a long winter.

I have a confession to make. I really miss my very short hair. I miss the style and the ease with which I was able to make it look nice. Wash, mousse and dry.

Because of this Michigan humidity, I’ve resorted to clipping my hair back in a matronly looking ‘do because no amount of washing, moussing or drying will create a look I can tolerate for most of the day. As soon as I’m home from work I pull everything back in a headband because I can’t stand another minute of having my bangs in my face.

As much as I hate my hair right now, I’m committed to nurturing its growth. I’ve gotten this far. I persevered through the almost-mullet and the feathered sides that made me look like I’d just stepped out of a ‘70s-era Aaron Spelling drama. I’ve invested in sponge rollers and actually thought about purchasing a curling iron because nothing says commitment to beauty more than accessories and appliances.

I once dated this guy who had a bit of a problem with alcohol. One night he told me he was going to study at the university library, which was actually code for “I’m going to get shit-faced and drive my car into someone’s front yard.” So while I was at home alone on a Friday night thinking I was with a guy who actually cared about his studies, he was taking a breathalyzer test and arranging restitution for a demolished mailbox and assorted yard gnomes.

This guy’s baggage was obvious to everyone but me, and people started saying I should dump him. I wouldn’t hear of it, though. I stuck with him, partly to spite those who said I should leave and partly because I had convinced myself he just needed a good girl like me to set him on the right path. I was going to be his angel of sobriety and was committed to sticking with him because, hell, my boyfriend got arrested. How much worse could it get? As it turns out, I was actually the girl who took too long to decide whether or not she wanted to sleep with him and he wasn’t all that committed to waiting for me.

So what does this sad, yet sadly familiar tale of woe have to do with my hair? My hair is now that drunk boyfriend who didn’t even give me a freaking card on my birthday. My hair is the thing that’s making this good girl look bad. My hair is the thing that reminds me some choices made with good intentions can yield bad results.

My hair will not dump me, though. If anything, I’ll cut it loose first. But I’m committed, like I said, because that’s just the kind of girl I am.

I took the stairs today.  Like a normal person.  Almost.

Going down was much easier than climbing up, but I forced myself to try.

Perhaps I’ll feel normal again.  Soon.  Like before it starts to snow.

Maybe that will be my Christmas wish.

I really like my orthopedist, but every time I speak to him I’m simply amazed I let the man slice my knee open and root around my patella with a scalpel. He’s not incompetent by any means. He’s just busy. He’s one guy with one receptionist who works out of an office that smells like a Motel 6. Every time I see him he never fails to tell me he’s been doing what he does for 32 years and every time I see him it’s as though I’m seeing him for the first time. Apparently he sees a lot of patients and my knee problems are no more memorable than the next Joe with arthritic joints.

Yesterday I called to let him know I was ready to start on the Synvisc injections he had talked me into a couple of months ago. I was actually supposed to call him a few weeks ago to set this up but I was a big chicken. The injections involve the 18 gauge Needle of Torture and seeing as my previous experiences with said needle were not pleasant, I opted to put the appointment off as long as possible.

My recovery has not been as speedy as I had hoped. I don’t walk with a limp much anymore, but I still can’t take stairs like I did before my accident. Yesterday I found myself on my hands and knees underneath my desk at work trying to plug my printer back in. Just being on my knees was painful enough, but trying to get back to a standing position was scary. Putting my weight on my bad knee and lifting myself with the good one was too painful so I tried the reverse. As I lifted myself up I heard a loud “CRACK!” in my bad knee that told me I was probably doing something I shouldn’t be doing. I’ve felt a lot of uncomfortable cracks and clicks in the area and thought I had probably put the injections off long enough.

When I called Dr. P’s office it was his friendly voice on the line answering the phone. I talked to him about the Synvisc and the cracks and clicks and he made some concerned noises that made me uncomfortable. “Before we start the Synvisc I think I should check the knee out to make sure you don’t have some scar tissue built up or more damage to your cartilage.” He told me if the clicks were because of scar tissue or cartilage damage, he’d have to go in with a scope again and clean things up.

Of course I went into worse case scenario mode and assumed I was destined for another trip to the operating room. I called Nathan and my mother and nearly broke down into tears both times. “I just want my life back,” I wailed. “I want to get back to normal.”

It seems the angst was for naught because my visit today revealed I’m really not in bad shape. I could be in better shape if I was actually doing the isometric exercises Dr. P. told me to do post-op. He’s a great guy and didn’t yell at me for being so lazy. He sighed, shook his head and told me in no uncertain terms that I won’t get back to normal if I don’t do the exercises and if I expect to take the stairs like a normal person again I have to get on my back and do those leg raises and heel presses.

He’s been in the business for 32 years. He knows what he’s talking about.

The stitches are out and I couldn’t be happier. The process of getting them yanked was a bit more painful than I would have liked because they were very tight, and I don’t mean tight as in cool but tight as in my knee looked like a very securely wrapped loin of pork. The doctor kind of had to dig into my knee with the suture scissors to get at the fine blue threads that held my incision closed. Nathan sat squirming in the corner as they were pulled, big wuss.

The really great news is that I finally get to take a shower again. I never thought I’d feel so euphoric about standing under a stream of hot water, but I’ve had two baths in the past two and a half weeks with the rest of my cleaning regimen consisting of sponge baths. I broke down a few nights ago and took the first bath, being careful to keep my knee bent so my bandages wouldn’t get wet. The other bath I took yesterday while Autumn was home with me. She seemed a little concerned as I tried to get out of the tub because that has been one thing I haven’t been able to do well since December. “Mommy, don’t fall,” she said. She’s actually been saying that a lot lately.

I’m wearing my very last bandage, which can come off tomorrow night, and have been told I can start swimming again, too. I think I might give myself a week or so before I try swimming though. I’m okay with getting into the water but getting out of it is another story. For some reason both the high school and university pools require one to have the legs of a flamingo in order to breach the distance from the top step to the pool rim. I always make it, but it’s always a strain. Oh, and I also found out that nasty blister has a name; a traction blister. They’re actually quite common when steri-strips are used to close wounds, though the doctor seemed a bit surprised at the size of mine. Jelly bean!

Tomorrow it’s back to work for a half day. I’m kind of looking forward to it and kind of not because I’m expecting a lot of questions about the surgery and my recovery and blah blah blah. If my co-workers care as little about me as I think they do, they’ll probably leave me alone and I can attempt to slowly get back to normal. That’s really all I want.

On that note, I hope getting back out into the world will give me a lot more to write about because even I’m getting tired of all this surgery mumbo jumbo.

Today is the first day I’ve been home alone with Autumn since my surgery. I was kind of reluctant to agree to it at first, but she’s been sick and spent a good deal of the night in coughing fits.  I’ve caught what she has and the two of us are spending a sick day watching Sesame Street and her favorite Chip and Dale DVD.  We’ll see how great an idea this was when it’s time for her nap.  That will be the real challenge.

What I really want to do is bundle both of us up and go outside.  The temperature is in the 50s and we haven’t seen sun like this in ages.  I could do it.  I could take her next door to play with the boys or drive her over to the park to play on the slide.  The only thing is I wouldn’t be able to get her back home.  Once she’s out I have a hell of a time getting her back in the house.  The last time I took her to the park I had to forcibly remove her from the premises.  I can’t really do that at the moment, so I guess we’re stuck inside today.

Tomorrow I get my stitches out.  For some reason I’m really excited about that.  It’s just one more step on my road to recovery.

I got out of the house today. We went to Costco for some much needed supplies. It felt so good to be out in the fresh air. The sun was shining and we had a good time. All the nastiness from yesterday was forgotten. And I also took a bath today. I kept my knee bent so that I wouldn’t get the bandages wet, but it felt sooo good to finally immerse myself in water again instead of hanging over the tub to sop myself clean with a washcloth.

I finally broke down today and took off my bandages. The itching was just driving me batty and my skin was getting gummy from the tape that secures the gauze over my incision. When I finally got everything off I discovered that which has been causing the itchiness; a shiny blister about the size and shape of a jelly bean. It developed very near to my incision at a spot where two steri-strips overlapped. It’s really disgusting. I called my mother to ask what I should do because normally I’m a popper and scab ripper, but since the blister is so close to my incision I figured I’d better let the doctor take care of it. My mom agreed, so I decided to just cut off the parts of the strips that covered the blister and doused everything with a healthy dose of betadine solution. Hopefully that will keep until the doctor sees me on Tuesday.

I apologize for the extra-special content tonight and for the fact that my entries have been of one topic lately, but believe me when I say if I had something else to write about I’d be writing about it.

Today was by far the most unproductive day yet. I think I’m starting to feel what it’s like to be my brother; sleep late and spend my afternoons playing video games. I’m getting really good at Lego Star Wars though.

My next door neighbor made a really great meal for us the other night. Stuffed pasta shells, garlic bread and some sweet pineapple fluff dessert as a side. She even baked us some chocolate peanut butter bars. I called her today to thank her for everything and to tell her the bars especially were a hit. Nathan and I saved a couple to have the next day, but Nathan woke up to find Molly had pulled them off the counter and eaten them sometime during the night. I told the story to my neighbor and wouldn’t you know she walked over a new batch tonight with the recipe. She’s such a sweetheart. I hope she sticks around for awhile. They were talking about moving within the next couple of years because they’re outgrowing their house. Isn’t that funny? One family I can’t wait to see go and another I want to stay.

My parents came over tonight to help me watch Autumn while Nathan was bowling. Last week for that, thank goodness. I have a feeling I’ll be much better by this time next week though. The only thing I can’t deal with right now is the itching. The bandaged area of my knee itches like crazy and all I want to do is rip the gauze off and go to town.

And the knee. Yikes. I finally got a good look at it the other day at the doctor’s office and let’s just say I now have a good idea why the villagers were so freaked out by Frankenstein’s monster. I really wanted to take a picture of it the morning of the surgery, but I was so nauseated I couldn’t bring myself to pull out my camera. I did ask Nathan to take a picture of it with his camera phone while I was being prepped in the hospital but we just never got around to it then either. The doctor said the knee will start to look much better over time but that it will take several months before people stop trying to run me out of town with their torches and pitchforks.

I’m not a really vain person, but that knee was the flawless one, the one that didn’t have a scar from the time I fell off my bike or from the freak weed whacker accident of 1985. Don’t ask. I was a stupid kid. Let’s just leave it at that.

So now I have several scars that mark my body like a time line; the hot plate burn on my hand from Mother’s Day, 1982, the weed whacker scars, the bicycle fall, the slice to my wrist in an effort to extricate myself from my brother’s toy handcuffs with a paring knife (like I said-stupid kid), the slice to my left middle finger while cutting vegetables in 2004, the C-section scar of 2005 and the baby wipes slice of 2006.

Cripes. I’m only 36. How much more damage can I do?

Don’t answer that.

So that whole story about my car wasn’t as thrilling as I thought it would be.  I thought it might be a nice diversion from talk about my knee surgery, but it just ended up being too long, especially at the end.  It also seemed to have gotten the attention of the folks over at Daimler Chrysler.  I’ve received two hits from them since I posted that story.  Hey, I’ve got nothing against Daimler Chrysler but I do have quite a lot against the particular 1995 Chrysler Cirrus that left me stranded me in Chicago.  But we got rid of that car two years ago, so let’s let bygones be bygones, okay Chrysler?

I actually do have news.  Knee related news but good news nonetheless.  I get to go back to work next week.  Yay!  Never in my wildest or mildest dreams did I think of a scenario in which I’d be happy to go back to the office, but time off is no fun when you can’t actually enjoy it.  I’ve watched a lot of “Friends” and played a lot of Wii.  I really probably should read something or write something.  I started a short story before my surgery but haven’t been back to it since.

I’m actually feeling really good.  I told the doctor I’m down to one pain pill at night and he was surprised seeing as it’s only been eight days since my surgery.  He was also surprised to hear I’ve been getting around on only one crutch.  Nathan ratted me out on that one and the doctor told me to use two crutches until further notice.

So things are going much better than I had expected.  I’m very, very lucky. Nathan, on the other hand, is very, very stressed.  Work is keeping him busy now that he’s back and he really doesn’t get a break at home because he has to do everything.

Hopefully I’ll be able to start pitching in again soon.