The thought of yet another surgery knocked the wind out of me. I was well into double digits when it came to my surgery count, and after numerous organ removals and repairs, two knee replacements and two menacing shoulders I was already on my way to giving Steve Austin a run for his money.
And now I needed a hip replaced.
After doing research I learned about a relatively new procedure that is, reportedly, less painful, has a shorter recuperation period and doesn't require a stay in a rehab facility.
Further exploring led me to the surgeon I wanted, but he wouldn't be available for several months. Since I wasn't yet in extreme pain, the wait seemed doable. Three months into the wait, I wondered, What the hell was I thinking?
One of the worse parts of surgery is all the pre-surgery minutia: endless paperwork, EKG, blood work, Medical Clearance, and various doctor visits. That I have to bring a copy of my Living Will never instills confidence.
My hospital stay was one night. One god-awful-sleepless night. My hip bone had been removed and replaced at 3:00 PM Monday afternoon, and some faceless entity, probably at Medicare, decided I would be delighted to check out at 11:00 the next morning. WTF? Had the sign on the building said Motel Morristown Memorial?
The one night I was there, a patient down the hall screamed non-stop. I asked my nurse what was wrong with her and he said she was confused. I suggested she might do well on a floor intentionally equipped to deal with screamers. He said she had fallen and fractured her hip, so she was on the right floor. I then said that maybe a strategically placed pillow would calm her down. It certainly would do wonders for me. He said the Nurses Code of Ethics didn't permit that, so I asked him to turn off my light and shut my door...which didn't help because he was back every fifteen minutes, taking my blood pressure, giving me pills, and looking for relief from that poor woman's incessant, blood curdling screams.
I was sent home with volumes of paperwork and instructed to read it thoroughly. On page twenty-three I began to hyperventilate when I realized it was, basically, a crash course in how to keep my new hip from popping out, and what to do if my leg turns green and pulsates.
Terror reigned.
We were scheduled to take a family vacation, in six weeks. My surgeon assured me I would be up and running by then...no problem. I believed him.
I was home two days when I suspected I'd been a wee bit too optimistic about the pain-free, rapid recovery I'd been "promised." I was sure I'd be pole dancing by then. But, as it happened, my hip and surrounding areas, were on a different schedule than I was.
By day four I thought I noticed a 2% improvement. I could now make it to the bathroom in under seven minutes, screaming only half the way. And, my screams had lowered several decibels - according to my neighbor.
This pain was different than any post-op pain I'd ever experienced. My left butt cheek felt like it was on fire. A Facebook friend brought to my attention that I now qualified as a Hot Piece of Ass.
On day five I prepared to finally take a shower. My dog, who gravitates to disgusting odors, took a whiff of me, curled his upper lip and backed off. I had even flunked doggie odor tolerance standards.
Mighty Marc went to the kitchen and brought back a heavy duty plastic freezer bag. He measured and cut it to fit over my incision. Then, he sealed it with tape to keep it dry. When I stepped out from the shower I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The heavy duty freezer bag he had chosen to tape to my thigh and hip area read, in large blue letters, HEFTY.
I'm still not speaking to him.