Total Hip Disaster

Note to Netscape users: If you press any of the so-called shortcuts for bold, italics, quotation marks, etc., you will lose everything you have typed. Being quote unquote stupid, I have done this twice.

So here I am again, trying to talk about my upcoming surgery:

So far, I have felt fine and quite calm. This run-in with the blog program has gotten me more hot under the collar than the surgery. Well, I suppose that's something positive in the sense that it has taken my mind off being cut open and violated (albeit for a good cause) and made me think about those nice computer nerds who do things that don't work and frustrate ordinary bloggers like myself. Grrr.

Just like in the song, my bags are packed, I'm ready to go. It's a gorgeous summer day, sunny but not too hot or muggy. We'll all go out for a car ride and a little walk.

Despite my bravado, I am scared. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing and I know just enough about what can happen during surgery to feel scared out of my mind. But then again, despite feelings to the contrary, nothing says that things have to go awry. In fact, I think I have a pretty good chance of coming out of this second surgery much better than I ever was since becoming severely arthritic.

My husband will be keeping a blog chronicling my recovery (see link). His first post should appear tomorrow.

I wish myself the best of luck. I'd appreciate the same from you the reader!

Today I went for my last therapist appointment before my revision, on August 9. For a good part of the session we talked about how this experience is helping me to learn to assert myself and feel less subject to the real or perceived wrath of others.

My hip situation was not the sole focus of this discussion.

However, I spent the last 15 minutes of the session talking about a very real fear: what the doctor will say as I come out of the anesthetic after surgery. My first experience was so shocking that I am already fearful of a repeat performance. As I recall, as I opened my eyes and focussed on the doctor's face, he said to me--with no preamble whatsoever--"we fractured your femur". No "hello", no "how are you feeling", just the blunt news that something bad (not to mention, something I had no idea could happen) had occurred. Welcome to hell.

My therapist very wisely suggested that I speak to him about what I need to hear first upon regaining consciousness, so as to avoid a similar shock. I promised to send the surgeon a fax to this effect today.

Of course, the minute I left my therapist's office, I could no longer find the words to make this request without doing something that scares me even more: implying, through my words, that I was expecting a second round of bad news; implying that that is what I expect of this surgery. That is what is at the root of my inability to ask him to speak to me first in human, rather than medical words.

I don't feel that I can do this. And that is precisely why I am expressing my fear in a safe place: here.

As I sit writing this post, I know that one week from now at this time
I will be lying in my hospital bed, the revision surgery over.

Up until today, I have felt relatively calm and gone about my daily life without too many moments of fear. I just came back from a one-week vacation with my family. We went "home" to visit with old friends and my husband's family. It was a hectic visit and we now feel rather worn out, but at the same time it was wonderful to see everyone. I did all the driving, racking up almost 1,400 kilometres in 8 days. Fortunately, I am very comfortable driving. In fact, the surgery has made driving long distances much easier to do. I find it strange that I no longer have pain driving and have a small but noticeable (at least for me) increase in range of motion since having had the surgery. It was actually "successful" in certain ways but overall, due to the fact that I cannot walk without crutches, it has been a terrible failure.

I used two crutches throughout my vacation time and now that I am home, for the most part I am continuing to rely on this maximum support. Psychologically, I can accept this situation since I know that I am about to go for surgery. It would be much more difficult to accept if I knew it was forever.

I sent out a general e-mail to a number of friends and colleagues, informing them of my upcoming surgery. I have received many messages of good wishes and support in return. It is truly touching to know how many people are cheering me on.

But as I sit here I do feel fear. Not even my surgeon really knows what is going on inside. Although he suspects it is a loose stem, he will only find out for sure once he opens me up. I find this very frightening. On the plus side, I found out recently from a friend who is also facing a much too early revision that my surgeon is known in medical circles as the "king of revisions". I suppose I cannot ask for more.

I have avoided doing too much reading on the actual process of replacing the stem and on the expected outcome. Statistics, as I have learned the hard way, are meaningless. Only the actual result is significant.

The moment I fear the most is waking up from the surgery. The first time around I don't even remember the surgeon greeting me. As I recall, his first words were to inform me that they had fractured my femur. I have to admit that I dread what his first words will be this time. If I remember to do so, I will ask him to at least say hello before telling me how it went.

I think the most important thing I can do this week is try as hard as possible to visualize a good outcome. This is not an easy task but I must at least attempt to do so. I will also continue to allow myself to express my feelings in this forum. I feel that I owe it to myself to both express the fear and encourage myself to hope.

My cat is sleeping peacefully on the windowsill, right behind my computer screen. She is calm yet alert. Admirable.