The Hippy Hippy Shakes (ouch!)

The cover photo is generated by AI. All the pictures within the post are Stock Images.

“So, can I dismount by swinging my left leg over his back instead of my right?” I asked.

“Well…we can try it, but it’s not the conventional way and Donald won’t be expecting that,” said Mia, my instructor. “I’ll hold him steady whilst you get off.”

It took about a minute and a half until I finally – painfully – pulled my leg over the horse’s body. This was my last ride. I gave Donald his customary carrot, stroked his head and – very sadly – said goodbye.

-o-O-o-

It was almost a year since I’d first been aware of a sore right thigh, in addition to my stiff back. Was it a muscle or tendon? All I could tell was that it was becoming increasingly difficult to spread my legs apart (as a rider has to do), to climb up steps, to walk. I could no longer cycle up steep hills. I’d seen the doctor in April just before we set off for Canada, where mercifully I was able to keep up with Jane, sister Di and partner Darrel on the trails. 

A fortnight after our return on 16^th May, I had a pelvic scan that clearly showed ‘moderate’ arthritis in my right hip. The doctor referred me to an orthopaedic surgeon. Shortly afterwards, I suddenly deteriorated. I began to need the help of a walking stick. I couldn’t swim using my right leg. I had to massively increase my use of painkillers (Paracetamol and Iboprofen tablets plus gel), and couldn’t find a comfortable sleeping position. The doctor heeded my cries for help and gave me Codeine.

  I was mercifully blessed to have only a 3-week wait for a consultation. The surgeon sent me for another X-ray and then continued his diagnostic tests by yanking my leg this way and that, causing me to yell, “Yee-Ouch!” The X-ray showed further deterioration. My joint’s knackered; there’s no cartilage left. No doubt what’s needed…

And, mercifully, I’ve been given an operation date, 23^rd September, written on our calendar in LARGE LETTERS.        

-o-O-o-

It’s an education being in my condition. The lawn needs mowing. ‘Previous Me’ would just slip out of the door, set up and do the job. ‘Present Me’ contemplates the herculean effort involved in putting on my outdoor shoes. A chair is too high, and I can’t easily bend. It has to be a low stool. I hobble up the garden steps to the shed. The mower feels 2 stone heavier than a year ago, as I have to rely on my left leg to support most of my weight.

Going to bed is ‘interesting’. I used to look forward to sleep time. Now I have to carefully put my painkillers in order, along with a glass of water. Some to take now, another set for when I wake at 2 a.m, and an additional codeine plus gel if, as as often happens, I wake at 5 a.m.. I have one (and one only) comfortable sleeping position.

We live on a steep hill. When I go down to play music in church, I ask for a lift home with my viola. At the pub, I take the violin as it’s only half as heavy. I walk slowly back up the hill by slinging it over my shoulder, taking a longer, less strenuous route.

I can still ride my trusty push bike on most routes, if more slowly. My surgeon explained that a straight-ahead cycling action is much less affected than lateral movement. Most of my walking is with Helen’s dog Tank, who’s even slower than me. A helpful retired physio pointed out that I need to hold my stick not in my right but in my left hand, and move it in tandem with my bad (right) leg.

-o-O-o-

I’m hoping very much for a new lease of life once I recover from my op. I’m told I must, must, MUST do my exercises religiously, and I shall. But the surgery won’t resolve my lumbar spinal stenosis which makes my back stiff and painful. Mia is confident I’ll be saddling up again; that would be wonderful, but I’m keeping an open mind.

I’m receiving a glimpse of The Next Stage of Life, coping with diminishing strength and vigour. My challenge will be to carefully guard what remains, which is why I’ve joined the gym. But also for Jane and I to gracefully adapt to each new phase of our lives together. And to trust God every bit as much as I’ve always done. Here are two scripture verses that I find a great comfort:

Even to your old age and grey hairs
    I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
    I will sustain you and I will rescue you. (Isaiah 46 verse 4)

and

I was young and now I am old,
    yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken
    or their children begging bread (Psalm 37 verse 25)

I’ll keep you posted!