A Happy Hipster?

‘Do not raise your knee above hip level…” said my exercise sheet.

“Are yer kidding, mate? I’ve no idea how it’ll get any higher than my ankle!” I yelled.

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In my post, ‘Ouch! I’ve got the hippy hippy shakes’, I shared my experiences as I awaited my Total Hip Replacement. Sure enough, it took place on 23^rd September at The Spire in Elland, where I was an NHS patient in a private hospital. I emerged from a deep stupor brought on by an epidural anaesthetic, to be told all had gone to plan.

My ambitious consultant had discussed my being home the same evening, but I needed to stay overnight because my bladder had been anaesthetised during the op. A lot of fluids are pumped into the body, and these exceeded my storage capacity – only I couldn’t feel my bladder, merely a pain in my abdomen. The nurse looking after me straightaway realised what was wrong and fitted me with a catheter, which stayed in until 6 a.m. I was well cared for throughout, and was discharged around midday after passing my Grand Old Duke of York test, walking half way down the stairs. 

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I remember touring the Tower of London on a family visit. The dungeon provided a grim reminder of the instruments of torture endured by previous generations of prisoners; shackles, manacles, cages and much, much worse…

Modern surgery is different for two basic reasons. Firstly, anaesthetics and pain relief. Secondly, the smiling faces and attentiveness of medical staff. But for the recovering hip replacement patient, there are comparisons. Here’s a taster:

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1. Exercises, to be performed 4 times a day. Stand behind a chair, keep your back straight, and do 10 repeats of these 6 movements that, between them, cover those performed by a hip. You don’t look forward to them, I can vouch for that, although they do get easier. I’m now (after 10 days) two-thirds of the way towards lifting my knee to hip height…  

2. Getting Into Bed. Remember how once I just lifted up the covers and hopped underneath? Oh no, matey – it’s covers off, sit at the edge of the bed and shuffle back, then loop my right (operated side) foot around my dressing-gown cord. Hold, take a deep breath, and pull my bad leg onto the bed. Shuffle into position. Phew!

3. Lying In Bed. You’ve got to lie on your back. But no longer is this simple ‘cos your bottom feels like there’s a lump of rock underneath. Hence my complex array of pillows and cushions designed to take weight off it (and for the same reason I can’t concentrate on the Wordle any longer when I go to the loo. Too painful).

4. Lying in bed with Elevated Feet: All too late I realised my leg was expanding because surgery makes the soft tissues swell up, slowing down the flow of blood and lymph back into the circulation. Now I’ve got one human and one elephant leg! I experimented with putting frozen peas on my thigh for a while, but when I called the hospital they suggested this wasn’t the best method. So, twice a day I lie in bed with pillows rearranged to raise my feet above my hip and heart. I’ve also set out my stall to drink a litre of (boring old) water every day, as well as the tea, Rooibos, coffee and juice that I normally have.

5. Donning my socks and shoes. This is an art, and requires me not to be in a rush! A friend, Jan, send me details of the handy Helping Hands Soxon Sock Aid. You place your sock on, then wiggle your toes down inside whilst gently pulling the cords. It works well provided the socks are roomy enough.

I’ve bought shoes with elasticated sides that don’t need lacing, and a smart orange shoehorn.

6. Picking stuff off the floor. They give you a grabber which works well. But what if you drop your grabber itself onto the floor? I’ve had to devise a set of complicated manoeuvres to deal with such inconvenient occurrences.  

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I’m having to learn patience. On Tuesday, 7 days after my op, I ‘overdid it’ in my enthusiasm to recover quickly. Jane was ill in bed for a day, so I was keen to demonstrate how well I was coping. I put out the recycling. I walked down to church to be there whilst the boiler was serviced. I made myself snacks. I fed our hen…and that’s when I realised my leg was swollen and I needed to rest. No, my body needs time to knit itself back together. Exercises, yes; but with my duties, I’m having to learn again to lean in on the kindness of Jane, daughter Helen, and others.

“Tea and toast?” calls Jane’s cheerful voice through the bedroom door at 8 a.m each morning. ‘Normal Me’ would have cooked our breakfast eggs and have served them on the dining table at 7:45. But I’ve had to accept that this is a time for letting others serve me. There’s a modern hymn that begins,

A grace that I need right now.