The Chills

Every morning or evening (sometimes both), I take a leisurely stroll around the bedroom. It’s kind of like mall walking, except that I’m on crutches and I don’t travel further than 20 yards. Plus, it takes about 10x as long to get ready for the walk and the subsequent “cool-down,” as it does to crutch around the room.

After 5 days, we’ve developed a pretty decent routine to get out of the bed. I sleep on the right side of the bed, closest to the door and the bathroom. When I roll out of bed (not literally, of course; that would hurt. Plus, I’m not 3 years old), I lead with my gimpy right knee.

First, Christina “clears the runway,” moving anything clogging up the area surrounding the bed. I slowly sit up completely erect. Christina gingerly places both hands under my right leg and, using my left leg as a propeller, I pivot my butt sideways until Christina guides the right leg to the edge of the bed. Sometimes we do this in one shot; sometimes it takes 2-3 slides/shuffles. Eventually I reach the edge of the side of the bed, with both feet dangling over. My right leg, however, is not allowed to touch the floor, or “bear weight.” The only time my right leg touches the floor is when I use my big toe for balance. Christina hands me both crutches, and, exploding off my left leg, I hoist myself up to my feet, keeping my crutches splayed at wider than normal angles for increased balance. I generally pause for a moment after standing up, to ensure I don’t immediately topple over with sudden dizziness. For normal, able-bodied folks, this process should take no more than 2 seconds; 3 tops. It takes me a little more than 2 minutes, and then another 30 seconds to recover before beginning my lap.

Standing up really isn’t that painful, so long as I avoid any odd tweaks to the knee. Or if Christina gets angry at me and drops my leg, which hasn’t happened. Yet. Standing up, however, releases all the pent-up blood flow that remained idle while I was flat on my back, creating a monotonous throbbing pain throughout my leg. Pain, I can handle. Even if my shin hurts, I simply find my happy place. Immediately. Like I’ve said before, the screws inserted during the osteotomy hurt the worst.

Once I regain the color to my face, it’s time to begin my leisurely crutching stroll. After gathering my composure, I slowly crutch my way left, down the side of the bed, squeezing my crutches between the edge of the bed post and the oversized green chair our neighbors gave us last year. Christina loves reading in this chair. From there, I continue my counter-clockwise movement to crutch along the foot of the bed, which stretches about 6 yards, or a good Adrian Peterson carry. I could turn left again back down the far side of the bed, but the alley there is a bit narrow and by this point I’m running out of gas.

It’s time to turn around. Looking like the talented hip-hop artist I secretly am, I pivot around 180 degrees on my left foot in 3 or 4 choreographed hops, until I’m facing the opposite direction. Actually, I’m really not that rhythmic, so this is when I fear falling down the most. I maneuver my way back to my starting point, with my butt resting on the side of the bed. Again, I take a few moments to recover from my strenuous outing. Phew, crutching back-and-forth across the bedroom really taxes the body. It’s my personal Ironman Challenge. I just don’t want to be the guy on the highlight shows who spasms across the finish line in complete darkness.

Normally, this activity is notable only for the times I tweak my knee or shin bone. Last night, however, was a different story. After I returned to my prone position on the bed, I suffered from a terrible case of the chills. My teeth chattered for 10 minutes, like one of those denture props given as gag gifts. The symptoms were so over-the-top that a stranger easily would’ve thought I was faking. I couldn’t stop shaking. My chest and legs convulsed uncontrollably. Even my bum knee shook, which frightened me, though it didn’t cause any pain. In some ways, it was kinda cute seeing my gimpy knee wiggle inside the mammoth knee brace, like watching a small child playfully struggle in the strong arms of a parent. For unknown reasons, I tried to picture my knee in a tuxedo t-shirt because, as Ricky Bobby said, a tuxedo t-shirt says “I want to be formal, but I’m here to party.” Like I said, drugs make people think of odd things. You can only imagine what the vicodin is doing to my already distorted mind.

My body just felt like it got pulled from the Artic. Not even the magical Tiger blanket Nanna gave me as a child could keep me warm. I mean, Tiger blanket cures all. Not this time.

Eventually the chills stopped, and life returned to normal. Well, as “normal” as ACI recovery can be. I guess my body finally exuded the yoga-esque calmness needed to end the shakes. A few minutes later I finished Disc 2 of Season One of Mad Men. Great show. Anyway, very odd way to end the day.

My first PT visit is tomorrow (Wednesday). I have no expectations, only that the actual therapy session will hurt, as will getting in and out of the car. So far, I’ve encountered no major difficulties with the CPM machine. I’ve steadily increased my ROM 5 degrees/day, as instructed, going from 30 degrees on the night of the surgery to 60 degrees today. In other words, I remain “on schedule” through week one of my anticipated 78-week rehab (1 ½ years) schedule.