OS Follow-Up #3 -- 8-Week Update and Other Developments

Some good news, some “ehh” news. Or to be more philosophical, two steps forward, one step backwards. Seems like the story of my recovery.

Ok, the good news first. The surgeon says the knee looks good. I’m on track with my recovery. Flexion’s good (at least 116 degrees). Leg strength is good. The patella’s a bit tight, but the rest of the area around the knee feels fine. The swelling is minimal, and the knee hasn’t gotten swollen after any activities. I got a good report, apparently, from my PT. I say “apparently” because I didn’t see the actual report. But I don’t think Turgeon would make that up. That would be a dick move by a doctor. Anyway, at that point of my visit I was thinking to myself, “Man, this is sounding good.” Turgeon even announced he was ready to open the knee brace to 90 degrees, and noted I was close to ditching the brace.

But then Turgeon pressed down pretty hard on the top of the osteotomy, right below the kneecap where the bone wedge was inserted. I winced. He took another x-ray and determined it still needed to heal further before he was ready to let go of the reins. Instead of rocketing to 90 degrees, he scaled back to 60 degrees, a modest 10 degree increase, though I remained free to increase it 10 degrees/week. That wasn’t the killer. It appears I’m still on track to ditch the brace at the next visit. However, Turgeon told me he wanted to see me back in 3 or 4 weeks, not our usual 2-week interval. Whoa, big fella. Why the extra week? That sucks. So, it turns out I’ll be wearing the brace at least one more week than anticipated. Everything’s fine, but, man, 11 weeks in a brace. Some people switch cars faster than that. And, of course, there’s no guarantee the brace comes off at the next visit. As my New Jersey friends would say, oy vey.

I stepped up things this week in PT, which brought mixed blessings. I’m happy that my recovery is progressing sufficiently that I’m capable of doing more, but somewhat skittish about how my knee handles the increased workload. I added some very minor 1-legged “squats” and step-ups to my usual routine of isometric leg raises. I put quotes around “squats” because my stooping was imperceptible to the naked eye. They don’t make protractors small enough to measure how far I squatted. I still made the requisite grunting and facial expressions of gym meatheads hoisting 600 pounds, but I really looked more like an old person squeezing out a big turd. Sorry for that visual. It was the first thing that came to mind.

The step-ups were even more humbling. Normally, you see folks stepping onto benches 2- and 3- feet high, often holding dumbbells in each hand. Not me. I placed my right leg atop a phone book – yes, a phone book. Remember the Yellow Pages before the internet? – and slowly lowered my left leg a whopping 1 ½ inches to the floor until my heel touched down. Repeat 25 times. And this tired out my leg. Please hug me the next time you see me.

I also waded into the pool for the first time. After a decent 25-minute workout lifting weights – I’m actually proud to report I’m slowly regaining my strength – I cooled down with some pool walking.

24 Hour Fitness offers three, 25-meter swimming lanes. Actually, I’m guessing they’re 25 meters long. I’ve never swum before, and I don’t do the Metric System.

Each lane is about 2-arms’ lengths wide, with a line down the middle creating 2 mini-lanes within a lane. When I arrived, 4 serious swimmers occupied the pool. One of the girls actually wore a New Zealand swim cap. I notice things like this. I also noticed her ridiculous body when she got out of the pool. I tried to disguise my ogling from Christina (who had accompanied me) by commenting on the aerodynamic texture of her swimsuit. I don’t think I fooled her.

Anyway, after removing my brace I dangled my legs over the edge of a pool lane used by a Serious Swimmer. If you’ve seen swimmers at the gym, you’ll understand what I’m talking about. I’m not knocking them. All of the Serious Swimmers seemed far more friendly than the typical gym-goer. In fact, after seeing my predicament, Serious Swimmer simply nodded to me during one of his flip-turns and moved over to the far half of the swim lane. When have you have ever seen a meathead offer to share any of the 15 dummbells he hogged?

I slowly lowered myself into the pool, landing on my good leg. My gimpy leg touched down a moment later, as I gingerly placed weight onto right leg for the first time in 8 weeks without the aid of a brace. I realized the water’s buoyancy would alleviate the stress placed on my knee, but part of me still feared that it would buckle underwater. Didn’t happen. After a few steps to gather my balance, I glided down the length of the pool. As the water levels rose from 3 feet to 4 ½ feet, the resistance increased and I was forced to concentrate a bit more to walk normally. Yes, I needed to concentrate just to walk normally. Humbling, I know. The pool actually is 5 feet deep at the far end, but I stopped at the 4 ½ foot marker, about 15 feet, er, I mean 5 meters from the wall. Touching the far wall and turning around seemed inappropriate. I wasn’t walking fast enough to justify simulating a normal race. Plus I was wearing floaties on my arms. You know, just in case.

I walked up-and-down the swim lane about 5 times, getting lapped repeatedly by Serious Swimmer. Show off. I made sure the water got real choppy every time he passed me.

Pool-walking actually felt good, even if I felt dorky with my slow motion pace. It eliminated, or at least, severely reduced, my normal limp. Now that I can drive, I plan on pool-walking more often.

Surprisingly, getting out of the pool wasn’t tricky. With my back to the wall and palms pressing down, I lifted myself out of the water, basically doing an exercise called, a dip. I immediately swung my legs over the wall onto a pre-positioned towel. It took a little longer than normal to dry off because I was seated the entire time, but I managed to avoid injuring myself. The only unusual thing was how the chlorine turned my scar a freakish purple. Other than the plum-colored knee, I thought things worked out well.