Almost 3 months have passed. Lots of ups and downs. Lots of changes. Reminds me of that Beatles’ song, A Long and Winding Road. Anyway, it appears I’ve reached that point in my recovery where progress happens glacially. Instead of celebrating accomplishments like driving a car or ditching my crutches, I have to be content with 2 degree increases in my flexion. That’s like winning the World Series one week, and then trying to get excited about playing in the old man softball league.
The other downside, of course, is that material for my blog is diminishing. It’s tough to fill an entire post about graduating to 4-inch step-ups from 2-inch ones. But I’ll keep trying. I’ll probably transition to brief, bullet-point updates like this one. As always, I’m playing these developments by ear.
• The knee generally feels ok. People keep asking me if it “hurts.” Not really, though the knee gets tired and achy if I don’t rest or ice it regularly. The osteotomy, however, bothers me. The two screws in the tibia are visible when I wear shorts. Seriously, you can see slight bulges, like speed-bumps, on my shin. I don’t expect people to stare at my legs, but they kinda stand out like a third eye. The lateral side (ie, the outside part of my knee, not to be confused with the medial, or inside, part of my knee) sometimes feels like it’s stretched so tight that it’s gonna pop through the skin. I hope that doesn’t happen. It would be really weird if metal screws burst from my leg in the middle of the grocery store aisle. Clean-up in aisle four might be a bit embarrassing.
• 1-legged step-ups and 1-legged mini-squats (no deeper than 45 degrees) are killing me. It’s as much mental as physical. I’m convinced my knee will shatter if I bend any further. But I also have to remember not to push it. The knee is still healing.
• You know how your body twitches slightly during a morning yawn? Well, my gimpy leg convulses like it went into epileptic shock. Very freaky, and not in a good, freaky way like an insane stripper.
• My flexion continues to increase slowly. It reached 125 degrees on Wednesday. I hit 121-122 degrees with no problem, but Judy crunched my leg another 3 degrees. One of these days I’m gonna start crying. Or punch Judy in the face really hard. Not sure which.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Going Brace-less
Ding dong, the brace is dead. Well, not completely. But the surgeon gave me the go-ahead to ditch the brace whenever I feel comfortable. Over the next week or so, I’ll begin weaning myself off the brace. I’ll wear the brace whenever I work out, or if there’s a chance 7-year olds could barrel into my knee, but I’ll slowly increase the amount of time I function brace-less.
Other than the approval to ditch the brace, the surgeon really didn’t note anything substantive with my knee at my last appointment. He was pleased with my flexion – now at 122 degrees; he noted the knee bent “normally”; he felt my quad strength was on track; and he thought the osteotomy was healing well, though he commented that the 2 screws were visible. I’m not sure how that may impact my eventual recovery. My knee also makes a “clicking” sound when it reaches about 60 degrees in extension, which concerns me. Turgeon, however, said the clicking is normal. As long as it doesn’t hurt or hinder my extension, he’s not concerned. It turns out my good knee clicks, too, though not as loud or as often.
On Thursday, I wore a suit to an office meeting with defense counsel. I completed the ensemble by wearing my black brace outside my pants and tennis shoes. Picture “Monet’s ‘The Man in the Flannel Suit’ meets Mad Max meets Larry David.” I’m pretty sure you’ll see this look in an upcoming GQ. I just hope fashion designers properly credit me.
There is some downside to ditching the brace, of course. I’ll no longer be allowed to wear track pants and tennis shoes to the office. Nothing says government worker like black Nike track pants, white Asic running shoes and a tucked-in polo shirt. I thought about by tattooing GS-14 onto my neck to transform this look into “government chic,” but decided that might be taking things a bit too far.
Without the brace, I’m also going to feel a bit uncomfortable parking in handicapped spots. I’ve discovered that thirty-somethings emerging from SUVs in handicapped spots generate puzzled – even irritated – looks from strangers. But this anger usually disappeared when they spotted my gigantic knee brace. In other words, the brace provided me cover to park there. I’m not ready to give up my prime sparking spot just because I no longer wear the brace. I’m still limping, and the knee gets sore if I walk extended distances. Plus, I like quoting Bob Ueker, “I must be in the front row,” every time we head to the mall or out to dinner.
Thursday was an unofficial American holiday – the start of March Madness. Personally, I think the government should trade Columbus Day for March Madness Day. That’s just me. For only the 2nd or 3rd time since 1995, I didn’t celebrate this holiday in Vegas or at a sports bar. Actually, I didn’t even watch the games or fill out a bracket. You know the saying, if a tree falls in a forest and there’s nobody around to hear it, does it make a sound? Well, if I’m not screaming at some scrub to hit his free throws at the end of a 30-point blowout because I need his team to cover 31 points, is March Madness really happening? Anyway, I hope the knee heals in time for next year’s March Madness, because I miss spending 12-hours straight in the Venetian lounge, surrounded by buddies, Amstel Lites, cocktail waitresses and betting slips…
Other than the approval to ditch the brace, the surgeon really didn’t note anything substantive with my knee at my last appointment. He was pleased with my flexion – now at 122 degrees; he noted the knee bent “normally”; he felt my quad strength was on track; and he thought the osteotomy was healing well, though he commented that the 2 screws were visible. I’m not sure how that may impact my eventual recovery. My knee also makes a “clicking” sound when it reaches about 60 degrees in extension, which concerns me. Turgeon, however, said the clicking is normal. As long as it doesn’t hurt or hinder my extension, he’s not concerned. It turns out my good knee clicks, too, though not as loud or as often.
On Thursday, I wore a suit to an office meeting with defense counsel. I completed the ensemble by wearing my black brace outside my pants and tennis shoes. Picture “Monet’s ‘The Man in the Flannel Suit’ meets Mad Max meets Larry David.” I’m pretty sure you’ll see this look in an upcoming GQ. I just hope fashion designers properly credit me.
There is some downside to ditching the brace, of course. I’ll no longer be allowed to wear track pants and tennis shoes to the office. Nothing says government worker like black Nike track pants, white Asic running shoes and a tucked-in polo shirt. I thought about by tattooing GS-14 onto my neck to transform this look into “government chic,” but decided that might be taking things a bit too far.
Without the brace, I’m also going to feel a bit uncomfortable parking in handicapped spots. I’ve discovered that thirty-somethings emerging from SUVs in handicapped spots generate puzzled – even irritated – looks from strangers. But this anger usually disappeared when they spotted my gigantic knee brace. In other words, the brace provided me cover to park there. I’m not ready to give up my prime sparking spot just because I no longer wear the brace. I’m still limping, and the knee gets sore if I walk extended distances. Plus, I like quoting Bob Ueker, “I must be in the front row,” every time we head to the mall or out to dinner.
Thursday was an unofficial American holiday – the start of March Madness. Personally, I think the government should trade Columbus Day for March Madness Day. That’s just me. For only the 2nd or 3rd time since 1995, I didn’t celebrate this holiday in Vegas or at a sports bar. Actually, I didn’t even watch the games or fill out a bracket. You know the saying, if a tree falls in a forest and there’s nobody around to hear it, does it make a sound? Well, if I’m not screaming at some scrub to hit his free throws at the end of a 30-point blowout because I need his team to cover 31 points, is March Madness really happening? Anyway, I hope the knee heals in time for next year’s March Madness, because I miss spending 12-hours straight in the Venetian lounge, surrounded by buddies, Amstel Lites, cocktail waitresses and betting slips…
Monday, March 16, 2009
A Quickie -- 10 1/2 Weeks Update
I had planned on doing an update last week – at 9 ½ weeks – but I was busy with Kim Basinger. Buh-dum bum. Also note the double entendre in the title, “Quickie.” Heheheheh…I’m on a roll today.
After my flexion setback at last Monday’s PT session, I rebounded nicely on Friday. I hit 118 degrees with minimal effort. And then today (Monday), I hit 117 degrees completely on my own, and 120 with Judy’s assistance. Trust me -- those extra 3 degrees aren’t worth the agony. Anyway, I’m pretty much back on track, probably 5 or so degrees behind schedule, largely because of my slow-healing osteotomy. I consider myself within the margin of error.
I had stopped doing step-ups for a few days. My knee just didn’t feel right afterwards. No sharp pains, fortunately, and pain is always the guide. That’s gonna be my new bumper sticker – “Pain is my guide.” It’ll go right next to, “My kid beat up your honor roll kid.” I did heel touches today with no issues, so that’s a good sign. For heel touches, my gimpy leg rests atop a low-level aerobics bench (I moved up from the phonebook), and I “squat” 2-3 inches until my left heel touches the ground. Repeat 40x. Real good times.
The knee remains slightly swollen, though I can finally see the contours of the knee cap. The knee no longer looks like a watermelon; it looks more like a grapefruit. The outside part of the knee is still a bit numb. Neither the surgeon or Judy is concerned, however. Apparently some swelling is expected for months afterward. It also feels like there might be some minor fluid build-up below my knee. The surgeon thinks there’s not enough to aspirate, which he’d prefer to avoid under normal circumstances, but will keep an eye on it at future visits. He also said the potential fluid is outside the joint, which is a good thing.
My next appointment with the surgeon, coincidentally, is Wednesday. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I’m supposed to get the brace off. Keep your fingers crossed. Man, 11 weeks. That’s ¾ of a football season.
After my flexion setback at last Monday’s PT session, I rebounded nicely on Friday. I hit 118 degrees with minimal effort. And then today (Monday), I hit 117 degrees completely on my own, and 120 with Judy’s assistance. Trust me -- those extra 3 degrees aren’t worth the agony. Anyway, I’m pretty much back on track, probably 5 or so degrees behind schedule, largely because of my slow-healing osteotomy. I consider myself within the margin of error.
I had stopped doing step-ups for a few days. My knee just didn’t feel right afterwards. No sharp pains, fortunately, and pain is always the guide. That’s gonna be my new bumper sticker – “Pain is my guide.” It’ll go right next to, “My kid beat up your honor roll kid.” I did heel touches today with no issues, so that’s a good sign. For heel touches, my gimpy leg rests atop a low-level aerobics bench (I moved up from the phonebook), and I “squat” 2-3 inches until my left heel touches the ground. Repeat 40x. Real good times.
The knee remains slightly swollen, though I can finally see the contours of the knee cap. The knee no longer looks like a watermelon; it looks more like a grapefruit. The outside part of the knee is still a bit numb. Neither the surgeon or Judy is concerned, however. Apparently some swelling is expected for months afterward. It also feels like there might be some minor fluid build-up below my knee. The surgeon thinks there’s not enough to aspirate, which he’d prefer to avoid under normal circumstances, but will keep an eye on it at future visits. He also said the potential fluid is outside the joint, which is a good thing.
My next appointment with the surgeon, coincidentally, is Wednesday. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I’m supposed to get the brace off. Keep your fingers crossed. Man, 11 weeks. That’s ¾ of a football season.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Recovery Thoughts and PT Woes
At various points during my recovery, I’ve compared my situation to pregnancy, the elderly and newborns. Well, I’m going to add one more family analogy to the list.
Over the past 10 weeks, I’ve experienced several “firsts” -- accomplishments that made me feel like a proud papa: the first time I peed in the toilet, not the urinal bottle. My first shower, with and without the brace. My first steps without crutches. My first poop without the raised toilet seat. The first time I put on my own socks and shoes. My first shower standing up. Driving. The list goes on and on. Initially, I celebrated each “first” like I was Prince in 1999. But each successive accomplishment brought a less boisterous celebration. Now I no longer even notice, let alone cheer, my “firsts.”
And then it hit me – my experience is a lot like the second child syndrome, or the “Second Kid Shaft,” as I call it. The firstborn gets totally spoiled, right? His baby album is packed with mementos. Locks of hair from the first haircut. 12 rolls of film from the first birthday party. Designer pacifiers. The works. The second kid? Ehh, not so much. I vaguely remember saying, “Oh look. Kid #2 took her first steps. Great job, sweetie. Hey, isn’t Roadhouse on TNT now?” And that’s how I feel right now. I’m taking every new milestone for granted.
Ok, time to share my PT woes. Monday’s session was brutal. Two weeks ago Judy measured my knee flexion at 116 degrees, about where it needed to be. I asked Judy for another measurement on Monday so I could gauge my progress; I’m supposed to be at 120-125 degrees. My knee, however, wasn’t cooperating. It was stiff, like a creaky old man struggling to get off his rocker. I probably over-extended myself a bit on Sunday taking the kids to the playground and loading baseballs into the pitching machine. I wasn’t break-dancing or anything, but I did spend 2 hours straight on my feet, and perhaps that was enough.
Judy was determined to loosen up my knee. Her initial efforts, however, failed to produce the desired flexion. About 45 minutes into our session, she declared, “we’ll need to work on it some more after you finish your exercises. The flexion’s just not there, so it doesn’t make sense to measure it now.” Sounded like a good gameplan to me.
I plowed through the rest of my leg lifts and baby step-ups without incident, and then I hopped onto the bike for 10 minutes to loosen up again, before returning to the dreaded stretching table.
Judy’s expression announced her fierce determination to massage my knee to 120 degrees. Uh-oh. I felt like one of those captured Vietnam War soldiers in Missing in Action. In my middle school dreams, I was always Chuck Norris, delivering a roundhouse kick the prison camp warden. This time, however, I knew I was one of the wimpy privates groveling for mercy. I would’ve thrown the rest of my squadron under the bus if that meant saving my own skin. If you get stuck in a foxhole with me, we’re both screwed.
Prone on the table, Judy towered above me. She latched onto my ankle, slowly pushing it toward my body, gripping my thigh for increased leverage. Basically, my knee felt like an accordion. She gradually bent my leg further, until it reached a certain point where any further and I would’ve gone into shock. Unfortunately, that point wasn’t the desired 120+ degrees.
If Judy’s therapy room was the prisoner camp, this would’ve been the scene where I begged for mercy from the prison warden. Or asked Chuck to roundhouse kick Judy. Either one works. But Chuck wasn’t coming to my rescue. Instead, I was powerless as Judy tried to bust through my breaking point.
I learned something about pain, and I’m not talking about the “soreness” you get after a hard workout. This is real pain, the kind of pain that produces involuntary reactions. No matter how hard I tried, each time my knee reached a certain point I (a) lurched off the table, and (b) screamed out whatever word was on the tip of my tongue. Because I have a potty mouth, that normally meant some version of the f-bomb. Dropping f-bombs, of course, won’t endear me to Judy, and I really didn’t want to upset or offend her. After all, she was the one bending my surgically repaired knee. But despite my best breathing techniques and other Jedi-like relaxation exercises, I couldn’t control myself. It was kinda like Tourette’s Syndrome mixed with f-bombs. The obscenities were coming, rapidly and loudly.
Fortunately, I’m a relatively quick thinker. I realized that my word choice was involuntary – I’d blurt out whatever was on my mind at the precise moment the pain kicked in. So I decided to clear my mind of everything but the one word I’d scream out. I tried to pick something benign, like Dan Ackroyd did at the end of Ghostbusters. It didn’t work out exactly as planned, though the Stay Puff Marshmellow Man didn’t show up. Despite focusing intently on surfing and the ocean, I wound up screaming out various versions of the Lord’s name. They weren’t the best choices in front of a religious lady, but at least they didn’t rhyme with “brother-trucker.”
Despite Judy’s best efforts, my knee bent only 115 degrees, about where it was 2 weeks ago. Unfortunately, this was a “difficult” 115, unlike the relative ease with which I hit 116 the last time we measured. Ugh. Looks like I’ve got some more torture sessions in my future…
Over the past 10 weeks, I’ve experienced several “firsts” -- accomplishments that made me feel like a proud papa: the first time I peed in the toilet, not the urinal bottle. My first shower, with and without the brace. My first steps without crutches. My first poop without the raised toilet seat. The first time I put on my own socks and shoes. My first shower standing up. Driving. The list goes on and on. Initially, I celebrated each “first” like I was Prince in 1999. But each successive accomplishment brought a less boisterous celebration. Now I no longer even notice, let alone cheer, my “firsts.”
And then it hit me – my experience is a lot like the second child syndrome, or the “Second Kid Shaft,” as I call it. The firstborn gets totally spoiled, right? His baby album is packed with mementos. Locks of hair from the first haircut. 12 rolls of film from the first birthday party. Designer pacifiers. The works. The second kid? Ehh, not so much. I vaguely remember saying, “Oh look. Kid #2 took her first steps. Great job, sweetie. Hey, isn’t Roadhouse on TNT now?” And that’s how I feel right now. I’m taking every new milestone for granted.
Ok, time to share my PT woes. Monday’s session was brutal. Two weeks ago Judy measured my knee flexion at 116 degrees, about where it needed to be. I asked Judy for another measurement on Monday so I could gauge my progress; I’m supposed to be at 120-125 degrees. My knee, however, wasn’t cooperating. It was stiff, like a creaky old man struggling to get off his rocker. I probably over-extended myself a bit on Sunday taking the kids to the playground and loading baseballs into the pitching machine. I wasn’t break-dancing or anything, but I did spend 2 hours straight on my feet, and perhaps that was enough.
Judy was determined to loosen up my knee. Her initial efforts, however, failed to produce the desired flexion. About 45 minutes into our session, she declared, “we’ll need to work on it some more after you finish your exercises. The flexion’s just not there, so it doesn’t make sense to measure it now.” Sounded like a good gameplan to me.
I plowed through the rest of my leg lifts and baby step-ups without incident, and then I hopped onto the bike for 10 minutes to loosen up again, before returning to the dreaded stretching table.
Judy’s expression announced her fierce determination to massage my knee to 120 degrees. Uh-oh. I felt like one of those captured Vietnam War soldiers in Missing in Action. In my middle school dreams, I was always Chuck Norris, delivering a roundhouse kick the prison camp warden. This time, however, I knew I was one of the wimpy privates groveling for mercy. I would’ve thrown the rest of my squadron under the bus if that meant saving my own skin. If you get stuck in a foxhole with me, we’re both screwed.
Prone on the table, Judy towered above me. She latched onto my ankle, slowly pushing it toward my body, gripping my thigh for increased leverage. Basically, my knee felt like an accordion. She gradually bent my leg further, until it reached a certain point where any further and I would’ve gone into shock. Unfortunately, that point wasn’t the desired 120+ degrees.
If Judy’s therapy room was the prisoner camp, this would’ve been the scene where I begged for mercy from the prison warden. Or asked Chuck to roundhouse kick Judy. Either one works. But Chuck wasn’t coming to my rescue. Instead, I was powerless as Judy tried to bust through my breaking point.
I learned something about pain, and I’m not talking about the “soreness” you get after a hard workout. This is real pain, the kind of pain that produces involuntary reactions. No matter how hard I tried, each time my knee reached a certain point I (a) lurched off the table, and (b) screamed out whatever word was on the tip of my tongue. Because I have a potty mouth, that normally meant some version of the f-bomb. Dropping f-bombs, of course, won’t endear me to Judy, and I really didn’t want to upset or offend her. After all, she was the one bending my surgically repaired knee. But despite my best breathing techniques and other Jedi-like relaxation exercises, I couldn’t control myself. It was kinda like Tourette’s Syndrome mixed with f-bombs. The obscenities were coming, rapidly and loudly.
Fortunately, I’m a relatively quick thinker. I realized that my word choice was involuntary – I’d blurt out whatever was on my mind at the precise moment the pain kicked in. So I decided to clear my mind of everything but the one word I’d scream out. I tried to pick something benign, like Dan Ackroyd did at the end of Ghostbusters. It didn’t work out exactly as planned, though the Stay Puff Marshmellow Man didn’t show up. Despite focusing intently on surfing and the ocean, I wound up screaming out various versions of the Lord’s name. They weren’t the best choices in front of a religious lady, but at least they didn’t rhyme with “brother-trucker.”
Despite Judy’s best efforts, my knee bent only 115 degrees, about where it was 2 weeks ago. Unfortunately, this was a “difficult” 115, unlike the relative ease with which I hit 116 the last time we measured. Ugh. Looks like I’ve got some more torture sessions in my future…
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Good-bye to an Old Friend
Ding dong, the CPM is dead! Or to tweak Al Pacino’s famous quote from Scarface, “Say good-bye to my little friend!” Real quick: have you ever seen an athlete’s or rapper’s house on MTV’s Cribz without a Scarface poster? Yeah, me neither.
Over the past 8 weeks, I spent more time with this machine than with my wife or kids. 6-8 hours/day. Brutal. I didn’t want to return the CPM; I wanted to blow it up. Anyway, I no longer needed the CPM once my knee reached a certain flexion. Here's a picture of my leg in the CPM.
Over the past 8 weeks, I spent more time with this machine than with my wife or kids. 6-8 hours/day. Brutal. I didn’t want to return the CPM; I wanted to blow it up. Anyway, I no longer needed the CPM once my knee reached a certain flexion. Here's a picture of my leg in the CPM.
My quest for normalcy continues to creep along. With Christina’s blessing, I graduated from Driver’s Ed and got my license last week. I’m back on the roads with no restrictions. So far, I haven’t run over any cats like my friend, Lori, did. I also started taking showers standing up. I’m much cleaner now. I kinda miss my shower seat, however. There’s something comforting about sitting down in the shower. Try it some time. I guess I’ve got something to look forward to when I hit 90.
I’m still wearing the knee brace. I meet again with my surgeon in 2 weeks. Hopefully it’ll come off. But as I’ve learned the hard way already, I’m not counting on it. I think my knee’s ready to handle it; I’m just waiting on the osteotomy to fully heal. Frankly, that’s a bit frustrating because I’ve got no control over how the bone heals. You can’t rehab a bone wedge.
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