It was Road Trip time today. The first adventure for the bionic knee. Christina, Livi and I piled into Christina’s Sequoia for a trip to Northpark Mall. This was the first time I loaded myself into the Sequoia. Christina’s been driving her sister’s Subaru Impreza, which is much lower to the ground and thus easier to enter. But I deftly managed to yank on the “oh, shit” handles to pull myself up to the running boards, before butt-scooting across the back seat. Livi sat in the 3rd row. We conveniently found front-row parking at the mall, or, as a confused former colleague calls it, “porn star parking.” Don’t ask.
It was a pathetically short trip to the mall. I practiced placing 25% of my weight on my gimpy knee, which means octogenarians in walkers sped past me. I half-crutched, half-lumbered my way through Nordstrom’s and about 40 feet to the elevator. Totally wiped out. Livi grew frustrated waiting for my slow ass to catch up. After another 30 or so feet, I needed to rest on one of the wooden benches. I propped up my leg and struggled to gather my strength. 3-minute breather, I told myself. That’s all I need. I crutched another 30 feet before realizing I was done for the day. I felt like I had just finished one of those legendary workouts from the movie, “300.” And all I did was drag my gimpy knee a few hundred feet. Brutal.
The trip back to the car was deliberate and uneventful. Nobody plowed me over, and I didn’t face-plant at the mall. Feeling that exhausted was depressing, but I do feel a slight sense of accomplishment for making it out of the house. Baby steps. This is a marathon, no, an Ironman, and 13 days into the journey isn’t even a blip on the race course. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Showing posts with label week 2. Show all posts
Showing posts with label week 2. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
My First Follow-up with the OS
Real quick. You might’ve noticed the new profile picture. I haven’t shaved since the surgery, almost 2 weeks ago. This is my “Rocky training in Siberia for the Drago fight” look. It makes me feel tougher. And like a hobo, all at the same time. Amazing, huh? We’ll see how long the beard lasts.
12 days after the surgery, I met with Turgeon for my first follow-up. He says the knee looks good. No swelling. No bruising. I’m a fast healer, I guess. I asked if the implanted cartilage cells were working. He shrugged. At this point, he said, there’s no way to tell. He joked about simply letting the black box inside my knee work its magic. I liked that expression, and added it to my profile description. Turgeon plucked out about 25 staples from my knee. In rapid fire motion, he started with the staples near my shin and worked his way up to the ones on my thigh. It didn’t really hurt. A few times, the staple didn’t come out smoothly and some of the skin surrounding the staple got ripped out, like somebody who gets a bit overaggressive removing stapled pages of paper and winds up tearing off the top corner. Next, Turgeon lathered iodine up-and-down the incision to sterilize the wound, making my leg felt like a baby back rib. He then placed a number of steri-strips across the leg. The knee looks nasty. Let’s hope the expression, “chicks dig scars,” is true.
I attached 2 photos of my knee after the staples were removed. In the first photo, sans steri-strips, the scar looks off-center. I think that's just the camera angle. At least that's what I'm hoping.
Sleep is difficult, at best. If I’m lucky, I manage a 3-4 hour block of sleep. Most times, I wake up every 2 hours, sometimes with my knee in discomfort, sometimes because I simply can’t find an acceptable sleeping position. I’m not used to sleeping flat on my back. Last night, for example, I couldn’t fall asleep despite getting some long overdue nookie. Like most guys, stick a fork in me after nookie; I’m done. Content. Relaxed. Ready to enjoy a solid 8-hours’ worth of sleep. But not last night. My hamstring throbbed uncontrollably, likely the result of some strenuous stretching by my PT that morning. She told me my hamstring got tighter over the weekend. Not sure how that happened, but it’s not a good sign. Anyway, after failing to loosen up my hamstring (note: never a fun thing to try at 11:30pm with a sleep-deprived wife), I alternated between whining and crutching around the bedroom. Neither worked. Finally, at 3am I decided to hop into the CPM machine. I hoped the CPM would alleviate the hamstring discomfort, and perhaps rock me to sleep. Well, the CPM went 1-for-2. My hamstring stopped throbbing, but I could never fall asleep, no matter how many times my leg rhythmically rose up-and-down. After an hour in the machine, I woke up Christina to turn it off. I also asked her to grab me a vicodin. Poor Christina. She’s suffering as bad as me. Thank god our pre-nup is iron-clad or she would’ve walked out days ago. I jostled around for another thirty minutes before finally finding a comfortable position. I slept for 90 minutes until the alarm woke me up. Luckily, I don’t have to be anywhere, so I fell back to sleep for another 90 minutes, finally grabbing my morning coffee at 8am.
12 days after the surgery, I met with Turgeon for my first follow-up. He says the knee looks good. No swelling. No bruising. I’m a fast healer, I guess. I asked if the implanted cartilage cells were working. He shrugged. At this point, he said, there’s no way to tell. He joked about simply letting the black box inside my knee work its magic. I liked that expression, and added it to my profile description. Turgeon plucked out about 25 staples from my knee. In rapid fire motion, he started with the staples near my shin and worked his way up to the ones on my thigh. It didn’t really hurt. A few times, the staple didn’t come out smoothly and some of the skin surrounding the staple got ripped out, like somebody who gets a bit overaggressive removing stapled pages of paper and winds up tearing off the top corner. Next, Turgeon lathered iodine up-and-down the incision to sterilize the wound, making my leg felt like a baby back rib. He then placed a number of steri-strips across the leg. The knee looks nasty. Let’s hope the expression, “chicks dig scars,” is true.
I attached 2 photos of my knee after the staples were removed. In the first photo, sans steri-strips, the scar looks off-center. I think that's just the camera angle. At least that's what I'm hoping.
Sleep is difficult, at best. If I’m lucky, I manage a 3-4 hour block of sleep. Most times, I wake up every 2 hours, sometimes with my knee in discomfort, sometimes because I simply can’t find an acceptable sleeping position. I’m not used to sleeping flat on my back. Last night, for example, I couldn’t fall asleep despite getting some long overdue nookie. Like most guys, stick a fork in me after nookie; I’m done. Content. Relaxed. Ready to enjoy a solid 8-hours’ worth of sleep. But not last night. My hamstring throbbed uncontrollably, likely the result of some strenuous stretching by my PT that morning. She told me my hamstring got tighter over the weekend. Not sure how that happened, but it’s not a good sign. Anyway, after failing to loosen up my hamstring (note: never a fun thing to try at 11:30pm with a sleep-deprived wife), I alternated between whining and crutching around the bedroom. Neither worked. Finally, at 3am I decided to hop into the CPM machine. I hoped the CPM would alleviate the hamstring discomfort, and perhaps rock me to sleep. Well, the CPM went 1-for-2. My hamstring stopped throbbing, but I could never fall asleep, no matter how many times my leg rhythmically rose up-and-down. After an hour in the machine, I woke up Christina to turn it off. I also asked her to grab me a vicodin. Poor Christina. She’s suffering as bad as me. Thank god our pre-nup is iron-clad or she would’ve walked out days ago. I jostled around for another thirty minutes before finally finding a comfortable position. I slept for 90 minutes until the alarm woke me up. Luckily, I don’t have to be anywhere, so I fell back to sleep for another 90 minutes, finally grabbing my morning coffee at 8am.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
More Ramblings
• I had my second PT session. More leg bending and stretching. The PT also massaged my patella, which really weirds me out. Ever since I first hurt my knee back in high school, I get squeamish anytime somebody even brushes against my knee. I just do. In a few weeks, I’ll be expected to massage my own patella on a daily basis, something I’m dreading. The PT also performed a basic hamstring stretch. Pinning my left leg to the table, she slowly raised my straightened right leg as close to an L-shape as I could tolerate. Well, my hamstrings are tighter than Jerry Jones’s face. Even before my surgery I wasn’t flexible. I guess I should’ve taken yoga with Christina. Right now, I fear the hamstring stretches more than anything else during rehab. At the end of the session, my PT hooked me up an electro-shock stimulator. After wrapping my knee in cellophane and suffocating it in an ice pack, the stimulator sent a steady barrage of electric pricks and bolts to both sides of my knee for 15 minutes. It sounds very East German, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the SS used something similar. Luckily for me, I wasn’t being tortured.
• On Friday night, I got a change of scenery, moving from the bed to the living room couch so Christina and I could watch, Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Solid movie, though the guy’s excessive whining early in the movie initially made him unlikable. Plus, it didn’t help he was frontally naked in a few early scenes. Caught me totally off-guard. Movies should contain warnings about this. Thankfully, both the female stars – Mila Kunis and Kristen Bell – were extremely good-looking, Mila in particular.
• I spend 6-8 hours in the CPM machine every day. I’ve previously described the CPM as a motorized, oversizes knee bends that mechanically bends my knee. I made that description before I actually used the machine. The description remains accurate, but a better analogy would be a motorized, open-faced walking boot/cast with carpet lining. I usually use my CPM in bed. Christina lifts the machine (which isn’t exactly light) onto the bed, and slowly slides it forward until my foot rests flush against the walking boot/cast. Each day, I increase the ROM by 5 degrees. Today, I’m at 75 degrees, where I’ll remain until I see my OS on Monday. I need his clearance before going beyond 75 degrees. I can’t just turn on the machine and let the bending begin. I have to slowly work my way up to the final ROM number. I typically start at a ROM 5 degrees less than my target number, and increase it 2-3 degrees, until I reach my final ROM. It takes about 20 seconds for the CPM machine to rise 75 degrees, and another 20 seconds to descend. The first few knee bends are difficult. As my knee reaches its ROM apex, my body tenses despite my best efforts to remain relaxed, forcing a grimace during those final few degrees. After all, my knee is grinding its way through scar tissue, or whatever junk lingers inside my surgically repaired knee. After 30 or so minutes, my knee warms up. I eventually relax, seduced by the gentle swaying of the CPM, like my knee’s a baby in a rocking chair. Sometimes I read during CPM time; sometimes I nap. The other day, we took our CPM show on the road to the living room floor. Christina needed to do some PTA work on the desktop computer. Because the portable DVD player wasn’t working, I did my CPM on the floor in front of the living room TV. I watched 2 more episodes of Mad Men. Great show. Anyway, the floor is far less forgiving than my bed. While the bed “gives” a little when my knee lowers to 0 degrees, the floor holds steady. Consequently, my knee hyperextends fully. It’s like having a UFC fighter slap on a knee bar. And this discomfort doesn’t go away no matter how warmed up my knee gets. Not good times. I don’t think I’ll be doing my CPM on the floor anytime soon.
• On Friday night, I got a change of scenery, moving from the bed to the living room couch so Christina and I could watch, Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Solid movie, though the guy’s excessive whining early in the movie initially made him unlikable. Plus, it didn’t help he was frontally naked in a few early scenes. Caught me totally off-guard. Movies should contain warnings about this. Thankfully, both the female stars – Mila Kunis and Kristen Bell – were extremely good-looking, Mila in particular.
• I spend 6-8 hours in the CPM machine every day. I’ve previously described the CPM as a motorized, oversizes knee bends that mechanically bends my knee. I made that description before I actually used the machine. The description remains accurate, but a better analogy would be a motorized, open-faced walking boot/cast with carpet lining. I usually use my CPM in bed. Christina lifts the machine (which isn’t exactly light) onto the bed, and slowly slides it forward until my foot rests flush against the walking boot/cast. Each day, I increase the ROM by 5 degrees. Today, I’m at 75 degrees, where I’ll remain until I see my OS on Monday. I need his clearance before going beyond 75 degrees. I can’t just turn on the machine and let the bending begin. I have to slowly work my way up to the final ROM number. I typically start at a ROM 5 degrees less than my target number, and increase it 2-3 degrees, until I reach my final ROM. It takes about 20 seconds for the CPM machine to rise 75 degrees, and another 20 seconds to descend. The first few knee bends are difficult. As my knee reaches its ROM apex, my body tenses despite my best efforts to remain relaxed, forcing a grimace during those final few degrees. After all, my knee is grinding its way through scar tissue, or whatever junk lingers inside my surgically repaired knee. After 30 or so minutes, my knee warms up. I eventually relax, seduced by the gentle swaying of the CPM, like my knee’s a baby in a rocking chair. Sometimes I read during CPM time; sometimes I nap. The other day, we took our CPM show on the road to the living room floor. Christina needed to do some PTA work on the desktop computer. Because the portable DVD player wasn’t working, I did my CPM on the floor in front of the living room TV. I watched 2 more episodes of Mad Men. Great show. Anyway, the floor is far less forgiving than my bed. While the bed “gives” a little when my knee lowers to 0 degrees, the floor holds steady. Consequently, my knee hyperextends fully. It’s like having a UFC fighter slap on a knee bar. And this discomfort doesn’t go away no matter how warmed up my knee gets. Not good times. I don’t think I’ll be doing my CPM on the floor anytime soon.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Random Musings
I’ve got a couple of un-related things to share. Actually, they’re all related to my bum knee, but that’s pretty obvious at this point. I just can’t combine them in the same neat, packaged story as my previous posts, and alone they aren’t worthy of “feature” status as a stand-alone blog entry. But they’re still important enough (relatively, of course; “everything in life is relative” is one of my favorite expressions) that I wanted to share them.
• Fierce independence – On Thursday I continued my series of “firsts.” I got in and out of the bed on my own for the first time. I brushed my teeth in my own sink for the first time (previously Christina had brought a toothbrush and cup of water to bed). I used the grown-up potty for the first time (though I missed my urinal bottle, which is frightening). Later that day, I used the Cadillac of toilet seat risers for my first poop. I’m not sure which was odder – dumping on an elderly crapper without incident, or going 8 days between poops. And, drumroll please, I showered for the first time. Major adventure. I had to disrobe before crutching from the bed to the shower. There’s nothing more humiliating than naked crutching. We inserted a shower seat in the middle of the shower, held down by special adhesive bubbling. The seat is basically a white, plastic bench about as tall as a desk chair. There’s a red handle on the side furthest away from the shower head. I sat on the seat facing the shower door, with my left side closest to the shower head, using my right hand to grip the handle and leverage my bum knee. Getting into the shower was difficult. The doorway is fairly narrow, there’s a slight step up into the shower, and the shower seat is 1 foot away from the shower entrance. The placement alone is difficult to maneuver to, but then I’ve got to do it going sideways and backwards, on a potentially slippery surface, while keeping my right leg – which is encased in a multiple hefty bags to keep dry – elevated, and avoid banging it against things. This easily could be an Olympic sport. The shower itself was uneventful, though I felt bad for Christina because she had to sit just outside the shower, holding my right leg just off the ground. I did the best job possible. I still stink, but I’ll no longer turn heads. I figure I did no worse cleaning myself than little kids.
• Recurrence of shin pain. For the first time since Day 2, my osteotomy hurt. Perhaps the pain was a gentle reminder that I pushed myself too much during the day. Whatever the reason, I realized that life really sucks when your shin throbs uncontrollably.
• Home PT. With Christina’s help, I completed my first round of home exercises. After postponing the start of PT an hour or so because my shin hurt, we removed the knee brace on our own for the first time. Christina was more nervous handling my heavily bandaged knee than holding our oldest child as a newborn. We should’ve stuck on my leg a large “FRAGILE” sticker.
• Fierce independence – On Thursday I continued my series of “firsts.” I got in and out of the bed on my own for the first time. I brushed my teeth in my own sink for the first time (previously Christina had brought a toothbrush and cup of water to bed). I used the grown-up potty for the first time (though I missed my urinal bottle, which is frightening). Later that day, I used the Cadillac of toilet seat risers for my first poop. I’m not sure which was odder – dumping on an elderly crapper without incident, or going 8 days between poops. And, drumroll please, I showered for the first time. Major adventure. I had to disrobe before crutching from the bed to the shower. There’s nothing more humiliating than naked crutching. We inserted a shower seat in the middle of the shower, held down by special adhesive bubbling. The seat is basically a white, plastic bench about as tall as a desk chair. There’s a red handle on the side furthest away from the shower head. I sat on the seat facing the shower door, with my left side closest to the shower head, using my right hand to grip the handle and leverage my bum knee. Getting into the shower was difficult. The doorway is fairly narrow, there’s a slight step up into the shower, and the shower seat is 1 foot away from the shower entrance. The placement alone is difficult to maneuver to, but then I’ve got to do it going sideways and backwards, on a potentially slippery surface, while keeping my right leg – which is encased in a multiple hefty bags to keep dry – elevated, and avoid banging it against things. This easily could be an Olympic sport. The shower itself was uneventful, though I felt bad for Christina because she had to sit just outside the shower, holding my right leg just off the ground. I did the best job possible. I still stink, but I’ll no longer turn heads. I figure I did no worse cleaning myself than little kids.
• Recurrence of shin pain. For the first time since Day 2, my osteotomy hurt. Perhaps the pain was a gentle reminder that I pushed myself too much during the day. Whatever the reason, I realized that life really sucks when your shin throbs uncontrollably.
• Home PT. With Christina’s help, I completed my first round of home exercises. After postponing the start of PT an hour or so because my shin hurt, we removed the knee brace on our own for the first time. Christina was more nervous handling my heavily bandaged knee than holding our oldest child as a newborn. We should’ve stuck on my leg a large “FRAGILE” sticker.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
PT Session #1
I accomplished a series of “firsts” today. First week post-surgery. First trip out of the house. First PT session. First time surfing one of those websites (ok, that one’s not true). And, first time seeing the Franken-Scar. That’s right – the PT removed all of the knee bandages, and I got a birds-eye peek at that monstrosity. Christina snapped a few shots on her cell phone, and those pictures are posted below. Christina and I agreed that the knee looks much worse on camera.
My PT is a 50-ish lady, Judy Holmes. My OS described her as the tough-loving type, though he said she always dishes the pain with a smile. Sadistic Judy might emerge over the next year, but I met a polite, polished, well-traveled woman who manipulated my knee while simultaneously sharing her German travel adventures. Christina, who lived in Germany for several years, remained with me during PT. Imagine the joys of hearing about Wurzburg, Neuschwanstein, and Stuttgard, or some other place I can’t pronounce or spell, while my knee is grinding through 14 layers of scar tissue. (Not that there’s anything wrong with German cities). At one point, I thought Judy got so engrossed in her conversation with Christina that she forgot about my gimpy knee. But then I remembered nobody could ignore my foul body odor. I haven’t showered since the surgery, exactly 1 week ago. I’ve had a couple of “baths” with baby wipes and hot towels, but trust me -- I need a full-fledged hosing; the kind of shower where you burn through two bottles of shampoo. We’re definitely throwing away every bed sheet used this past week. Today, I was so stinky (chorus: How stinky were you?). I was so stinky that I scared away the bums panhandling outside the PT building. Buh-dum-bum.
The PT session went well. My knee has little swelling and minimal bruising, all pretty shocking considering it’s only been 1 week since my knee endured a significant amount of trauma. Judy thought the knee is healing well. The scar, in all its glory, was a freaky sight to behold. The doctor can warn you about winding up with a 13-inch scar. But, with the staples still in, you can never be prepared for the sight of a metallic bolt snaking up from your shin to your lower thigh. My scar looked like miniature railway tracks. Or a zipper on a kid’s coat. Seriously, you could zip up my 3-year old with that thing.
Ok, here are 2 pictures of the scar, one showing it vertically, the other a horizontal angle. The yellow string running parallel to the scar below the knee is just leftover tape. In the horizontal picture, I think my leg looks creepy, like the leg of a really old man or something out of a morgue. My leg still has a solid tinge of yellow-orange iodine which clashes with my really pasty undersurface. I think that actually distorts the photo’s coloring a bit. I also think my leg looks weird shaved, even more so because it’s partially-shaved. In the vertical scar photo, you can see the hair growth on the top of my thigh. Anyway, enjoy the pictures. I’ll post another batch after Turgeon removes the staples.
Judy says my flexion and leg strength are greater than most people at 1 week out. (I asked her to put the gold-star on my brace). I’m currently at 60 degrees on the CPM. Today, she measured my flexion “free-standing” – which means bending the knee over the edge of the table on my own. I hit 55 degrees without effort. Judy says most people fall well short of their CPM number, especially early on, so she was pleased with my progress. She demonstrated a host of various ankle bends (with and without bands), leg raises, and side abductor moves, and gave me a list of 6 exercises to do each day on my own. I start my home therapy tomorrow. For the foreseeable future, I’m meeting Judy twice/week. And so the fun begins.
(Quick archiving/labeling note: From here forward, I plan to label my PT sessions by week, and probably note my OS visits by number. My first visit with Turgeon is on Monday. Each post will also contain a label for the post-op week number. This might help you search through postings or find an old one, assuming that’s possible. It will help me track the progress I’ve made)
My PT is a 50-ish lady, Judy Holmes. My OS described her as the tough-loving type, though he said she always dishes the pain with a smile. Sadistic Judy might emerge over the next year, but I met a polite, polished, well-traveled woman who manipulated my knee while simultaneously sharing her German travel adventures. Christina, who lived in Germany for several years, remained with me during PT. Imagine the joys of hearing about Wurzburg, Neuschwanstein, and Stuttgard, or some other place I can’t pronounce or spell, while my knee is grinding through 14 layers of scar tissue. (Not that there’s anything wrong with German cities). At one point, I thought Judy got so engrossed in her conversation with Christina that she forgot about my gimpy knee. But then I remembered nobody could ignore my foul body odor. I haven’t showered since the surgery, exactly 1 week ago. I’ve had a couple of “baths” with baby wipes and hot towels, but trust me -- I need a full-fledged hosing; the kind of shower where you burn through two bottles of shampoo. We’re definitely throwing away every bed sheet used this past week. Today, I was so stinky (chorus: How stinky were you?). I was so stinky that I scared away the bums panhandling outside the PT building. Buh-dum-bum.
The PT session went well. My knee has little swelling and minimal bruising, all pretty shocking considering it’s only been 1 week since my knee endured a significant amount of trauma. Judy thought the knee is healing well. The scar, in all its glory, was a freaky sight to behold. The doctor can warn you about winding up with a 13-inch scar. But, with the staples still in, you can never be prepared for the sight of a metallic bolt snaking up from your shin to your lower thigh. My scar looked like miniature railway tracks. Or a zipper on a kid’s coat. Seriously, you could zip up my 3-year old with that thing.
Ok, here are 2 pictures of the scar, one showing it vertically, the other a horizontal angle. The yellow string running parallel to the scar below the knee is just leftover tape. In the horizontal picture, I think my leg looks creepy, like the leg of a really old man or something out of a morgue. My leg still has a solid tinge of yellow-orange iodine which clashes with my really pasty undersurface. I think that actually distorts the photo’s coloring a bit. I also think my leg looks weird shaved, even more so because it’s partially-shaved. In the vertical scar photo, you can see the hair growth on the top of my thigh. Anyway, enjoy the pictures. I’ll post another batch after Turgeon removes the staples.
Judy says my flexion and leg strength are greater than most people at 1 week out. (I asked her to put the gold-star on my brace). I’m currently at 60 degrees on the CPM. Today, she measured my flexion “free-standing” – which means bending the knee over the edge of the table on my own. I hit 55 degrees without effort. Judy says most people fall well short of their CPM number, especially early on, so she was pleased with my progress. She demonstrated a host of various ankle bends (with and without bands), leg raises, and side abductor moves, and gave me a list of 6 exercises to do each day on my own. I start my home therapy tomorrow. For the foreseeable future, I’m meeting Judy twice/week. And so the fun begins.
(Quick archiving/labeling note: From here forward, I plan to label my PT sessions by week, and probably note my OS visits by number. My first visit with Turgeon is on Monday. Each post will also contain a label for the post-op week number. This might help you search through postings or find an old one, assuming that’s possible. It will help me track the progress I’ve made)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
