My shrunken world

The process of going into the hospital for surgery is one of removal. And I'm not talking about what the surgeon may have excised. By stages, the medicalization of life removes just about all of your identity.

Monday morning at 6:00 Harry and I arrived at the admitting desk of the Royal Jubilee Hospital. We waited  in a circle of chairs around the glass windows enclosing the two clerks. About a dozen people were there. We all carried small bags with basic toiletries and not much else. I brought along my medical care card and a toothbrush and a hairbrush and some clean underwear--but that was it. No cell phone, no makeup, no book, no credit card. Basically just my physical body was there to be operated on. Once I got to the inner sanctum a nurse took away my plastic bag of belongings and it was just me in my hospital gown.

The surgery went well. All the nurses were very kind and a couple of hours later I woke up in the recovery room. I had a spinal so wasn't really unconscious but I remember nothing beyond the anesthetist injecting a drug into my spine and then telling me I could lie down on the operating table.
I spent another five hours in the recovery room waiting for the lower half of my body to mobilize before they wheeled me onto the ward. I got my bag of belongings back but really the only thing that mattered with my hospital bracelet. Nurses, care aides, and physiotherapists came by but everything was punctuated by the administration of hydromorphone for the pain. For a day and a half my identity was my pain, with a secondary identity of being a "good" patient so I could be released from the hospital.



And so on Tuesday afternoon I came home with Harry to support my healing. We've been kind of on our own here as there is no followup visit by a nurse or a doctor.

This is my shrunken world--featuring the foot of my "surgical" leg elevated to prevent undue swelling. Also featuring two lovely bouquets of flowers from friends who have been stopping by.

My world is regulated by schedules. I ice my leg 4 or 5 times a day, I take my pain medication every four hours, I do my bed exercises two or three times a day, and the same goes for my chair exercises. I also have a schedule for stool softening medication, anti-clotting medication and a medication to protect my stomach from the anti-clotting medication.

I have to plan my exercises around the pain meds and the icing so as to make the best possible progress in the face of swelling and discomfort.  It pretty much consumes my waking hours.

It's now the fifth day since I've come home and I've had my ups and downs. I reduced the pain meds too quickly one day and had to go back to square one. I've spent an anxious night worrying about infection and deciding whether I should change the bandage. I did that last night without incident.

In my shrunken world these things loom very large. And my mind doesn't work the same as it usually does. I find myself unable to read more than a few pages at  time. And most of my reading time goes to scanning the  Knee Replacement Surgery Handbook that I was given at the start of this journey. This book is full of information about what I should and shouldn't do, some of it confusing and at times contradictory. I've been assigned a "navigator" to help answer questions but as usual, my questions seem to arise on the weekends when the office is closed.

My "nurse" Harry has been incredibly attentive and supportive. He feeds me, fetches ice and water, cleans up the house, monitors phone calls and helps me get organized for a shower. I am so grateful that he is still here in my shrunken world.

On Tuesday I have an appointment with the Rebalance Physiotherapist and I'm trying to prepare for this. Over-riding all my concerns is the big one of doing enough of the exercises that my knee will recover full range of motion.  This is the ever-present concern in my shrunken world.

Now I've finished icing, gone to the bathroom and finished this little posting. Time to take my pain pills, wait half an hour and do my chair exercises.  Wish me luck.