Hip-op

Photo credit: Nina Hill via Unsplash

OK, it’s not even funny that I tried to call this post after a cool music and dance genre when right now I am working on how to walk unaided, and often in pain.

You see, I had a total right hip replacement on 19^th February 2024. That’s now 24 days ago. Wow.

In the interests of documenting my ageing process warts and all, here’s a potted version of how it’s been so far, which I recorded initially on my phone in real-time (apologies for the length of this – feel free to skip if it isn’t of interest):

DAY ONE 19.2.24. Up at 5.30, quick shower. Drinking water until 6.30. On ward for 7 am, where I discovered I was first on my surgeon’s list. Hurrah! But this is a big place! There are four of us (all women) waiting in theatre at 9 am, each with a different consultant, and therefore theatre. Three of us are in for joint replacements (one shoulder, two hip), the other woman having an endoscopy. I recognise the other hip lady as being on my ward, two beds away. When the anaesthetist tells me he is now administering the anaesthetic, I am convinced it isn’t working. Then, someone is talking to me and I am in extreme pain. I say it’s an 8 or 9, but it’s more like a ten. I just don’t want to be too dramatic. They keep upping the IV morphine in recovery, until they can’t give me any more as it would send me into a ‘long sleep’! I’m shaking and shivering. In shock, I tell myself through my addled brain. I am wheeled back to ward on a trolley and transferred into bed. I note that the sensation of being carried is actually rather nice. The rest of day is a blur. I don’t feel like eating, but accept some soup and a cup of tea, which I promptly deposit in the sick bowl on my table. My 71-year-old principles will not allow me to wee on whether bedpan or commode, though I try, and eventually I am wheeled to loo in what passes for both a wheelchair and over-the-toilet commode. Success! I meet a lovely second-year physiotherapy student who spots that I am wearing the sweatpants my youngest son gave me, bearing the Manchester Metropolitan University logo. He is delighted, as that is where he is studying, too. He gets me up and walking, but I’m soon back to bed in a haze of heavy drugs. By the end of the day, I am transferring to the loo to wee, still in a wheelchair but with a normal-height seat. Yay! However, I am too wobbly to be trusted to walk there. I notice that one staff member has dry cough. Another holds my mug with her hand over it, not by handle. Another is sullen and appears to just do the minimum. But there is one male Indian nurse who is lovely. I feel safe with him. Still, I quickly learn you have to ask to go to the loo at least half an hour before you are likely to get desperate. They are very short-staffed, and if it wasn’t for workers born outside of the UK there would be no service at all. I have blood taken and am given an X-ray.

DAY TWO 20.2.24. I insist on walking to loo. During the night, staff were talking loudly about the staffing issue as one had to be brought from another ward to make up the numbers. Bloods and X-ray come back OK. I manage a bit of lunch without bringing it up and I negotiate the stairs with my lovely student physio and his mentor, so despite a drop in BP to 100 over 40 pre-discharge I am given a big bag of meds and sent on my way, hubby having hovered in the area until called by me, bless him. Once in bed at home, I start shivering again. A hot water bottle prepared by my beloved sorts that and I drift off into a lovely afternoon sleep. I get up briefly in evening, but need to go back to bed very quickly. I eat very little tea (supper to you Southerners).

DAY THREE 21.2.24. My youngest son’s birthday. I’m so glad to be at home, having slept like a log, woken, taken meds, slept again! I rise around 12, having already done my physio exercises twice. I have Movicol with a coffee chaser! Mmm. I am so grateful that my surgeon decided to use an anterior approach, meaning I’m not on hip restrictions. I spend some time working out the best place to sit in the living room. This is important.

DAY FOUR 22.2.24. My daughter sends me a video of her oldest son qualifying for the Wakatipu schools athletics championships. I cry. It’s fourteen and a bit months since I left them in New Zealand after my last visit. The pain is deep inside the femur, extending right down to my knee. I’m trying to reduce my reliance on codeine-based meds (oxycodone hydrochloride), so as not to be too out of it. Took paracetamol in the night, but one 10 mg slow-release oxycodone hydrochloride at bedtime. Today, getting by on paracetamol once and one of the of the non-slow-release oxycodone hydrochloride) after lunch. I manage a shower, aware my hair feels oily and unkempt. I also get dressed. Am then utterly exhausted and breathless. I take some sewing downstairs (I never sew!) and congratulate myself on doing a tiny bit. I notice the whole of my right leg is swollen, with some lovely wobbly, gnarled-looking oedema in my thigh. I tell myself I might do some self-massage tomorrow. Today, I have been getting various appointments sorted, but district nurse won’t be seeing me until she takes staples out, and we have to go to her. They only visit people who are bedbound (which I figure I mostly am, right now, but I know this doesn’t count).  The physio can’t see me until April.

DAY FIVE 23.2.24. I try going out for coffee. Big mistake. Breathless, shivering, in pain (paracetamol hardly takes the edge off), and bloody dizzy. Brain fog. Oedema. Palpitations, which I get anyway but are so much more marked since the surgery. Keep wondering if I might pass out. Sweating. I call the ward for advice, and they refer me to my GP. I definitely can’t face A&E. Am totally wiped out. BP 120/60, though, which is good. Doc rings and I forget to tell her I am nauseous. She asks several questions and tells me if I get more breathless and a pulse over 100, it might be best to ring 999 as it could be a blood clot on lungs. Cheery thought. Tomorrow will be better, I tell myself. This evening, my wonderful youngest son comes and cooks for me then washes up because hubby is needed on babysitting duty for one of his other sons. I am so grateful.

DAY SIX 24.2.24. Not going out today, despite beautiful sunshine. It’s nice just to see it, though I wish I could do a hill walk. I encouraged hubby to go for a quick walk (for the past few days), and he then needed to drive to some shops. I want him to get some things for himself. Still dizzy, a bit nauseous, really tired but not falling asleep at the drop of a hat like I was. As far as pain relief goes, during the day I have only taken paracetamol in the morning, but the heavy-duty stuff for sleeps (including afternoon sleep). Mobilising helps keep the pain at bay to some extent.

DAY SEVEN 25.2.24. Slept OK. Swelling definitely coming down on affected hip. Still a bit dizzy this morning, but mangaged to wipe the condensation off bedroom windows. A first. Doing the physio, and the ice pack afterwards is wonderful. So glad I had that. Doing menus today for next week. Last week, relied on what I had precooked and frozen. Apart from my son cooking for me, no one has brought food, so it’s good I was prepared. Hubby took me for a wonderful drive via Tintwhistle, over to Digley reservoir, and back down past Dovestone. Stunning views. Am also learning Italian using Duolingo, an idea my son gave me a couple of nights ago. And still sewing! Am making determined effort with online physio exercises. Needing the crutches less.

DAY EIGHT 26.2.24. ONE WHOLE WEEK PASSED (Day 1 was the op day, so seven days since that). Very weak today. Tearful. Still a bit dizzy. It’s as if I’m still in shock. Also, still in pain. But I managed to wash my hair over the sink upstairs (hubby carried the perch stool up for me) and also had a bit of time lying on my front in bed – which I could not have done if I had been subjected to hip restrictions. My arthritic spine hates me for all this sitting and lounging around. Physio going OK. JUST WISH THE RECOVERY COULD BE QUICKER.

DAY NINE 27.2.24. One first today was that I shut the bathroom window. Didn’t want to get hubby back up the stairs. No pain relief for afternoon nap, but didn’t sleep. Sitting at desk chair a bit, to ring the changes. Decided to do exercises only three times today (I had been doing them four times, which is one more than the minimum advised). Skipped the evening, to give muscles a rest. Might be slowly coming out of feeling so unwell. Less nauseous and dizzy. One more day of self-injecting with heparin! Not retaining fluid as much, though thigh still swollen.

DAY TEN 28.2.24. Had reiki today from a friend. In more pain during afternoon sleep after it. Hoping that’s just the usual natural healing way. Worse before better. Last heparin shot today.

DAY ELEVEN 29.2.24. Had a terrible night. Tried to sleep without a chemical cosh (oxycodone hydrochloride 10 mg prolonged-release). If I had used every 12 hours as per instructions, I would have run out by now, but I hadn’t and I was in such agony without them I had to use one, then took a couple of paracetamol for good measure. Not sure how much of the pain was from my op and how much was my arthritic spine. Will try to mobilise before bed today. Starting 28 days of aspirin today. Also, we have committed to having grandsons for two days in the Easter school holidays just before going to Italy, so I must work on walking unaided. Will start today, around the house, to see how many steps I can do. If I increase my steps daily, I can progress to going out of the house once I feel ready. Initial goal, with crutches, was to make it to hear a lunchtime percussion concert in Manchester at the RNCM today. Wonderful, even if I did nearly get knocked over by an ebullient student stepping backwards! The effort of the day totally knocked me out, of course.

DAY TWELVE 1.3.24. I have 1 month to achieve my goal of walking the well-I-hole circular unaided. Feels huge right now. Still in pain to go to sleep, and again on waking. My friend came to give more reiki today. Tired today.

DAY THIRTEEN 2.3.24. So good to no longer be nauseous. Today, I am beginning to take more steps unaided around the house. Tomorrow, I hope to walk outside with walking poles, just a short way. Stress levels slowly coming down, according to my smartwatch.

DAY FOURTEEN 3.3.24. Managed a very short walk outside, using walking poles rather than crutches because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Took it out of me, but feeling more positive.

DAY FIFTEEN 4.3.24. Two weeks since the op. The staples came out today, before which I showered! I have been mostly just strip washing each day, so as not to endanger the dressing. We went out for breakfast after staples came out. Took it out of me! Onwards from here. Wishing I could do the garden, but must be patient. Taking some steps around the house without crutches. Last daily record.

DAY NINETEEN 8.3.24. 18 days since the op and I am concerned. No longer planning to work towards independent walking by a certain date. Still in pain 24/7. Finally able to identify 3 kinds of pain: groin, which might be strain from physio; sciatica stemming from lower back pain and reaching down back of leg into calf; and a deep pain in the femur. Also still easily tired, and not much appetite. Went out for hot drink and toasted teacake, which raised my spirits somewhat. But it feels so hard. Not sure I would want to go through this again for the other hip – the arthritis has been diagnosed, but it isn’t as bad as the right hip was before the operation and it definitely would not feel worth it to go through all this when it only bothers me every now and then. This evening, a wonderful online Authentic Movement session with my colleague, in which I’m finally able to tune into what my body needs from me. Afterwards, I write this:

Still my body

These are still my hips

That gave birth to three strong babes

They have danced

Gyrated

Snaked through spine

Opened and closed

And belong to me

This foot – so hard to hold

Is not beyond my reach

This ball and socket joint

Feeling its way

Feels sore – unused to motion

But it’s mine

It might no longer be 

Bone on bone

But I’ll welcome it

Into the fold

DAY TWENTY-FIVE 14.3.24. That’s today. I am back to being able to walk unaided a little bit around the house. I can take the stairs using alternate legs now, and don’t need a crutch to manage them so I leave one crutch upstairs, and one downstairs, getting around on one crutch in each location so I can carry my drinks and food. I even managed a bit of washing up today.

I’m still often in pain, but maybe not all the time – around 80 per cent of the time, and usually a pain level of around 3 or 4. Not so bad. I’m now using co-codamol, my arthritis meds, for my night sleep but not afternoon – also, my heat pad, bought online since the operation, is very helpful for the pain in my spine. I use that when I’m dropping off. My appetite is almost normal now. I still get breathless. I’ve extended my physio to include a little more of my dance movement exercises, but gently. I’m trying to be more patient with myself.

I’m teaching Dance Movement Therapy (DMT) online tomorrow – specifically, how it can be used to address attachment issues within parent-child dyads (I researched the topic and spent several years working in that context). That’s going to be interesting, isn’t it? Of course, I don’t have to do a lot of dance myself – I will lead a warm-up, give a PowerPoint lecture, show some video material, and set up improvisations for the students. I also need to demonstrate some of the skills used in that context, which is always challenging when not face-to-face, but I will manage it I’m sure.

And I’m off to Rome on April 11^th. This time, it’s to give a keynote speech just outside of Rome to the Italian Association for Dance Movement Therapy on the 12^th, and then a one-and-a-half-hour workshop – which I have to do twice – on the 13^th. That gives me precisely 4 weeks before flying, to get a whole lot fitter and more able on my pegs. After the conference, my hubby and I set off into Rome city, where we hope I will be able to walk around the sights. Oh, boy, have I got my work cut out.

But here’s the thing – I must not overdo the physio, as it won’t increase the possibility of me being up to the trip. It will have the opposite effect, as in the first two weeks.

I am sure there is an important life lesson for me to learn here. It has to do with being patient with myself. Hubby has encouraged me to think about cancelling the Rome bit of the trip, and coming back early – what we save on the accommodation in Rome might help with the administrative fee for changing our return date – but I want to see Rome! But then again, it will be no fun for him if I have to keep stopping, am out of breath, or in pain when he wants to walk and take in the ambience.

We will decide together what’s best. We might just be we will be returning immediately after the conference. Or it might be that we simply take our time to soak up Rome, step by step.