And this too shall pass …

Well, I thought it was about time I said something. Pardon my absence, I’ve been finishing my latest offering which went off to the editor late January, then I went into hospital for some knee surgery.

I may, or may not have mentioned the knee surgery but it is one I’ve had before, on the other leg. I was extremely nervous since all I remember about the other one was rolling around in agony at night well into the fifth week and that I had blanked how much actual pain was involved. Now that I’m close into the aftermath, I decided I might as well lay it out there, while I can, and while I do remember so I know never, ever to bloody well do it again! Mwahahahrgh.

The knee surgery bit of my local NHS is in slight flux, in that a new super-duper ritzy centre for knee excellence has been built in a town about 40 minutes away and so most of the operations from surrounding NHS trusts are now being done there. As a result, all the information I had came from them but the actual operation was being done in my local hospital.

This was a good thing as being somewhere for 7 am that’s 2 miles away is a lot easier than being somewhere for 7 am that’s 40 minutes away in the car, especially as I had to shower with some special stuff and wash my hair before I came in.

One of the things I was most nervous about beforehand was the fact they were suggesting I have a spinal block. They all wear barrier suits so it would have been like lying there listening to the sound of a bunch of spacemen fitting a kitchen. All that drilling and banging. Not for me.

One of the biggest pains in the arse about this op is that even when you are recovering you don’t really feel it for ages. I have spent the last 16 nights sleeping in the same position with predictable results. There is a noticeable improvement in the range of movement in my physiotherapy exercises, the thing that hasn’t dropped much, and won’t for some time, is the level of pain.

It’s not as bad as last time, but once you’re over a certain level it doesn’t really make much difference. I did blank it out last time so in theory it’s hard to tell but I am not writhing around in agony all night the way I was last time so this one is definitely better. Indeed the pain meds appear to be working rather well, even if Morphine has the usual effects.

Yeh, so I have to make sure I drink a LOT, I’m talking more than 4 pints a day, or the laxatives give me a headache!

However, because I have had the tops of my leg bones sanded down, metal glued over them and an enormous metal rod shoved into the centre of my tibia and my femur there is a fair amount of I-broke-my-leg level pain. Then there’s the swelling, which, just for extra shits and giggles, extended itself my ankle which was bruised and swollen as if I had twisted it.

Then there’s the fact it’s stiff.

The difficulty of course is that all these things cause pain, so while the pain of being sanded down and cut at the ends to fit the metal tips might be wearing off for my leg bones, the shock at having a massive metal pipe down the middle of them might not be. Meanwhile, being twice the usual size is not natural for joints and the way they react to this is pain, so the oedema also caused pain, although, thank heavens it is going away now.

I wasn’t allowed to shower but as ours comes off the wall I was able to use it to wash, protecting my operated leg using the huge plastic bubble I was given after my 2020 op. Incidentally, it looks very much like my leg felt when the oedema was really bad. I have physio lined up on the NHS but went to a couple of sessions with a private firm locally who were excellent after I had my last knee done. The chap I see there is lovely and so pragmatic and sensible. It was good to check I was on the right path and he massaged a lot of the fluid away in a way I wasn’t able to do. So I do now have a leg that looks like a leg as opposed to memory foam, as he put it.

On top of all that shit, the cut muscles hurt because, why wouldn’t they? Basically, I guess what I’m saying is the pain is coming from so many different angles that even if you can cancel a couple out, it’s still going to hurt. You’re never going to get everything, something’s always going to be sore, ergo, it feels like you’re going nowhere. You have to look for improvement elsewhere; in the added movement you’re getting from the physio, or that you can walk a little further today than yesterday.

Talking of which, you also have to make sure you keep everything very much set in a nice routine, three lots of physio a day, three little walks and at least three sessions with your leg up, and ice on it. I need those after the physio and walk, indeed, I tend to fall asleep.

Another top tip, avoid morphine after about 4.00 am or you’ll sleep until about 10 and wake up so stiff and uncomfortable you will be unable to function for the rest of the day. Definitely a balance to be struck with the pain relief.

The only way through is to do the physio exercises and keep walking. The more you do them, the faster it heals. It was definitely a lot easier to get into a rhythm with that during lockdown, which is when I had the last one done. Never mind, I’ve managed my three sessions of physio today, with the three tiny walks and the three icings, and have managed that for the past 5 days. The last physio exercise, which involved heaving and straining while I stared at my leg and it just sat there on a blanket, has finally come off and I am able to lift my leg! Bonanza!

With any luck, if I can get set into my routine, I should begin to feel a lot better by the end of next week. For now, I am very weary of being in pain, even with a pain med regimen that’s working. Although it gives me a headache too, because I need to drink at least four pints a day with the laxatives.

So yeh … I may be quiet for a while. It’s worth doing this but the fact the end result is a bit of a godsend doesn’t make the journey any less grim.

Then there’s all the other shit:

• Incidents when Mary shouts at an inanimate object to fuck off since operation day: 6 million
• Incidents when that inanimate object was one or both of Mary’s crutches: 4 million
• Incidents when Mary shouts fuck off at the fucking weather as she washes yet more mud and shitty gunk off the ferrules of the crutches: 2 million.
• Alertness: Low, close to zero
• Incidence of sleeping during joint icing: 100%
• Incidence of sleeping in front of telly: high

Despite wanting to eat well, I have developed an unfortunate propensity to … well … to not to. A friend brought me a bag of butter kissed popcorn the other day. I have been enjoying a handful here and there over the course of the week. I have been eating chocolate. I have been eating too much cheese. I have, in short, been eating shite.

Oh and if you ever have to do this, say goodbye to your dignity!

Yesterday morning, having stuffed my face with said popcorn on several occasions during the day before, I held up my trousers and discovered this.

Mmm. Classsy.

Yes, at some point I had sat on one and it had welded itself to my arse. I do not know when, so I have no idea how many times I walked up and down my street with it stuck there, if at all, which is disconcerting. The first thing a visiting friend asked was, did I eat it? No. It was covered in very off putting black fluff.

On the upside, I have already given birth to any sense of dignity I might have had with my son so that’s fine.

I’ve had visitors, which has been lovely, but I can only do an hour or I fall asleep! I think we can safely say I am in the six weeks of twilight stage but I know things will get easier. Another week or so, and with any luck, things will turn the corner pain wise. It would be nice to be able to sleep in a different position to the one, single position I am able to sleep in now.

Also, I miss my cat. I miss that every time I lay on the sofa to ice my knee he would come piling in from wherever he was relaxing at the time and with a chirrup of delight would leap onto my prone stomach where he would settle, purring fit to bust and occasionally looking up adoringly at me. The great melon. I miss him terribly. He was only 11 for fuck’s sake and it was so relaxing just lying there, with this ridiculously happy and smug pile of tabby lard sitting on top of me.

Then again, I was lucky to have him around last time, so there’s that.

Another ten days or so and I will definitely be starting to feel more human. For the moment I’m in the nadir after the op, the twilight, where you just keep pushing on, without looking ahead, because the objective, not to mention the light, is too far away.

Instead, I’ll just concentrate on each tiny improvement and each step. On the upside, my book is with the editor, so I’m really enjoying going through her edits at the end of each day, answering questions, discussing stuff and generally riffing about all things K’Barthan. So there’s that.

So yeh. Onwards and upwards eh?