I am four weeks past knee-replacement surgery, and I confess that I am losing some
of my patience. We Americans are creatures of quick fixes, and the idea of a
long and protracted recovery is not very inviting. I guess that is why, prior
to surgery, the medical professionals talk so little about post-op recovery. I read a lot pre-op, and I did a lot of
pre-surgery exercise to prepare for the big event. At the time, the associated
pain seemed almost beneficial, since it was the path to no pain in the future.
The pre-op pain was pretty much what I had been experiencing
all along, so I didn’t pay too much attention to it. I assumed that one big
bang of post-surgery pain would quickly and miraculously disappear shortly
after surgery. I expected pain from the surgery, and I expected pain in each
therapy session. I was not expecting pain when I try to sleep in bed or when I
sit in my chair with my leg propped up at home. I expected some pain when I
initially began to walk and put weight on the leg with the new knee, but I
wasn’t expecting pain when I turn from my back to my side in bed and try to
resume sleep.
My therapists at Optimus Health Center have been the
truth-tellers about post-replacement pain and recovery, but I wasn’t prepared
for the length of time they are forecasting for the pain to pass away. The
therapists are the ones who “put us back together again” after the removal of
vital body parts. They push us to bear through the pain, but I’ve decided that
we are just raising the level of pain we can endure so that the “minor”
residual pain will not seem so bad. I was stupid enough to ask, “When will all
this pain go away?” I wasn’t prepared for the answer, “Never, fully.”
A TOE
The big toe on my right foot has become the model for my
slow recovery. Months ago I dropped something heavy (right now I can’t even
remember what I dropped and when) on my toe. The pain was severe and stayed
that way for quite some time. Over time, however, the sense of the pain
subsided. The toenail turned black and blue, but slowly the root of the nail
began to recover and signs of regrowth began to appear at the base of the black
and blue nail. For months and months, I nursed that old dead toenail in hope
that the newly growing nail would push away the old pain and return to a normal
nail. After about half of the nail had regrown, the old nail pulled away and
came off. I’m still seeing months and months of continued growth as we nurse
the new nail back toward what it once was while trying to prevent the prospect
of an ingrown nail. A little part of the body can claim a lot of attention to
itself and can require a disproportionate amount of time to resolve the
problem.
A KNEE
The toe has now been replaced by the attention demanded by
my knee replacement. Occasionally the toe will cry out for a little attention,
but generally the knee is shouting for attention and overwhelms the now minor
problem of the toe. Since the pain associated with the knee replacement is
significant, prescriptions for pain medication have become important. If you
are a hairy-chested “real man,” you can get by with over-the-counter pain
relievers. I’ve got plenty of hair on my chest, but I’m not ready for mere
over-the-counter relief. In fact, I tried an over-the-counter remedy night
before last just to see if it would get me though the night. Worst night yet! I
have two levels of prescribed pain relievers. I’m beginning to think that the
more powerful one might be more helpful in knocking me out for the night and
helping me to have a good night’s rest—which I haven’t had yet! I’m gradually
moving toward heavy aid for a night’s rest and minor aid for rehab sessions.
I have appreciated the veterans of knee replacement who have
offered me encouragement to hang in there. I’ve noticed that all of them are a
year or so beyond surgery, so that gives me some hope—or maybe some despair for
the next eleven months. A month into recovery, I can’t see or even anticipate
what tomorrow might bring. Right now I cannot see much beyond painful stretches
of time at night and large doses of pain at various stages of therapy.
Well, you can see that I am in the whiny, feeling sorry for
yourself stage of recovery.
A FOOT
When I went to Optimus Health Center prior to my knee
replacement to scope out the world of post-operative therapy, I didn’t know
what to expect. I saw a room full of people undergoing therapy and
rehabilitation. In the midst of the room, I noticed one patient who especially
caught my attention. He had had an amputation of one foot and was struggling to
get around the rehab area. Resting the stub of one leg on a stool with rollers
on it, he was struggling to get around on one leg and the stool. I hadn’t seen
him again until my first therapy session this week, but this time we were going
through treatment at the same time.
Have you ever noticed how sorry you feel for yourself when
you face some obstacle, but how differently you feel when you encounter those
who face problems and challenges greater than your own. That was my first reaction
to the amputee—I’m glad my situation is not that bad. A knee replacement is far
better than an amputation. As I watched this man struggle with his therapy,
however, I saw a determination that I hadn’t seen among many of the Optimus
clients. So many do the minimum and try to avoid the pain; but this guy and I
are different and share something in common. We are pushing through the pain
and striving for the very best outcome possible. I saw the determination as he
strained to do his best in spite of the pain, and I suddenly found a soul mate.
That’s the kind of patient I’m trying to become.
AND ME
Inspired by this friend, I’m determined to make the best of
this knee replacement by committing myself to push hard for the very best
outcome. That won’t happen without some pain and suffering. It won’t happen by
backing off when things are painful. It won’t happen by being satisfied with
mediocre results based on mediocre efforts. At 70, I’m in a lot better shape
than many of my fellow septuagenarians; but that’s not my goal. My goal is to
be the best I can be with whatever limitations I must address. My therapists
may be the only ones who see my determination; but in the end, it’s all up to
me. I’m going to be a fighter, a pusher, a striver. I’m going to conquer the
pain, compensate for what I’ve lost by doing the best with what I have, and
strive to be the best that I can be with all that I have within me.
PS: Last night I had my first good night of rest since my
surgery after taking the strongest pain-killer I have available. If I can make
it though the night, I can certainly make it through he day. But either way, I’m
pushing for the best outcome.
