hipdate

Just a Quick Check-in on that Whole New-Femur Sitch

First of all, I want to say thank you to all the folks who reached out with kind words of encouragement and sympathy after my recent, somewhat grumpy post about my hip replacement. It was great to hear from so many friends and receive so much support.

A few weeks ago, I was able to move from at-home PT to at-the-clinic, and move from a shiny walker to a stylish new cane. I felt like that guy in the Sphinx's riddle, going from 6 legs in the morning to three at night. But hey, you take these markers of progress where you can find them.

Thursday was my 6-week follow-up with the surgeon — time flies when you’re… nope. never mind — and the doc said all was looking good. Most importantly, he removed all my restrictions. That means I can now cross my legs, put on my own shoes, bend over to pick up dog poop… Oh, the shenanigans I’ll get up to!

For the past few weeks, one of my coworkers has asked repeatedly, “Are you at the point where you’re glad you did it?” And each time, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Until today.

See, Judy and I spent a bit of time shopping at the outlet mall this morning. Like most devoted husbands, I hate shopping and usually spend most of the time whining and looking for places to sit and play with my phone.

None of that changed this time, mind you, but what also happened was that I had a brief flashback to the last time we visited this particular mall, one evening several months ago. I remember it being incredibly painful, despite a healthy dose of vitamin I (-buprofen, that is). I spent most of the evening not just looking for a seat, but using that seat to stretch my back, hamstrings, and other tight, burning muscles.

Today, despite puttering slowly along with my cane, I was able to do so with a lot less pain. So that’s something. Progress!

Photo by Pang Yuhao on Unsplash

And here’s something else: on our way out, we passed another harried husband sitting in an Adirondack chair in the mall’s courtyard. He caught my eye, smiled, and then raised his own cane, as if in a salute or a toast. I returned the gesture, happy to be welcomed to the brotherhood of the enfeebled.

But over all, things are indeed going well. PT is living up to its nickname of “Pain and Torture,” and the gains in strength and losses in ache are slow but noticeable. The body really is a healing machine, and it’s kind of incredible.

Be well,

Big Dave