Recuperatin'

I have reached the two-week recovery mark! It's been a mere two weeks since hands were in my pelvis re-arranging my hip bone alignment, and I have to say that I'm doing fairly well. There's possibly four more weeks until I can be full-weight bearing; possibly one month until I could walk, start physio, go for a swim... I can't wait. In the meantime I can put 20-30 pounds of weight on my left foot: I use a walker to get around the house. I'm careful to transfer all of my weight onto my hands while making a heel-toe step with my left foot when I walk. I'm not allowed to lift or fully extend my left leg, maybe because using the muscles could pull things out of alignment (?), so I have a handy-dandy leg lifter to maneuver my foot onto the bed or couch. It looks like a yoga strap with a loop at the bottom. I wear it around my neck when I walk - all symbolic, like an albatross.

Recovery is fairly uneventful. Netflix is my best friend. I watch a lot of television shows, but they can't be nuanced, plot/dialogue heavy or hard to follow because I don't have my brain back. It's been missing for two weeks. Occasionally it makes an appearance so I can write or have a quasi-intelligent conversation, but by-and-large my brain has abandoned me. I can't read yet - all the words jumble together. I can't even concentrate long enough to read the Heathrow Airport British Chick-lit book about marriage misadventures that I've been saving for three years.

I do a lot of napping; napping is probably my favorite pastime right now.

aren't they cute?

 

The cats are happy because they don't even have to change rooms to supervise me. I have to sleep on my back, so Gizmo gets a lot of time to park his fat butt on my chest and just hang out there. Fact: All cats love being sick.

 

My routine is simple but nice: wake up, sit in creeper chair (my rocking chair by the window where I watch the children walk to school. I actually believe the children think I'm some sort of witch because I'm always in the same chair, watching them with my hair standing up while I'm stroking a cat. They don't look in my window or pick-up toys that fall in our lawn, and they shuffle past our house rather quickly). Anyways, I eat breakfast, give myself a needle in the stomach (bloodthinner) and take my pills. Every other day is shower day! I then watch TV, look out the window, and if I'm feeling up to it I venture into the living room to work on a jigsaw puzzle. I have a Guinness every evening: it's high in iron and liquid painkiller is an essential part of every post-op diet. Sometimes I have the required hand-eye coordination to knit and sometimes I don't.

 

Once in a while my routine is punctured. Rash:

wasn't the most welcome interruption. (Sorry if that image has scarred your eyeballs). Turns out that I'm allergic to steri-strips. I spent a lot of time on the phone procuring skin-care advice from my sister and applying lotions to stop the burning. Visitors are always welcome, and if I know they're coming I put a bra on. Yesterday was my first time outside of the house. I had a doctors appointment, and I had to climb an entire flight of stairs to get there. I did reach my destination, albeit out of breath, sweating profusely, dizzy, and almost-scary pale. I made it back down the stars, and spent the rest of the day in bed watching Community. Tonight is a big night: I'm planning a trip downstairs to watch the Survivor Finale live. If anything is worth a trip downstairs, Jeff Probst is. Survivor 4evah.

That's recovery. It isn't so bad. Once I get my brain back I might even feel bored.  I think Craft Tuesday may be happening next Tuesday. Plan a visit!