Withdrawing and Walking

It's been quite a week. Major highlights include:

• I wore bottoms with an actual waistband. Twice.
• I got a haircut. It's a wee bit too short so I kind of feel like I have a military grade crew cut, but still, it's an improvement.
• Sunday I went outside AND used a non-raised toilet seat for the first time. I got a sun burn but I managed NOT to get stuck on the toilet.
• I made a whale hat.
• I withdrew from morphine.
• I saw my surgeon.

I feel like if I say I went through withdraw I kind of have to elaborate a little bit, so here I go: I stopped taking my long-acting morphine on Wednesday, and was feeling pretty good - generally sharper and smarter. I was only taking my short-acting morphine on an occasional as needed basis if I was sore or doing a lot of walking. On Thursday I started feeling nauseated and by the time Friday evening rolled around I was wishing for death or at least a light coma. It was kind of like the flu: general malaise, muscle aches, and this horrible nausea that I couldn't puke away and didn't abate with Gravol.

The withdraw caught me totally by surprise: I know I'm hardcore, but I'm a pretty far cry from the people you see huffing crack through their eyeballs on Intervention. I didn't have a psychological need for the morphine so I was surprised my body still wanted it, but it makes sense I was withdrawing because I've been taking the milk of the poppy daily since February. Anyways, I still felt terrible on Saturday morning. After a greasy fast-food lunch and a major power nap (a pretty good cure for a lot of self-induced ailments) I felt like a new person. If a controlled and slow taper off of a prescribed analgesic is that bad, I can't imagine what it feels like to come off a major substance dependence. I don't think I'll start heroin anytime soon.

After two weeks of mounting anticipation I saw the surgeon today. My appointment was a bit of a let down. In my secret fantasies, the appointment unfolded thusly: I would be sitting in the examining room and Dr. Johnston would enter, curly ringlets bouncing. He would regally say 'walk.' I would stand, throwing my crutches down to the ground, and start performing deep lunges around the office. Residents and fellows would follow in my wake, mystified at my superior healing abilities. In reality, I waited almost two hours to see the surgeon for two minutes. He told me I could start weight-bearing, gave me a prescription for physio, and showed me my x-rays.

This is what my hip now looks like:

 

 

That's not the best picture. There are actually five screws in there - two of them are the really long upright guys. Seeing the x-ray puts all the pain and trauma I went through into perspective. Those are big screws and big cuts in the bone: no wonder it's been a slow recovery.

 

I tried taking a normal step today. It was pretty hilarious. Since I don't have adductor muscles and all the other muscles needed to walk, I've got a 'lurching limp' (doctor's terminology, not mine). It's hard to describe: I just can't lift my leg and walk normally. Things just aren't working right. With physio I'll start rebuilding muscles and practice putting more and more weight on my leg. I'm still using my walker around the house;  I'll transition to two crutches, then one crutch, and hopefully by the time September rolls around and I see Dr. Johnston again I'll be walking all on my own, no mobility aids required!

 

In the meantime life isn't so bad: I don't need my leg lifter - I can swing my leg up into bed all on my own; I had a bath for the first time in seven weeks and it was glorious; and when my strength is up I can start swimming and doing some yoga. I'm psyched to be on the rehabilitative pathway and actively perusing recovery. Plus I've got a 'lurch limp.' I'm basically the best member of the Addams Family.