Extension

Extension - as in, fully extending my knee joint to 180 degrees, so that the leg is straight. So simple a task, one I could do without even paying attention back before my problems started. Once again, I am reminded of the many aspects of my own health that I take for granted.  Now extension is the main goal of my physical therapy. I place my straightened leg over a towel roll at my Achilles and endure the pressure of a heavy cold pack on my knee. This is not a comfortable position. In an effort to distract  myself from the pain I become philosophical.

Have I ever fully extended myself? I continue through my days, doing what is fun, easy, and attainable. To extend myself would be to go to that place just beyond comfort. It would involve a degree of risk to which I am unaccustomed. I may encounter pain and failure. I may not find my way back to my comfort zone. I may grow and change. I think of the turtle, who must extend his neck if he wants to go anywhere.,

In the practice of yoga, it is said that when we breathe in fully as much as we can, and then take another small breath, it is in the holding of that breath for a few seconds that we find our "yoga space," a place where we improve our practice. When we exhale fully, and then a wee bit more, and hold, we again access our yoga space where we can push ourselves to learn. We are extending our breath.

What does it mean to extend ourselves? We are extending our power, our influence, our physical strength, our services. We can extend a helping hand. We can go beyond what is required, We stretch our limits. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. Returning the world of surgical recovery, extension is the necessary pain that leads the way to return of usefulness.

Demon Dreams

I hear my dear husband's voice calling to me, "Sandy."
"Yes?"  . . . "Yes, what?"  . .  Again.
He has woken we up, and he is not even home.
Yesterday he sailed down a silver river lit up by an impossibly bright moon.
The day before that his rickety craft was lifted out of the muddy river by a giant crawling . . .  what? . . . a lobster? . . . an insect?

Winds blow up typhoons and sandstorms, I move my camp constantly.
Staircases become mazes, skeletal buildings under construction rise and then disappear.

I am haunted, constantly by dreamfolk, questioning me, what did you do, why didn't you do it?
Difficult to explain as a side effect of medication, but that's what I'm going with because I can't think about these dream demons continuing to haunt me.

Cabin Fever

On Sept 16 I started physical therapy (PT), or as I like to call it, rehab. Part of my PT venue choice was that it is so close to my residence - less than a 5 minute drive, even in heavy traffic. This was important when I was working and carrying on life before my new knee. Now I am looking at things from a very different perspective.

My wonderful husband drove me to my first post-knee rehab appointment. My wound is fresh, my activity tolerance is not vast. It was over before the chill was gone from my water bottle. Could I wait a bit before calling him to collect me? Hello, could we run through the car wash? Any errands, I'll sit in the car. Let's go watch the progress of the new church building. Can we go watch the grass grow at the park? The trees sway in the breeze? Can we drive down any boulevard in Bakersfield and just count pedestrians? Any highway just to see where it goes? After the car wash and the church construction, my husband was on to me. He made a slow but relentless beeline for home. He drove these minor errands every day, by necessity. He had no interest. I concealed my desperation.

After all, I am a homebody, usually content to spend long hours without excursions into the "outside world." I am content to stare out the window and contemplate. I actually avoid running errands around town. But now, when the freedom to go whenever I wish is removed from me, suddenly I crave it. Words of the famous Joni Mitchell song come to mind. A walk around the block would be a big night out. A road trip, anywhere, would be a vacation. My world has contracted to a few rooms of my home, and very limited activities. Similar to so many human situations, just the knowing that I could expand it if I wanted to, would make such a huge difference.

I am whining. My world will soon enough re-expand. I think about those souls, so many, who really do have no choice. Whether by birth, circumstance, or cosmic karma they are locked into existences that most of us would consider nearly untenable. Do they know it? Some do, some do not. The blissfully unaware soldier on, examples of true simple living. The others, those to whom freedom has been denied, seethe with thwarted desire.  

Best Room in Memorial Hospital

Sunday, September 14, 3 days post - op

My surgeon floated into my awareness after the surgery to inform me that he did a full replacement. Or as I called it, The Big One. Then I was brought to The Best Room in Memorial Hospital. My transporter told me so. My mother, a charter member of the hospital auxiliary who as a volunteer had traveled all over that campus, told me so. Maybe someone recognized her name on my contact list and pulled some strings, or maybe it was just Irish luck. I'll never know. The Room was as big as a hotel room, not square but wedge-shaped. I had it all to myself, another exceedingly pleasant surprise. Moreover, it was at the end of the hallway, so noise and traffic were nearly non-existent. The Room had huge picture windows looking to the north and east from my fifth floor perch. I had watched the sun set and rise 3 times and now it was time to go home. 

Yes, I was a bit melancholy to be leaving this haven of pain and privacy for the harsh reality of a corner of a crowded bedroom with a view onto the sideyard with the air conditioning unit and our ancient RV. The kind nurses at Memorial never let my call light ring more than twice before offering services. They insisted that I ring them every time I wanted out of bed. They took care of the machines and tubing with cheer and grace. All I needed to do was report my pain to them on a number scale. 

But Oh That Shower! It was bigger than my entire downstairs bathroom at home. I could walk in and sit down to shower like taking a seat in a waiting room. There was plenty of space to separate wet from dry towels, old from new clothes, bath items in order of use. Simple luxuries the nurses could not discern. This was so much better than what awaited at home: a bathtub shower that I would not be able to place all of my body into at once. I was determined to shower before leaving the Best Room in Memorial Hospital. 

My nurses were somewhat horrified, imagining me helpless and broken on the shower floor, I guess. This was certainly not standard procedure. But I pointed out to them that I had no tubes left, my dressing could go into a shower, and I was using my walker without help, no dizziness, pain heading towards negative numbers. What could they say? I promised not to fall. I promised to leave the door unlocked so they could check on me at will. I would have mopped up myself, it was that good. 

I had a hot shower all by myself in the giant bathroom of the Best Room in Memorial Hospital on the morning of my departure. Fond memories help to dissipate the pain.

Anticipation

I realized this blog challenge was going to span the time during which I would have a partial versus a total knee replacement, go through rehab, and return to work. Never blogged before, never followed blogs, never had a joint replaced. Hey Trifecta! How can I lose? 

September 10 was the first blog date - 1 day prior to my surgery. Bad date, I know, but I took the first available. I have been expecting all summer to have a partial knee replacement, then boom! A week prior, my surgeon informed me he was set up to do a partial or a total and I signed a consent for both! WOW! I won't even know until I wake up. Didn't see that coming, any more than I saw replacement surgery coming when it was proposed 3 months ago. 

Then I was 59. Now I am 60, too young in my opinion for such radical procedures. I never ran or did any extreme sports to tear up my knee. I am not terribly overweight. I don't have underlying health problems. This just came out of nowhere as far as I am concerned. 

So I've prepared a downstairs bedroom, I've borrowed a cold therapy unit and rented a continuous motion device. My prescriptions are ready and I have my followup appointments. I've visited my pastor for a final powerful prayer and annointing, so now I feel prepared. Let's do this!