It's been an interesting couple of days here on the orthopedics floor. I'm currently attached to an epidural, two IVs, a Foley catheter, a drain and a continuous passive motion machine. I'm hoping that they'll let me travel a bit lighter soon.
I'm feeling a little crummy. My Hematocrit dropped to 19 yesterday, making my blood pressure drop and my heart rate to speed up. All I knew was that I felt miserable. They gave me back the 2 units of blood that I banked before surgery and my blood counts still aren't setting world on fire, but my tongue is pink again. It was white yesterday. That was so freaky.
I also had a couple of fevers since surgery. It's nothing anyone is concerned with. They have me on antibiotics anyway and it's not likely a real infection. I can't say that I've ever experienced shaking chills and sweating through the sheets before. I could do without it to be honest.
Eric has continued to be awesome through this. They used a sterile prep goo on me that is supposed to be great for long cases because it doesn't come off. Unfortunately, it doesn't come off. And it itches. And I was prepped from my breasts to the bottom of my foot. Eric found a big bottle of rubbing alcohol and painstakingly removed all the adhesive and prep and miscellaneous crud. Then, he bathed me. That is love (or at least that's what he keeps telling me).
If anyone is interested in coming to visit, I'm up for that now. The narcotics are making me sort of loopy, which I tend to realize when the nurse or physical therapist gives me this long look, indicating that what I just said made little or no sense. Good times! So come on up to room 3245 and laugh at me. I'll laugh right along with you!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
It's alive!
I made it through surgery- 9 and 1/2 hours of it. Eric actually went in for about 2 hours near the end. I never, ever could have done that. Mad props to the boy! Also props for the fact that he has washed my face for me and fluffed my pillows. He's an excellent fluffer.
So, it looks like there was no cartilage tear, but there was lots and lots of impingement from my fat femoral neck, so they shaved that down and did the PAO after that.
So the part that I was mosty scared of is over. Now, all I have to do is get through the recovery.
That's easy, right?
PS- If you're wondering how I'm capable of blogging, the answer is simple.
Epidural.
So, it looks like there was no cartilage tear, but there was lots and lots of impingement from my fat femoral neck, so they shaved that down and did the PAO after that.
So the part that I was mosty scared of is over. Now, all I have to do is get through the recovery.
That's easy, right?
PS- If you're wondering how I'm capable of blogging, the answer is simple.
Epidural.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tick...tick...tick
There is a building here in Hershey that never fails to tickle my gallows humor funnybone. It was a standard gift shop or something until about 2 years ago. Then, it was converted into a after hours urgent care clinic called "Good Nights" or something like that. They painted it dark blue and put up a neon sign of a new moon and stars with a clock in the middle. It threw me off for months until I figured out that it's not actually a functional clock.
Then, after less than a year, the clinic went out of business and the building sat empty until just recently. It was nice to see that Gift of Life was establishing an office in the area, but I wish they would have redecorated. I suspect that they don't have either the funds or wherewithal to remove that clock.
The message it sends to me is, "Now is the twilight of your life. And time is ticking." So very, very wrong.
So when I started thinking about the countdown to my surgery, I automatically thought of the non-functional, highly politically incorrect organ donation clock. We're at less than 24 hours now on a working clock.
Then, after less than a year, the clinic went out of business and the building sat empty until just recently. It was nice to see that Gift of Life was establishing an office in the area, but I wish they would have redecorated. I suspect that they don't have either the funds or wherewithal to remove that clock.
The message it sends to me is, "Now is the twilight of your life. And time is ticking." So very, very wrong.
So when I started thinking about the countdown to my surgery, I automatically thought of the non-functional, highly politically incorrect organ donation clock. We're at less than 24 hours now on a working clock.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Travelogue
I understand that when a young adult plans a trip to Europe, everyone tells them to keep a journal. The advice to write it all down is bordering on cliche. The thought, I guess is that you will change so much and have such a fantastic time that you will never want to forget it. So I understand. I've never been to Europe.
I keep wondering why I even bother committing all of this to metaphorical paper. I feel like I'm doing a lot of whining and really, do I even want to remember this time of my life? I tend to write to process and I always had trouble writing about those experiences that were fun, but not terribly thought-provoking. And I always had too many fun things to do on vacations to write a lot. Then, today it hit me. This trip has more life-changing potential than visiting another country, even if you backpack.
Theoretically, I could learn a lot from this experience and become a better doctor. Or I could completely fall apart physically and emotionally and never doctor again. Either way, should be an interesting story to tell. And god knows, I've got enough processing to do.
I keep wondering why I even bother committing all of this to metaphorical paper. I feel like I'm doing a lot of whining and really, do I even want to remember this time of my life? I tend to write to process and I always had trouble writing about those experiences that were fun, but not terribly thought-provoking. And I always had too many fun things to do on vacations to write a lot. Then, today it hit me. This trip has more life-changing potential than visiting another country, even if you backpack.
Theoretically, I could learn a lot from this experience and become a better doctor. Or I could completely fall apart physically and emotionally and never doctor again. Either way, should be an interesting story to tell. And god knows, I've got enough processing to do.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Wanton Self-pity
I'm feeling bad for feelng sorry for myself.
The socially-conscious part of me keeps saying, "You know, this is an opportunity that people living in poverty all over the world do not have. this surgery isn't even available to everyone in our country, let alone developing countries. Grow up, pull up your big girl pants and answer the fucking door when opportunity knocks."
Then, the spoiled brat hiding not-so-deep within stomps out, slaps that hippy-dippy flake, storms back into her room and resumes crying. She feels like she should get a chance to mourn for the life that she went over $200, 000 into debt to acheive.
I'm sticking with the brat on this one.
The socially-conscious part of me keeps saying, "You know, this is an opportunity that people living in poverty all over the world do not have. this surgery isn't even available to everyone in our country, let alone developing countries. Grow up, pull up your big girl pants and answer the fucking door when opportunity knocks."
Then, the spoiled brat hiding not-so-deep within stomps out, slaps that hippy-dippy flake, storms back into her room and resumes crying. She feels like she should get a chance to mourn for the life that she went over $200, 000 into debt to acheive.
I'm sticking with the brat on this one.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Expectations, Readjusted
I'm becoming someone else. It sounds dramatic, but I can't think of another way to say it any better. Let me explain.
I was told as a teenager that my hips wouldn't make it past about 50 years old. When you're young and active, that's easy to dismiss as something that happens when you're old. Now, I'm not so young and activity hurts. So I lose weight, thinking that being heavy is causing the pain. The pain gets worse. So I go to the doctor. And they tell me that X-rays and MRIs look good. Sure, I have hip dysplasia and some femoral deformity, but nothing that looks like it needs to be fixed. Again, it is easy to dismiss the threat of early arthritis.
Then, the surgeon pages me to tell me he thinks that he can fix the pain and delay the hip replacement. But he reiterates that even with this surgery that he is recommending, my left hip particularly won't be my natural, God-given joint by my fiftieth birthday.
I have managed, over the last fifteen or so years to ignore the hip replacement in my future. I have cycled and skiied and hiked and swam. I have never had any plans of stopping these things. I always saw myself growing old as the lady who everyone in the neighborhood shakes their head at affectionately, because she's still riding her bicycle to the grocery store at age 80. Probably wearing a funny hat.
Now, in my post-phone-call-with-the-orthopedist world, I'm not going to be that little old lady. After a hip replacement, there will be no skiing or skating for fear of falling and dislocating the hip. There will no hiking, since that will wear out the joint too fast. I can ride my bike to the store, as long as the road there is completely flat and I don't buy anything when I get there. I will be able to swim, so now I see myself as the little old lady who everyone shakes their head at because she still wears a bathing suit.
The crux of the issue for me is that I have to change what I'm expecting out of life. The whole rest of my life. I chose a career that demands that I stand, walk and run when necessary. After a hip replacement in a young person, failure of that joint is anticipated, since the joint doesn't have as long of a lifespan as the patient. In that case, it may get to the point that I can't perform my job adequately. Does anyone expect themselves to be the person who has to stop working and go on disability? Of course not. I want to retire, because I had a fulfilling career and it is time to focus on other things. I want it to be my choice. It very well may not be.
As I settle into this new future that I should have been (but wasn't) expecting, I find that I can see myself finding peace with it. It's different than what I thought my life would be, but I can start to see how this life might be okay, too.
That being said, I want to ride my bike a few years longer.
I was told as a teenager that my hips wouldn't make it past about 50 years old. When you're young and active, that's easy to dismiss as something that happens when you're old. Now, I'm not so young and activity hurts. So I lose weight, thinking that being heavy is causing the pain. The pain gets worse. So I go to the doctor. And they tell me that X-rays and MRIs look good. Sure, I have hip dysplasia and some femoral deformity, but nothing that looks like it needs to be fixed. Again, it is easy to dismiss the threat of early arthritis.
Then, the surgeon pages me to tell me he thinks that he can fix the pain and delay the hip replacement. But he reiterates that even with this surgery that he is recommending, my left hip particularly won't be my natural, God-given joint by my fiftieth birthday.
I have managed, over the last fifteen or so years to ignore the hip replacement in my future. I have cycled and skiied and hiked and swam. I have never had any plans of stopping these things. I always saw myself growing old as the lady who everyone in the neighborhood shakes their head at affectionately, because she's still riding her bicycle to the grocery store at age 80. Probably wearing a funny hat.
Now, in my post-phone-call-with-the-orthopedist world, I'm not going to be that little old lady. After a hip replacement, there will be no skiing or skating for fear of falling and dislocating the hip. There will no hiking, since that will wear out the joint too fast. I can ride my bike to the store, as long as the road there is completely flat and I don't buy anything when I get there. I will be able to swim, so now I see myself as the little old lady who everyone shakes their head at because she still wears a bathing suit.
The crux of the issue for me is that I have to change what I'm expecting out of life. The whole rest of my life. I chose a career that demands that I stand, walk and run when necessary. After a hip replacement in a young person, failure of that joint is anticipated, since the joint doesn't have as long of a lifespan as the patient. In that case, it may get to the point that I can't perform my job adequately. Does anyone expect themselves to be the person who has to stop working and go on disability? Of course not. I want to retire, because I had a fulfilling career and it is time to focus on other things. I want it to be my choice. It very well may not be.
As I settle into this new future that I should have been (but wasn't) expecting, I find that I can see myself finding peace with it. It's different than what I thought my life would be, but I can start to see how this life might be okay, too.
That being said, I want to ride my bike a few years longer.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Does this thing open in the back or front?
How do you stop being a doctor? When it's time to walk into a medical office by the front door and ask someone else's opinion on a problem with your physical engine, how do you lay aside the whole language and culture to step into the shoes of the guy who sits in the chair that doesn't spin?
I'm currently staring down the barrel of major surgery. An orthopedist, whom I trust, thinks I may need my pelvis broken and realigned to delay hip replacement. But he is trying to be neutral and leave it up to me. He gave me the information (He referred to it as "realigning my expectations.") and asked me to do some research. Another physician, a friend, whom I also trust, in Sports Medicine, thinks that I should get a second opinion.
In fact, every physician I have talked to about this has a opinion. And they aren't shy about sharing them, even with limited information. This is not a common surgery or even a common problem, so it's not like everyone I mention it to understands the intricacies of hip dysplasia in the adult and corrective surgery for it. I guess it's a product of how the medical system has raised us into big, grown-up doctors. We're too used to sharing our opinion, informed or not. And we assume that the person in front of us is interested in what we think.
Add to that the fact that even a family doctor, like me, who avoids to operating room as if it were covered in capsacin can imagine all too well what it might mean to have your pelvis cut apart to the point that the hip socket is free-floating and then may be screwed back into place. We can picture the incision, the osteotomes, the blood loss, the ICU stay, the clot risk, the weight bearing restrictions. And most doctors want to ask about those things. And discuss them, in gross and fine detail. They ask intellectual questions about the interestingly rare problem and procedure in order to learn more. They don't think about the immediacy of the issue for me, the interesting patient.
So who do you talk to? Laypeople often don't understand the magnitude of what I'm talking about. I've gotten a lot of "Yeah, my grandmother had a hip replacement." But it's not a hip replacement. And I'm betting your grandmother wasn't 31. Which is a large part of the problem. It's not that simple.
Part of me- greater than 50%- wishes that for this, I could just return to laymanship. I want to not be able to imagine what is going on after the anesthesia kicks in. I want to not know what questions to ask, so that I can't get the utterly terrifying answers. I want someone to just say to me, "I have the expertise in this area, so let me make the decision." Because as it turns out, I don't have expertise in this area. And I don't know that I can make a decision. I certainly can't make an objective decision. And I feel like every new opinion makes me doubt my previous resolve.
I don't know how to lay aside a lifestyle that encompasses my work, home and social lives. I don't even know if laying it aside is the right thing to do. I just know that sitting on the exam table, when you're used to the rolling stool, is pretty uncomfortable.
I'm currently staring down the barrel of major surgery. An orthopedist, whom I trust, thinks I may need my pelvis broken and realigned to delay hip replacement. But he is trying to be neutral and leave it up to me. He gave me the information (He referred to it as "realigning my expectations.") and asked me to do some research. Another physician, a friend, whom I also trust, in Sports Medicine, thinks that I should get a second opinion.
In fact, every physician I have talked to about this has a opinion. And they aren't shy about sharing them, even with limited information. This is not a common surgery or even a common problem, so it's not like everyone I mention it to understands the intricacies of hip dysplasia in the adult and corrective surgery for it. I guess it's a product of how the medical system has raised us into big, grown-up doctors. We're too used to sharing our opinion, informed or not. And we assume that the person in front of us is interested in what we think.
Add to that the fact that even a family doctor, like me, who avoids to operating room as if it were covered in capsacin can imagine all too well what it might mean to have your pelvis cut apart to the point that the hip socket is free-floating and then may be screwed back into place. We can picture the incision, the osteotomes, the blood loss, the ICU stay, the clot risk, the weight bearing restrictions. And most doctors want to ask about those things. And discuss them, in gross and fine detail. They ask intellectual questions about the interestingly rare problem and procedure in order to learn more. They don't think about the immediacy of the issue for me, the interesting patient.
So who do you talk to? Laypeople often don't understand the magnitude of what I'm talking about. I've gotten a lot of "Yeah, my grandmother had a hip replacement." But it's not a hip replacement. And I'm betting your grandmother wasn't 31. Which is a large part of the problem. It's not that simple.
Part of me- greater than 50%- wishes that for this, I could just return to laymanship. I want to not be able to imagine what is going on after the anesthesia kicks in. I want to not know what questions to ask, so that I can't get the utterly terrifying answers. I want someone to just say to me, "I have the expertise in this area, so let me make the decision." Because as it turns out, I don't have expertise in this area. And I don't know that I can make a decision. I certainly can't make an objective decision. And I feel like every new opinion makes me doubt my previous resolve.
I don't know how to lay aside a lifestyle that encompasses my work, home and social lives. I don't even know if laying it aside is the right thing to do. I just know that sitting on the exam table, when you're used to the rolling stool, is pretty uncomfortable.
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