Knee Replacement Number Two

Isn't it true that once you have been through a trauma, then the next one is easier? That is what I was told, and I found comfort in the thought. Well, I just had my second total knee replacement and other than matching scars, there are very few similarities.

I met some incredible people on my trip to the hospital. Hoag Orthopedic has great employees who never stressed out on me one time. When I asked for the room to be warmer, they made it warmer until I asked them to make it cooler. This happened several times each day. I dropped a full bottle of body fluids on the floor, and they did not flinch. When I did it a second time, they were very supportive. When it happened a third time, I was sure that Maria would have given up on me. Not so. Later in the afternoon, when I called that I had dropped the urinal, they came running with towels, mops and solutions. Apparently, they had simply stationed the cleaning equipment just outside of my door. Perhaps you can picture their relief when they discovered that I hadn't filled it yet.

Amazingly, I gained nothing from my first knee that could be applied to the second knee experience. A nurse said something that put it all into perspective (The Doctor wasn't very happy with her statement, but I found great comfort in it.) She said, "Of course it hurts, the doctor nearly cut you leg completely in half. Then their are the saws, hammers and glue." Put that way, I see myself as a giant craft project.

Pain has its purpose, but once I know that something hurts, couldn't there be an off switch? That is how I would do it. But it wouldn't work, because just as soon as we experience pain, we test it again, and again to see if it is still there.

CPM machines, walkers, canes, grabbers, and elevated toilet seats are my new reality. In the end, two realities made it was worth going through. A nurse named Ray who spent a lot of time with me, asked me if I would send her some information to help her know Jesus better. The second thing is that we don't have three legs. I am done.

Everybody Has Down Days

     Everybody has down days.  You have probably heard this phrase all of your life.  But for many with disabilities, the saying feels a little different.  We look forward to the up days.  They are the days when pain has subsided, and we are capable of accomplishing a few things we used to be able to accomplish without thought.

     I have remodeled houses, gutted large portions of buildings and started over, moved walls, done serious landscaping, and built buildings, all while working a full time job. Today I have spend nearly three hours trying to dismantle a leaking bench in the shower. I have succeeded at making a mess, but I do not have the strength to pry off the soggy boards. A good day would be nice.

     I know that I am not alone with this type of frustration. What I am describing is nothing new to you. Yet, when I am just sitting, my mind still believes that I can do these things. My frustration is a product of my own memory.  

     Most posts are general lessons about living with disabilities. I try to be positive and educational.  Today, I just need comfort, and a reminder that I will have some good days ahead.  Anybody?

It Hurts to Laugh

This last week, I took the first step toward a spinal neuro-stimulator implant, a device that blocks pain.  The trial only lasted a couple of days, but what a difference it made!  Pain was virtually eliminated whenever the machine was on.  I could walk normal, and people said that my countenance even had an improvement without pain.  There are a few drawbacks.  Not the least of which is that the stimulation increases dramatically when you  cough, sneeze, or laugh.

I will gladly make every attempt to control sneezing, and coughing.  Those activities only drive people away.  But I have decided that it is worth jolts of volts to experience the joy of laughter.  When I laugh, those around me are happier people.  When I laugh, conversation is about positive and happy things.  When I laugh, I forget life's difficulties.  Research even shows that when I laugh, I add years to my own life.

The lesson that I learn from this is that some things are worth a little pain.  Love is worth whatever pain may eventually come.  Relationships are worth occasional pain because of the growth it brings us.  But for me, laughter is worth the pain.  The benefits of the stimulator makes it worth the temporary pain that may come.  But more than this, I don't ever want to stop laughing.

So, when I say, "it hurts to laugh," I really mean it.  When they implant the permanent stimulator in me, it will hurt every time I laugh.  So what?  I guess I will give new meaning to the phrase, "I laughed until I cried."

What sacrifices are worth making to you?

Sometimes Pain Does Bring Gain

I am no rookie to physical therapy. My insurance company has been cooperative after every of my surgeries. Each PT had a slightly different approach to their practice, but each did a very good job to make me feel better. Since having my knee replaced, I am in therapy once again. It took a while to get this round of PT started, because I ended up with an allergic reaction to tape, which led to an infection that set me back a couple of weeks. When I finally did begin my rehabilitation, the knee had lost a lot of its flexibility. I was twelve degrees from straight, and could barely bend to ninety degrees. In the first week we were able to stretch muscles and work scar tissue so that my knee would bend to one hundred-eight degrees. All of this information has been given to help you appreciate what happened yesterday. I was in the front yard trying move something. It wasn't a difficult task but that didn't matter. All of the sudden, a sound similar to the tearing of velcro rang from my knee followed by horrible pain. Within minutes a large red circle appeared at the bottom of my knee. The Velcro sound was scar tissue giving way. At today's appointment the PT measured my flexibility. We were all amazed to find that I could now bend my knee to one hundred-twenty degrees. What made the difference? Where did the extra twelve degrees come from? It came from the tearing of scar tissue. The pain was necessary and, therefore, worth it. Sometimes pain does bring gain.

It Will Get worse Before It Gets Better

I finally started physical therapy, four weeks after having knee replacement. The insurance company took its sweet time getting all of the clearances and approvals. When the physical therapist measured my range of motion, she was not very happy. Her comment? "This is going to get worse before it gets better." I have used this statement many times myself, so I knew that I was in for some pain. I was twelve degrees from straight, and could barely reach ninety degrees. In the two weeks it took to get started, I had lost a considerable amount of motion with way too much scar tissue. My PT didn't take long before proving that she meant what she said. It did, indeed get worse. I have a high threshold of pain but this was very difficult. The sad thing is that I know she wasn't really pushing that hard. The reality is that she was working against my weaknesses. This experience mirrors the reality of life. People will find our weaknesses and will work against them. It can be painful, even frustrating. But, if we accept that it will get worse before it gets better, then we will make it through. Don't focus on the worse. Focus instead on the part that gets better. Unless we suffer, we will not grow stronger. I have weaknesses, and I am not afraid to let people see them. Pain is inevitable, but if I allow that pain to make me a better person, then my disability will not get the best of me. I will be strong in spite of my disability.