Monday, July 8
Several days after I first got out of the hospital post-surgery, Ed and I took one of our first walks down the street, with me using a walker, of course. We ran into our neighbors John and Theresa. John is a marathoner, so I’ve spent more time talking with him over the years we’ve lived here. His wife, Theresa, though, was the person I was most interested in talking with that day. Theresa had both of her knees replaced late last summer, so I knew she had gone through the process not once, but twice, and very recently. I wasn’t that far out of surgery in the grand scheme of time - maybe a week, or even less - but I was eager to move beyond the walker.
So I asked her, “when did you feel that you finally turned a corner?”
She answered, “I’m still turning corners every day”.
That really wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. I was hoping to hear that magically she walked out her front door one day, oh, say, a month or two after either of her surgeries, and thought, “I’ve got this!”
But apparently, it doesn’t work that way.
Apparently, the corners come more like the chicanes in the final kilometers of the long sprint stages of the Tour de France. These stages are known as “sprinter’s stages” since the peloton - the big group of cyclists that rides together over the course of most of the route each day - mostly finishes together on the sprint stages. It’s just a handful of the most powerful, explosive riders who have the ability to win these stages. The race organizers work hard to keep these stages interesting for those of us couch potatoes who watch from our living rooms, and one of the most interesting things they do is to introduce a number of chicanes - corners, by another name - into the final kms of the race. Chicanes by nature turn one way, then the other way, then back the first way again, and so on. They force racers to slow down - at least a bit - and to take big risks while still trying to position the strongest of the sprinters for the best chance of winning the stage. I suspect that the riders hate the chicanes, but we spectators love them. (I won’t go into our fascination with the crashes that inevitably happen in these final twists and turns, and why we get so engrossed in seeing them played in slo-mo over and over.)
My recovery from surgery has already hit more chicanes - going the wrong way - than I would have hoped for. I had three really good weeks of progress to start with, just wishing for the pain - particularly the night-time pain - to diminish. I was hoping that would be the first real corner I turned, but instead, I got that major setback with soft tissue inflammation. That was much more turning a corner into a brick wall than it was a chicane.
The corners that I’ve turned in the meantime have been smaller, less noticeable turns. Sometimes I think that Ed notices them more acutely than I do. But I have turned corners. Getting rid of those compression stockings. Getting off the narcotics. Being able to climb into a car seat without massive gyrations to get an unbending leg to bend. Progressing from walker to crutches to cane, even if there was some back-sliding along the way. And lately, sleeping through the night - or mostly through the night. These are all welcome, but they don’t feel like those big chicanes where you turn the corner and see the banner of the finish line looming in front of you.
Which is exactly what the visit with Dr. Miner today was. A big turn. A major ninety-degree right-hander. The kind of turn where you can actually see open road in front of you, and you just want to grab it all and go.
Dr. Miner’s staff took all kinds of x-rays. He looked at the knee, moved it this way and that, and asked questions. And then he listened - really listened - and gave us a chance to ask questions. The answers he gave us were so positive, so much what I wanted to hear, so much what I needed to hear that Ed and I practically fell over each other asking more questions.
Yes, said Dr. Miner, I want you to walk! Well, don’t go from walking a block to walking a mile, but do go from walking seven blocks to walking eight blocks. Of course I want you on a stationary bike. Try water walking! Go to a gym and do some strengthening with little or no weight on the machines. An elliptical sounds like a great idea. Go to Pilates class!
Go out, live, strengthen, stretch. Use your new knee!
Can we plan a fall vacation that might require anywhere from three to five miles of walking a day? Of course!
The only question that really remains after seeing Dr. Miner today is what I do about more PT. It’s clear that he and Lindsey are on different pages - she was always much more conservative in her approach and outlook than Dr. Miner was, even from the start, and then went overboard when I had that godawful bout of indescribable soft tissue pain. Ed reminded me on our way home that Lindsey had seen me cry from the pain; Dr. Miner saw a pretty positive person with little pain sitting in the exam room. Ya gotta give her credit for paying attention, too.
Dr. Miner says, if therapy is helping, there’s no reason to stop. I have no desire - or energy - to start with a completely new therapist. So maybe I’ll make an appointment or two to see Lindsey again; after all, she was definitely helping me improve my extension, which is still a few degrees from the goal of zero (something Dr. Miner is pretty clear that is still a desirable goal). And then maybe I’ll figure out something else. Or not. Maybe I’ll just see what exists beyond the next corner.
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