Now one thing about having a blog is that whenever something particularly amusing happens, someone will roll their eyes and sigh, “Well I guess that’s going in the blog.” Yep, you betcha it is. For instance, my mom – she’s a serial butt patter. It’s just her way of showing affection, and she comes by it honestly. Her grandma was a sturdy, German farm woman who could send a child across the room with one of her “love taps.” Really, we lived in fear of them as kids. My mom’s love taps, however, are really just that – a loving little pat on the backside, reserved for her kids and grandkids. A sweet gesture, to be sure…unless she squares you on your incision. Not terribly painful, but it gets your attention. She felt so bad about doing it, but I reassured her I was fine, no big deal…until she did it again the next day…and the next…and the next. Ok, let me just stop to say this didn’t hurt me. To the contrary, it got funnier with each one. She never patted my good hip, just my bad one, and she always hit the bullseye with my incision. And, with each startled “Mom!!!” she’d always recoil in horror as she realized what she’d done. It got to the point that my gasp was more of a shriek, as I dissolved into laughter. Maybe I’d just been in the house too long, but it was funny to me. Probably because each time she did it with such a heart full of love. The last time, as I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes, she laughed too, and threw her hands up in the air, “Fine! Put it in your blog!”
So welcome to my little blog, full of hip surgery updates and fun times. With some cancer and RA thrown in, just for added material. So it’s been a little over three weeks post op and I’m continuing to chug along the recovery trail at a pretty good clip. My parents left the day after my last post, and Rich started traveling again this week. It has all gone just fine, but it was quite the luxury having my parents here. My dad fixed just about everything that was broken in our house, hung pictures and walked the dogs every day. My mom took care of packing lunches, going to the store, making meals and doing all the mending we’ve been saving up for her. They drove me to my doctor’s appointment and even patiently accompanied me on my pilgrimage to Whole Foods (it’s on the same street as my doctor! How can I not stop??). Seriously, they had everything covered. And it was nice having their company while I was stuck in the house.
Ok, on to updates…super exciting stuff, I tell you…I’m officially down to one crutch when I’m out and about – which is a little dicey with our weather, so I try to be judicious about when and where I venture out. “Crutches on Ice” just sounds like a bad Disney show, not something I want to experience firsthand. My lovely girlfriends continue to visit me, bring us meals and take me mall walking. “Bye! I’ve gotta go walk Jen!” is becoming a common refrain in various households. I promised to be a good girl and not stop and sniff everything… I’ve actually ditched the crutches around the house, since there’s always a counter or sofa or something within reach. “Old people call it furniture walking,” my mom informed me. Fine. Call it whatever you want, I call it the first steps to freedom. And my dogs have been terrified of my crutches, so they’ll actually come near me now. I’ve missed them, even if they’re total chickens. As I said earlier, Rich started traveling for work again this week, and it all went fine. Between Riley and my girlfriends everything was covered. Poor Tessa caught some really nasty bug and has been in bed most of the week, but she is still one of my biggest cheerleaders. And last night when she was feeling a little better, she set me up with my own Snapchat account. I’m still not sure what to do with it, but I feel very trendy having one. It’s good to feel trendy, because all I wear right now is sweatpants and slippers.
It really is a wonderful time in the recovery process, because improvements happen constantly. Every day I can do something new, or better or faster, which is encouraging. I know from doing this once before that it will plateau in coming weeks, so I’m enjoying it for now. I’m told that my incision looks fabulous (by people who don’t mind looking at incisions, a group of which I am not a member). And, I finally have all my steri strips off, a rather large accomplishment for me. Anyone who knows me is aware that although I’m pretty tough when it comes to pain, I am a puddle of weakness when it comes to things that gross me out. Like steri strips. I was told that I had to leave them on for a week, then they would start coming off by themselves, or I could gently take them off in the shower. I of course resolved to let them come off in their own time (um, because ewwww), but when making a mid mall walk bathroom stop this week, somehow one came off, only to reaffix itself on the backside of my pants. I didn’t discover this until I was home, so I have no idea how many people got to see me prancing around with one crutch and a steri strip on my behind. After that I resolved to get the rest off before they ended up in more embarrassing places. So that’s a little honesty for the “oh my gosh you’re so brave, so strong, etc” people: I am not always brave or strong. I have an inner weakling, and she’s grossed out by steri strips.
I also have an inner toddler apparently, because in my desperate desire to lose the helplessness that comes while healing from surgery, I’ve become prone to saying “I can do it myself!” quite a lot. And probably with the toddler-esque inflection sometimes. Rather ironic too, when it’s directed at one of my kids, who are just trying to keep me from falling down the stairs or some other catastrophe. One of my son’s first words when he was little was the defiant exclamation, “Self!” whenever I tried to do something for him. I am not a patient person, and it was just faster and easier for everyone if I took care of it. And yet, the other day, there we were: Riley biting his lip and trying mightily to be patient while I struggled awkwardly to carry more than I should with my free hand. “Can I get the rest of the stuff out of the car, Mom?” He asked. Gosh, he’s a good kid. “Yeah honey, you can. Thanks.” And I am reminded once again that while self sufficiency is a good thing, accepting help when you need it is good too.
Turning “Self!” into “Thank you.”
Yep. Think I’ll work on that one.