Seeing Specialist----not

 SHORT VERSION 

Except for three hours, Steve and I enjoyed our two days in St. Louis.  Unfortunately, we were not able to accomplish the purpose of the trip:  appointment with an osteoporosis specialist.  Someone overlooked the fact that the Washington University's Center for Advanced Medicine has no contract with our particular Medicare plan.  I had made the appointment, received mail from them, filled out their paperwork, and signed up for a MyChart as requested.  In all this, no one noticed a problem until about four hours before the scheduled time.  The call came while Steve and I were hiking the lovely Laumeier Sculpture Park.  Back at the hotel, I spent the next three hours on the phone—much of it on hold—with WU medical's accounting and our insurance.  Nonetheless, they canceled my much-anticipated appointment.  In hope, Steve and I went to the Center, at the correct time, anyway.  Everyone was kind and sympathetic, but we did not get in.  So we went to the Missouri Botanical Gardens instead.  Beauty and wonder.

 

 

LONGER VERSION

Yesterday, the long-anticipated, osteoporosis-specialist-appointment day, did not turn out as expected.  We were expecting to get a lot more information about my situation to help me figure out how to respond.  But I was prevented from seeing Dr. M. for the valuable info.

On the way to St. Louis Tuesday morning we stopped and climbed Monk's Mound, biggest of the 80 at Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site.  When it started to rain, we had crackers and cheese in the car overlooking a wetland of egrets.  In the afternoon we wandered the St. Louis Art Museum.  After dinner at Frailey's Grill, we settled into our hotel room and watched Life of Pi.

Wednesday morning we walked the grounds of the Laumeier Sculpture Park—fascinating and fun.  Unfortunately, after about an hour, there was a cell call from Ran, the cheerful young man who had made my appointment two months ago.  Bad news, he said.  Some problem with insurance.  He asked me to send my card and I told him I'd already posted it on the MyChart site, but would send again in an hour or so when we got back to my laptop.  We finished our tour with Ran's assurance that he would figure it out and all would be well.

But it wasn't.  Back in the hotel, I spent the next three hours on the phone with Ran his supervisor, and four different agents from our Medicare Advantage group.  During long stretches on hold, we packed up, checked out and moved from our room to the hotel lobby and then to the waiting room of the specialist at the Center for Advanced Medicine.  Arriving there I was told my appointment had been canceled.  Ay-yi-yiee.  

Clinical Office Supervisor, Jay, did come out to explain the situation.  Last fall when Steve retired we signed up for a Medicare Advantage plan called WellCare.  We had heard that these added plans are sometimes hard to get things approved through.  In this case, WellCare actually did approve, but although Barnes accepts Medicare A&B, it "has no contract with" the additional plans.  

All well and good, but could someone not have figured this out and informed us before the day of my appointment???  I had received mail from Washington University's Center for Advanced Medicine, had filled out their paperwork, and had signed up for a MyChart with them as requested.  Apparently in all of that, no one noticed the issue.  Jay told us that the appointment never should have been made.  Someone in the "pre-arrival team" overlooked that key bit of information.

Jay told us that both she and Dr M were upset about this.  (I had mailed Dr M an introductory letter last week.)  Jay gave us her personal line number and said that if we change insurance, I should contact her first, before making another appointment. 

So, Steve and I left to be wow'd by the Missouri Botanical Garden instead.  The garden did not disappoint!

Setback #2

 Doggonit!  Rats!  Phooie!  Forgive my swearing, but I've done it again:  pushed myself* to another setback.  I was getting comfortable with recovery from setback #1, pretty much back to where I was pre-March 25.  I was noticing how easily I could move and how many things I could do again.  Yea!  So, how did I respond to this progress?  By pushing to get stronger.  That's the way it works with the human body, right?  Use it or lose it.  No pain, no gain.  Add a little to what you can do today, so that you can do more tomorrow.

On Tuesday I worked through PT assignments with no problem.  I balanced on the wobble pillow for 80 seconds with each leg.  I did sit-to-stands ten at a time. I did a few gentle lifts in the Roman chair.  I did the McGill 3.  I put my pants on while standing.  I worked in the yard.  I sat cross-legged for a while.  All of this was possible Tuesday. 

Wednesday morning movement seemed a little harder, but I pressed through.  I did a little more vigorous dance and more weeding besides the PT.  Steve and I took about a mile walk at suppertime.  I could tell things were not great with the leg as we walked, but I thought maybe it would loosen up.  It did not.  Apparently I had gone too far.  By the time we got back home, I needed to lie down, flat back, for an hour, my right leg achy sore and tight.  Later, going up the stairs had to be done left leg first for each step.  Sigh.

Steve suggested ibuprofen.  Ah.  For once I didn't hesitate.  Hopefully every eight hours for two days would restore normal—my new normal.

Thursday I skipped the PT work and had the sense to downgrade a walking date to a Zoom date.  But, I also spent several hours on my feet in the kitchen cooking for us and for neighbors with a new baby. 

By evening, the ibuprofen didn't seem to be doing much.  Watched a silly Diane Keaton video for distraction, but was aware of pain throughout and couldn't get comfortable.  Bedtime was the worst.  I had trouble getting my sox off and changing bottoms.  Only with slow struggle could I get into bed and settled.  No position was pain free.  I took a second ibuprofen 90 minutes after the previous one (9:30 & 11 p.m.) and moved to the guestroom with my magic-back-sleeper pillow.  Right leg complained seriously about having to bear any weight at all. 

By God's mercy, finally I slept and felt much better Friday.  But I’m on pins and needles.  Which of my activities caused the setback?  How do I balance working hard to recover with not overworking and hurting myself again?  Where is that line?!?  I don't like having to be constantly careful.  Show me where the line is and I won't cross it! 

*Or did it just happen without my pushing?  Who knows?

Setback

 I was getting used to the life change that happened on January 5, 2021, when a second one caught me by surprise March 24, 25, 26.

I had been recovering well from the ice crash, until then when I wasn't.  What caused the horrible, painful setback of those days?  Friday morning I was fine, picking up worms from the wet driveway and dropping them into the garden; by afternoon I could hardly move my recovering leg which hurt all the way down through the calf with no position that didn't make me want to cry.  What was happening?  I had been faithfully doing the exercises assigned by my excellent physical therapists.  Did I overdo?  Could it have been the eleven weeks of favoring my left side?  Compensating.  Worse thought:  had something gone wrong with the spike holding my femur together?

It was a horrible, awful, no-good afternoon of pain—and what-on-earth-is-going-on-in-my-hip?!?!? anxiety.  Finally I got a nurse on the phone who told me to take ibuprofen.  So I took that and then one of the leftover pain meds from the hospital stay.  In an hour or so I got myself back.  It was scary how much it had hurt and how much my movement was still restricted.  Had I lost the gains of those weeks of PT?  What was wrong?  The directive to take it easy all weekend was painful too because I wanted to go out for a walk so much.  :-[

X-ray first thing Monday morning showed the hip was fine.  Praise God!  Huge relief.  But then what's the cause of this setback?  My osteo surgeon's nurse practitioner said it was likely coming from lower back.  She told me to take an ibuprofen three times a day for two weeks and then to see the osteo doc again.  

So, that's where I am now.  Taking 200 mg of ibuprofen (a year expired) about every eight hours and actually feeling pretty good.  (I had never realized that ibuprofen had an actual benefit besides inhibiting pain.  Good to know.)  I have started doing some of the physical therapy exercises again, ever so gently, with no negative results.  And I’m out walking again, maybe up to about half the distance I was before.  Great relief!

Marking the spot

Yipee!  Clearance to put full weight on my right leg converged last week with the temps rise above freezing.  This, of course, meant going outside--finally--to walk.  Steve accompanied me and I had either my grandfather's 200-year-old cane (just a guess) or a hiking pole.  We started with up and down the street and increased each day.  After successfully enjoying a walk on the Peoria riverfront with Ellen, Kyle, and zooming roller-blading boys yesterday, I decided that today was time to go back to the the lake--where IT happened.  Sidewalks were all clear of ice, but plenty of slippery goose poop remains.  Careful.

About halfway around is where I had fallen on January 5.  We stopped there.  This is the spot, right?  We noticed a mud patch where water from yards had drained across the sidewalk.  Yep.  That would explain the sneaky hidden ice although the route had been dry up to that point.  I remembered lying there and looking around to see if help was at hand; Steve remembered finally finding me and carrying me to the car—with the aid of the helpful guy who came by walking his dog. 

Then a spot of color caught my eye—yellow and orange.  I took a couple steps closer and bent for a look.  My mask!  There in the mud was the mask I had apparently been wearing that day.  I recognized it as mine:  handmade from a yellow t-shirt and potholder loops.  It had been perfectly marking the accident spot for eight weeks.  After all, who picks up an unknown person's mask from the ground during a pandemic?  It may have been sniffed by a dog or two though.

Hands

 I wouldn’t have expected a broken hip to take such a toll on hands, but it has.  In the early days, I had to use hands to move the injured leg at all, picking it up and putting it down to get to the edge of the bed, for example.  Hands were often called on for moving my torso, both in bed and in a chair, searching for comfortable positions that the legs usually find by themselves.  Standing and sitting to or from a chair or the floor or in and out of the car all called on hands in the beginning.  Then of course, there was the walker and putting weight on hands and wrists with every step.  

Even though by now the extra load is mostly just down to walking, about a week ago, faithful hands started to complain.  Then I noticed I was getting little calluses starting on my palms.  What to do?  An internet search of hands and walkers netted nothing helpful.  So I came up with my own mitigations. 

First I took two sponges, hand sewed a couple of Amish-made fluffy pot holders onto them, and pushed each one into the bottom of one of those never-fit-anyway hospital socks.  To keep them easily available, I folded the top of the socks over each side bar of the walker and affixed underneath with big safety pins.  Voila!  I have nice padding that can’t get away from me or left behind!

Then I also started varying my hand position with the walker.  Rather than the natural grabbing, I experimented with keeping my palms more flat and open and not always in the same spot.  This has helped.

Finally, the hardest one.  Say I’m on my feet and want to get from the head of the bed to the foot.  My habit has been to lean onto the bed with both hands, palms down, and fingers spread.  In this way I can “walk” my hands down the bed so that I’m never putting full weight on injured leg—not yet.  This puts a lot of stress on hands and fingers.  This is normally fine, but after a month of so much of it, I’ve been getting strong “Stop that!” signals.  If I simply curl fingers and put the weight down on knuckles like a monkey, wrists not palms take the weight and there’s no pain.  

I’m so looking forward to switching the cane!  That will relieve my right hand of its extra work.  Lefty, however, I’m still gonna have to baby as I can.  :-]

Updates and a Slow Down

 Here are a few updates before I sign off for a while.

Except for going from car to buildings, I haven't been out for a walk since Jan. 21, the 40* day.  It's just too cold and intimidating.  Spring has been faithful to come in the past and I trust it will come this year too.

Thigh is responding much better to "move" signals now, not like before the accident but definitely improved from that January 15 entry.

I am now able to go up and down and up and down the stairs for a bit of exercise.  :-]  Rolling from side to side is easier and I can doze on my injured side for a little while.  In fact, tonight I plan abandon my downstairs nest for sleeping in our bed.  Ahh.  Hope it works well!

So, lest I get boring, I plan to give this blog a rest for a week or two and check back in with how it's going when I get fully released from using the walker.  Thanks everyone for your much appreciated support.  Cheerio!

PT

I lost a lot of personal power on January 5, power to move freely, to walk, even to stand.  The surgical bone repair was a huge Step One in restoring those abilities.  But since then my empowerment team has been physical therapists—God bless them every one!

A high point of my hospital stay was the therapists coming in the morning after surgery and getting me up on my feet—well, mostly one foot.  Standing upright and then sitting in a chair was such a relief.  They accompanied me, with the walker, to the bathroom, maybe 20 steps away.  It was exhausting and exhileratiing.

OSF PT staff came three times during that next 24 hours, and I tried to get as much as I could from each visit.  Is it ok to try this?  How do I do that without hurting something?

Once home, I called to set up ongoing appointments near our house.  "Not until next Tuesday?  Is there any way you can fit me in today?  Just name your time."  At 4 p.m. I met PT Beth who evaluated my abilities and gave me home assignments plus twice-a-week visits for five weeks.  My diligence and these work sessions with her and Kim have contributed greatly to progress in movement. These two challenge and encourage me.  They listen.

I shudder to think what likely happened to people with this injury a hundred years ago.  It could have meant not walking again and the serious consequences of that.  So I push on with cheers from my empowering physical therapists.  Big thanks to them!

Second Ortho Visit

 A second visit to our most skillful orthopedic doc has come and gone as of this morning. And once again I'm a tiny bit disappointed. 

Dr K comes into the room, takes a look at the Xray on the screen and says, Wow!  You're doing great.  That's remarkable!—something like that.

Steve and I exchange a glance because to our untrained eyes that Xray looks exactly like the one on the screen two weeks ago.  

Anyway, I was hoping to get released to put more weight on my injured leg, but despite the good report, once again the wise and experienced doctor counsels patience.  "You're doing great," he says.  (Quite likely a fair number of orthopedic patients are twenty years older than I am.)  "This is healing so well.  Let's not push it.  Whatever you're doing is working, so keep doing that. Two more weeks with the walker." 

Ok, Doc.  Sigh.  I can continue in this holding pattern.  It's not like I'm going to go anywhere outside right now anyway.  It's twenty-five degrees with snow and ice all over.  Not a good place for me this winter.

"What I have been doing" has actually changed.  At first it was pick up the walker, set it a few inches out in front of me, step gingerly up into it with injured foot, and then lean my weight on the walker to bring the other foot up beside.  Repeat.  So, on the tile floor the sound went like this:  thump, tap, step, thump, tap, step. 

But lately, I've pretty much just been pushing the walker in front of me as I walk with a little steady pressure on the frame.   So it sounds like rolla, rolla, rolla, with steps mixed in—left step a little more solid than the right.  Does that make sense?  Can you hear it?  😅

Anyway.  I do want to cooperate with and not stress the healing process, so I'll keep "doing what I've been doing" and we'll see how it's going in a couple of weeks. 😎

Switching Up Meals

Nothing but ice chips were offered to me in the hospital for 24 hours after I fell.  No food was fine.  Didn't feel like it; didn't miss it.  It actually took a few days for me to start getting my appetite back, and even then my old companion Dark Chocolate Craving was subdued.  I decided not to invite it back, well, at least not to the same degree.  One line of reasoning says sugar is acidic to the body and therefore not conducive to bone building.  Diabetes is also a risk factor in my family.  Etc, etc.

The other big change that Steve and I are trying is switching our main meal from evening to midday.  I remember my parents doing this at about our age and it has served them well.  So for the last several weeks, we've had breakfast, dinner, supper instead of breakfast, lunch, dinner.  Because Steve is retired now and it's winter and people aren't eating out much because of COVID-19, this has been a fairly easy swap.  Light suppers are good, sometimes just a big salad, or a bit of leftover something, or just popcorn.  Tonight we had a baked sweet potato with fixins; last night roasted veggies and walnuts with apple salad.  Don't forget the protein.  It works.  :-]   

Tracking Insurance

 We have not seen the hospital or surgery bills yet, but some of the others are starting to come in.  I am not a numbers person, so trying to keep all the charges and payments straight is stressful.  But I feel like it's my job to stay on top of what's happening with my own medical expenses.  Ugg.

A friend from the Fitness Center was hit by a car as she walked across Florida Ave near her home a year ago.  She has recovered, but said that dealing with insurance became a full-time job for her for months afterward.  

An added complication for us is that Steve retired this fall and we switched from employer-sponsored insurance to Medicare.  So there's a new system to figure out.  My care on all counts so far has been commendable, and I'm very thankful for what the insurance pays!  So enough complaining, Self.  Just stick with tracking it.

Vaccinated

This afternoon Steve and I got our first of the two covid vaccines. We arrived at five minutes till the appointed time and had been inoculated by five after!  A fifteen minute wait and we were free to go.  That was it.  Both feeling fine so far.

A new post-accident return to normalcy today is that I started working on a lesson plan for the International Women's Connection next week:  Lincoln's Loves and Losses.

Two fun facts:  Lincoln's step mom was a great benefit to him although she was rather suddenly added to the family.  And Lincoln was once accidentally engaged, a commitment he was happy to get out of.

My True Love

 Even though we weren't youngsters when we wed, Steve and I have been married for a long time, pushing 40 years.  We each encourage the other in our particular strong points.  He keeps me open to adventure and I keep him more healthy.  He keeps me from a gloomy outlook and I occasionally throw reality into his optimism.  I tolerate watching a suspenseful thriller with him and he can sit through a seniors-experiencing-character-building-events flick with me.  Haha!  We've learned how to live together companionably.

Having one person suddenly disabled is a challenge though.  Habits and roles have to change and that takes grace from both parties.  We've hit our stride fairly well, but that first weekend we had an unhappy disagreement on how many white board markers I "needed" from upstairs.

The thing is, some of my OCD tendencies have come more into focus now that I can't just do whatever I want to do, like make sure those blinds are hanging at the same length or that the one fading flower is pulled out of that bouquet back behind the table where the walker cannot go.  I'm constantly picking up little bits of this and that off the floor, and it's bothering me that I cannot vacuum.

Obviously I can't be putting this pickiness on someone else, so I learn to deal with it, to put it off, or to figure out a creative way to get it done myself.

Steve has been great taking care of everything that is needed:  shopping, getting meals on the table, cleaning up, patiently taking items from here to there.  (I can move well enough, but how to carry a plate with hands on the walker?)  He's had to do a lot of taxi service to PT and other appointments.  Right now this involves him getting out of the car and setting up the walker so I can get out—four times for each trip.  He even build a temporary ramp in the garage!  And just the last few days he has a therapy assignment to help that aforementioned cranky thigh figure out what it's supposed to be doing.

So this is a public thank you to My True Love.  💕

Breaking a Non-existent Bone

Turns out there's some ambiguity about what a hip is.  We speak of breaking a hip, but apparently a hip is not a bone that can be broken—this despite the lyric, "The hip bone's connected to the thigh bone."  A hip is a joint, the coming together of the top of the leg bone (femur) into the socket of the pelvic bones.  (I say boneS, plural, because there are three of them that bond with each other at puberty.)

So usually a broken hip means a fractured femur, broken near its top into the joint area.  This is what happened to me and this is my non-medical understanding.🥴

Upstairs!

 For two and a half weeks I did not go upstairs to our bedroom or closet or my office.  But this morning I made it!  Bravo!  Thanks to Steve for encouragement and support.😘

Except for dust, things were in fairly good order.  Over ten years ago my friend Rebecca was in an awful auto accident in Indiana.  It was months and months before she even got back home to Champaign, much less up the stairs of her house.  So I took a lesson:  don't wear ratty undies, and have the bed made when you leave home.  One never knows.

Out of the blue, I texted the accomplishment to my two sibs:              "I'm upstairs!"

My brother in Indy responded:                                                         "Oh, I didn't even hear you come in the house."  Wah wah wah

Prologue in My Pocket

 What does one think about lying, in the ER as paperwork is processed, x-rays studied, decisions made?  What to focus on so as to keep from going bonkers during two and a half hours on the operating table?  Or waiting for sleep in a strange room with unfamiliar lights and sounds?  I’m relieved to say I had a recently acquired resource.  In the weeks leading up to this accident I had been memorizing my own mixed-translation version of John's prologue, in the Christian Bible.  I printed and pocketed the text, then pondered and practiced it while walking of a morning.  Having something positive to focus on while I was in these situations was helpful and calming.  Here's my version.

In the beginning was the Word.  The Word was in fellowship with God the Father.  And the Word was, as to his essence, absolute deity.                                                      This Word was, in the beginning, close beside God.

All things came into existence through him, and without him,                                         there came into being not even one thing that exists. 

Life was in him.  And this life was the light of the human race.  The light is constantly shining in the darkness, and the darkness did not overwhelm it.

The Word was the light that spiritually enlightens every human being.                      This Word, the genuine light, was coming into the cosmos.

He was in the world and the world was made through him, and the world did not recognize him.  He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.  But to anyone who did accept him, he gave the right to become born ones of God, God's children, yes, to anyone who believed in his name.  They were born not from blood, or from physical passion, or from the intention of a man, but from God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, pitched a tent among us, moved into the neighborhood.  And we saw his glory, glory as of the Father's one and only, full of grace and truth.

Out of his full store we have all received grace upon grace. 

For the law was given through Moses;                                                                         grace and truth came through Jesus the Anointed.

No one has ever gazed upon the fullness of God's  splendor, but the one and only Son—who is himself God, uniquely begotten, and who is intimately close to the Father—he has made him known, has unfolded for us the full explanation of who God truly is.

NIV, NT Wright, David Bently Hart, Kenneth S Wuest, NEB, Message, Passion translation mix

Walkin'

 
Today's great pleasure was a walk, a real walk outside!  I have been walking—10,000ish steps a day—since COVID-19 discouraged the Fitness Center.  Steve and I have walked parks, small towns, and neighborhoods all over Champaign-Urbana.  If we wanted different scenery, we'd drive five miles or thirty miles and walk there.  Sometimes we called friends to join us since meeting inside was risky.

Weekday habit was for me to walk around nearby Lake Devonshire (3,000 steps) first thing most mornings and then Steve and I to take a longer walk in the afternoon.  It was on one of those first-thing walks that a single patch of unseen ice laid me low. 

My step count has dropped from 10,000 to 1,000 a day (lots of putzing around the house, plus physical therapy and MD appointments).  I've missed being outside.  But today it's over two weeks past injury and with temps in the 40s, I had to try it.

So with Steve at my side and walker in front I went out.  It was great.  A couple of neighbors sympathized and walked with us a bit.  Charming man on the corner whose wife has had her share of ambulatory issues brought out two tennis balls to donate to the walker and gave me a bigger grabber thing.  We joked with him about running a medical supply house.

I made it all the way around our little three-sided block. 😅

It's Gonna Take Some Time

I went to see the orthopedic doctor Monday with high hopes.  Maybe I'd be released to put more weight on my injured leg; maybe I could be less walker dependent, maybe  even able to go upstairs* or sit cross-legged if it didn't hurt. 

But no.  Turns out it takes about six weeks for bone to heal—longer in some cases, apparently not shorter for anyone my age.  And, while working on the assigned physical therapy, I otherwise need to just realize that it's going to take time to heal. 

OK.  Looks like I'm gonna be spending more time on this trusty walker.  It's actually an amazingly helpful device and I have fitted it out to just what I need at home or going to appointments.

From top left here are  >hand sanitizer (Sara's special)                 >phone pocket      >extra bag   >handy carry bag—by Tina!      >reading glasses       >hair clip       >mask       >grabber thing               

    Many thanks to Brother John for the use of this fine chariot!                                                                           

Sorry this isn't pretty.  I can't figure out how to wrap text on this site.        

*Not walk up the stairs of course.  That would be scary, and, who am I kidding, impossible right now.  But I'm thinking I can try it step-at-a-time, sitting down backwards.  With a spotter.  At some point.  Hmmm.

 

Confession

For over fifteen years, I have resisted admitting my problem. 

I've tried three drugs for a few months to a few years each with no satisfactory result.  I've tried weight-bearing exercise (weighted vest anyone?), dietary improvements, and mineral supplements.  Of course I have gotten prayer.  These are good things.  But alas—sigh—this remains:  I have osteoporosis.

Doggonit.  It's hard to say that.  Why is it hard to say that?  It's not like it's a character flaw.  It's not from lack of attention to good health.  My mother has it; my grandmother had it.  They both had kyphosis, the grandma hunch back, in their last years.  The National Osteoporosis Foundation reports "Studies show that half of all women over the age of 50 and a quarter of men will break a bone in their lifetime due to this chronic, devastating disease."  Is anyone else stunned by that number?  Half! 

It makes me feel old.  That's it.  Who falls and breaks a hip?  Old people.  Sigh.  I thought I could beat the odds, but nope. 

And now, I seriously have to accept some kind of intervention so this doesn't get even worse.  (Thank you dear medical friends for not saying, "I told you so!")  We met with an energetic young endocrinologist this morning who seems to know his stuff and who has a clear recommendation.  I consulted with knowledgeable MD friend, Crystal, for approval.  And now I'll just have to take the medicine and pray for God's mercy. 

Yea! Yea! Staples gone today!

Maybe I should say "Hip hip, hooray!"  (Ugg--bad pun)

Ortho Dr. K says I'm doing well, but not to get feisty and rush the process.  Got it.  Actually, I feel like I could go to sleep right now.  

Not for the Faint of Heart: Sam’s Saga

My dear father-in-law, age 98, broke his hip last March driving out to take advantage of good gas prices.  Not worth that!  Because his wife, just a few years younger, is not strong enough to help him get around, recovery had to be done in a nursing home.  After three long months, some in isolation because of covid concerns, he made it back to their independent-living-facility home, with bi-weekly help coming in, for summer and fall.  But early in November, his hip gave way while he and she were simply walking down the hall together, and he fell and broke the other side.  Old age is not for the faint of heart.  So it was back to the hospital for repair and then back to the convalescence center for therapy and recovery again.  

Dad W didn’t take well to nursing home policy and he fell a couple more times trying to get to the bathroom without the required call for help.  “Tsk, tsk.  Just do what you’re told, Sam!  The staff is only trying to keep you safe.”  This was my attitude before my own two-day jaunt in the hospital.  Since then I’m feeling more sympathetic.  It feels wrong to call busy people from important work just for an escort to the potty when one is fairly certain he/she could do it independently.  Probably.  Each time I pushed that buzzer apologetically.  “I’m sorry.  But I’ve gotta pee.”  Although there was no shaming or impatience from caregivers, it sill felt bothersome.  Sadly, my father-in-law overestimated his capabilities to his own harm, but I sympathize with the motive.

We prayed that Sam could be home for Christmas, but, alas, covid isolation had put a strain on the home-health-care system, and no in-home aid was available, so he hasn’t made it yet.  Hopes are that they can get someone signed up soon.

In the meantime, I feel fortunate to have my caregiver, but that’s another entry.😄

Wake up, Thigh!

 Just back from physical therapy and I’m thinking about my thigh.  It was bone that broke, but this muscle seems to be having the most struggle to take on actual work again—like lifting my leg for example. 🙄

When therapists arrived the morning after surgery, they said to put my right foot out and gently rest on the heel* as I started forward with the walker.  Couldn't do it.  Right Leg refused to move although Brain was sending the signal. Come on, Leg!  But nope.  No perceivable response.  Hmm.  This could be a problem.

When seated, I could easily rotate that foot, even swing it up off the floor from the knee.  Ok, that's good.  But to lift the knee itself required the assistance of both hands.

So I improvised by leaning forward on the walker so that the leg would follow along underneath.  Not the best form, but it worked.

The most difficult PT assignment once home has been to stand with hands flat on countertop and try to raise that right leg, like marching.  A week ago, I couldn't really get it off the floor, although I was able to pull a little of the weight off the resting foot.  It took concentration.  And hard effort.  And it hurt! 

But I've kept after it because that particular body part really does need to wake up to being useful again.  Slowly, slowly improvement has come.  Today I can get that foot off the floor maybe four inches and hold it there for a few counts.  Small victory!

 *50% weight allowed on the injured leg.

Prayer Effects!

Thank you for the prayers.  Last night was the best night yet!  Although the moving was still slow and awkward, I slept reasonably well—even on my back for a while.  (See Jan 12 entry.)  I only got up once and didn't resort to night reading.  Praise God!  May this continue.

Do I take anything to sleep, you may wonder.  Normally, no, unless I have had two nights of insomnia in a row or unless the following day involves something that has my mind highly activated.  In those cases, 3mg melatonin.

The first four nights after surgery I took Norco, the recommended pain med, an hour before bedtime, plus 6 mg of melatonin.  Then I dropped the Norco.  Two nights ago I forgot the melatonin and felt the night went about as well as when I took it--meh.  The winning formula last night was 3mg melatonin two hours out.  I will plan to continue that through Monday when I see the ortho doc again and have staples removed from the two incisions.  Looking forward to that day.  😊

Thank you OSF hospital staff

From the moment we arrived at the ER, I felt well-cared for despite the trauma of the situation which had me trembling like a leaf for the first hours.  We've heard how much stress the medical system is under, and I don't doubt it.  But those I encountered during my 53-hour stay were attentive and supportive nonetheless.  Here are a few memorable examples of the many masked heroes I met. 

Logan was primary nurse in the ER.  Reassuring and helpful, he did not insist on cutting clothing to get me changed into the sanctioned hospital garb, and besides attaching various diagnostic devices, he administered the deep-nose covid test so gently I hardly noticed.  Tom happily wheeled me to X-ray where every effort was made to make the move from bed to table without causing undue pain.  Kudos to the X-ray team!  Up in the room my most upbeat and wonderful nurse for two days was Stephanie.  I never saw this amazing woman look impatient or overstressed.  Night nurse Alisha was also unfailingly available and cheery.  I so appreciated these two.

Dr. Kohlmann did careful surgery and made himself available for questions.  His nurse practitioner Glenett gets an A+ for her presence and care.  Chris helped as he could.  Capable anesthesiology assistant Mai was kind enough to massage my shoulders during the procedure.    

I was happy to have early visits from physical and occupational therapists, Tina, Jesse, Destinee, and Jessica.  Having their input on how to move my achy self before I went home was important.

RN Lisa convinced me that the importance of sleep mitigated any concern about pain meds for the first few days post-op.  And case worker Vicki made herself available for figuring out what I might need at home.

Many more competent essential workers we met.  God bless them all!

The Hardest Part

 

I’m home now, comfortably settled into a little nest in our sitting room with laptop and important things around me.  People have showered us with prayers and sustenance.  (Thank you and God bless you every one!)  I'm getting around on the walker reasonably well.  No more pain meds.  And my True Love is here.  So what's the hardest thing?  Being in bed at night.  Trying to get comfortable.  Ugg.  

First, here is the process of getting into bed.  Back up to the edge with the walker and sit down.  Lift knee of undamaged leg up onto the mattress.  Use hands to lift other knee up beside it.  Roll back onto both elbows, then lift to hands.  Use left leg and hands to lift backside and turn so that body is the right direction.  Two separate efforts of lifting and turning do this.  (Elementary PE teacher called this a crab walk.)  Lower, put little pillow between knees and lie back.  Slowly, keeping knees together, roll to left side.  Then make further adjustments to get settled in.  None of this has really hurt, by the way, it's just slow and awkward and a little scary—because of course it could hurt if I get reckless!

This position is great for a while, longer if I go right to sleep.  If not, I'll be feeling a need to move in a while and without my right side to turn to, options are not ideal.  I can go to my back and be comfortable, but less likely to sleep.  I can go to my stomach and be comfortable except for my head, and worn out from the effort of getting there.  It's also more challenging from stomach to get rolled back to my side and start over.  So, as you can see necessary nighttime movements have become a chore.  Sigh. 

Still I’m very thankful not to be in pain.  I can always turn on the light and read a while or take a little walk.  I've really come to appreciate the human body's need to keep moving.  It's what distinguishes us from vegetables, right?  This reminds me of an incident Steve and I still remember from many many years ago at our Baptist Church in downtown Indy.  We had to work hard to stay serious when a parishioner requested prayer for her cousin who was the kind of guy "who would not be happy as a vegetable."  :-]

My Fall

I've been in denial about my risk for years.  But, last Tuesday at 8 a.m. it caught up with me.  About halfway through my usual walk, a patch of ice threw me off and—swish, boom—sent me to the ground, falling hard on my right hip bone.  Lying there, I realized those low bone density numbers could not be denied any more.

Of course, I slowly tried to get up, but flashes of pain quickly ruled that out.  If I didn't move, it didn't hurt.  So, I didn't move!  I wasn't really cold in my big coat and weighted vest as I fished for my phone and called Steve.  Then came twenty minutes of praying and admiring the surrounding grass and goose poop until he got to me.  A helpful guy named Jeff came by walking his dog.  Together he and Steve carried me to the car as gently as they could.  But, Ouch! 

ER.  X-ray.  Yep, fractured femur.  IV.  Admission to OSF hospital.  Two-and-a-half-hour surgery ended around 8 p.m.  I wish I could say the twelve hours of that day zoomed by in a blur, but alas, that would not be accurate.

There followed a long night connected to the IV and various monitors, and interrupted eight times by either machine malfunction or staff.  The good part of that was I never had to signal for someone to come with the bedpan.  Someone was likely already there!

More to come.  :-]