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.  :-]