The Long And Winding Road to Recovery

 Day 4 in Hospital. 

Breakfast was 2 poached eggs on toast, which would have remained intact if Martina Navratilova had slammed them over the net at Wimbledon. I ate the fruit. I still hadn’t ‘moved my bowels’, and I don’t think those eggs would have helped. 

I had been given Senna tablets, and some disgusting syrup that was so full of sugar I could feel the cavities forming in my teeth. I had drunk loads of water and orange juice and tried to move around as much as possible. There had been a couple of ‘false alarms’; which brought to mind that very rude puerile ditty which starts: ‘Here I sit broken hearted...’

I was well enough to go home this morning, and I didn’t want to endure that long journey down the Kintyre peninsula with a time bomb ticking away in my colon! It’s not like there are many places to stop en-route. But around 10am, a miracle occurred, and I found myself singing the “Hallelujah” chorus. What a relief!

The nurse came in to discuss my discharge.

“I’ve had a poo!” I beamed.

She laughed “I bet you never thought you’d be excited about that!”

“I sang Hallelujah in the bathroom” I exclaimed proudly.

She giggled, shoulders shaking as she filled in the form. “Once you’re ready and your lift arrives, you’ll be taken downstairs in a wheelchair, pick up your drugs from the pharmacy and then shown how to get in and out of the car. Make sure you stop regularly on your way home, and you should be ok.”

“Thank you for everything, everyone has been amazing.” 

“You’re welcome”. 

Roy had set off, and periodically I received little text messages from him. ‘At Ardrisaig’, ‘At the Rest and Be thankful’ ‘Will be there for 12.30’ I couldn’t wait to see him. I did feel a lot better.

I’d had my shower, washed my hair and put some makeup on. Never had I gone so long without makeup. I don’t even hang the washing out without lipstick normally!

Mr D popped in to say goodbye:

“You look 100% better today.’

“Thank you, I do feel much better. Looking forward to my own bed.”

“You will heal much better once you are home. But you are going to have to work hard. You have a lovely new hip now, and you will need to do your exercises religiously and build up your walking. I’ll see you again in 6 weeks. Don’t forget to stop every 45 minutes on the way home, that way you won’t stiffen up.”

“Thank you very much for everything.” I said: “I have been very well looked after, everyone is brilliant here.”

“Thank you, I like to think we have a good team. Safe journey - and don’t forget, work hard”

He waved as he left. Ordinarily I suppose we should have shaken hands, but Covid had put a stop to all that. 

We were lucky to have a glorious day for our journey. We stopped at our usual “Pit stops”. I was grateful that Roy had packed a picnic and sat at a picnic table in the sunshine while he walked our 2 Fox Terriers. 

Life was good. I couldn’t wait to start going for long walks again. The sun warmed my skin, and the codeine stopped my hip from grumbling.

A few hours later we were home. Roy had carried the high backed wing chair into the lounge and put a table and footstool nearby for me. Everywhere was clean and tidy. It was so good to be home. 

I slept incredibly well, and the following morning started my “Bed gym” routine.

I had my rolled up towel, my slidy mat, my Pilates ball and my stretch band. I realised that my “good” hip would need strengthened as well as my right hip, so although I did the gentle exercises on my new hip as I’d been told, I also did some stronger exercises on my other hip. In addition, I did some upper body work while I was lying down, based on some of the exercises I had been doing at my Pilates classes. 

It was slow going at first, especially the first few days, but each day I have achieved a small improvement. 

Getting in and out of the shower was tricky. I needed Roy’s assistance with everything at first. Right down to drying my lower legs, and putting my knickers, socks and shoes on. I have a stool (mentioned earlier) that I sat on to clean my teeth. I then stood using my crutches, and Roy would put the stool in the shower for me to sit on. He had installed suction hand grips in the shower, (just for balance!) but for the first few days I sat down on the stool. 

You will need to gently teach your carer (partner, husband, whatever) how to help you get washed and dressed. 

Things to remember:

• You must not “cross” the central line of your body by twisting.
• Your legs MUST be kept at hip width and parallel 
• The angle between your hip and thigh must be kept at greater than 90 degrees, and your hips must be higher than your knees.
• You cannot pick anything up off the floor. Get a grabber and a megaphone just in case your carer is out of earshot and you have dropped something important (like your phone or the gin bottle).
• You must not reach further than your knees 
• Make sure when you are sitting down or moving to stand that you hold onto a solid immovable object.
• Hold your crutches together in an H shape in one hand, and your other hand holds the chair or the bed.
• Armpit Danger: It’s important that you don’t let your armpits rest on the crutches, even when you’re resting. Allowing your weight to rest on your armpits can cause serious damage to the nerves and muscles under your arms.
• Here’s a useful link to using crutches: 

https://www.verywellhealth.com/how-to-use-crutches-2549326

• Elf and safety! - Remove ALL trip hazards. Including loose mats and anything at all that could potentially trip you up.
• In the bathroom, when stepping in and out of the shower, ensure there is no water on the floor. A sliding crutch on a wet floor could spell a rapid return to hospital!
• Have high seats or stools in strategic places to prevent you from standing too long. 
• DO AS YOU ARE TOLD - your Dr and Physio know what they are talking about. 
• Have a Nana / Granda nap when you need to. You have had MAJOR surgery, you will feel absolutely wiped out. When you do, lie down and make sure your feet and legs are supported and higher than your heart.
• Don’t sit too long in one place. Your ankles will swell up. Alarmingly so. 
• Have water in a bottle, and a hot drink in a flask if you are going to be on your own for a while. You won’t be able to carry a hot cup of coffee while using crutches.

My Body Lotion fan club, and The Good, The Bad and The Ugly!

 Before I go any further with this blog, I need to point out that I am NOT medically qualified, and anything I post here is based on my own personal experience. You should ALWAYS defer to a medical professional. 

Right - Day 3 in hospital was meant to be the day I went home. I woke early, and managed to get myself to the bathroom using a zimmer.  It’s not easy to lift your “bad” leg into bed, it’s a dead weight. So a valuable piece of advice that came from the lovely Owenna Orme, is to turn your crutch upside down and use that to lift your leg in. I used the bed railings to drag myself into position, and flopped back onto the pillows. 

The day shift sister came in to check my obs and give me some medication. I was still on the “Long Tec” (slow release morphine). I had been given “Short Tec” plus paracetamol and my reaction to all this morphine was nausea, dizziness and constipation. I asked for a different painkiller, (paracetamol is surprisingly good on an empty stomach,) I can’t take NSAIDS or aspirin, which limited the choices available. Pain management is VERY important. I can’t stress this enough, all the health professionals will tell you to keep on top of the pain. This is so you can move sooner and get the muscles working again. 

“On a scale of 0 to 3, where is the pain today?”

I hadn’t had any medication since late the previous night, so it was pretty high.

“It’s a 2. But I’m feeling awful on the morphine.”

“I’ll speak to the Dr and see if we can get a different medication for you. I don’t think you will be able to go home today. Not by the look of you. I’ll see what Phil says though.”

Did I look that bad? I wasn’t going to argue. I did miss my own bed, and my lovely husband and dogs, but I was also aware that I didn’t think I’d be able to manage that long journey in so much discomfort. 

“I haven’t been to the loo yet - It’s quite uncomfortable”

“I’ll get you something for that too. Do you fancy a shower?’

“Yes please, and thank you.”

Breakfast arrived. And coffee! I’m a coffee addict, and had ordered porridge and fruit from the menu. At home, my husband brings me a freshly brewed coffee in bed every day. It’s my favourite cup of the day. 

2 spoons of porridge, and a little fresh fruit. I couldn’t drink the coffee. It just tasted wrong. I put it down to the drugs. My tummy felt VERY uncomfortable. I was in pain  and was feeling a bit sorry for myself.

I rang Roy. He was his normal cheerful self. Until I told him I might not be coming home. I was aware that he would be preparing to leave shortly. 

“They know best, you know. It’s only another day, and it won’t be comfortable for you to travel. Don’t get me wrong, I miss you, but we need to be sensible here. The doggies are missing you. I’ll move some plants round the garden and get the house all ready for you.”

“Love you!” 

“You too” We hung up.

One of the young nursing support workers came in - “Do you want me to help you get a shower?”

“Yes please”

She was so chatty and pleasant, helping me to wash and dress. She loved my body lotion - I’m a bit of an aromatherapy freak and had mixed up a lotion containing rose oil, lavender and patchouli. (Neal’s Yard do a range of fragrance free lotions and oils that you can personalise! Just saying!) I felt much better. My painkillers had kicked in, I was fresh and clean and smelled lovely. It makes a huge difference to your morale to pamper yourself when you are ill. 

My next visitor was Phil the physio. “Ooh this is the most fragrant room on the ward. It smells gorgeous in here!” My body lotion had it’s own fan club! 

Today we were going to walk up and down the stairs. EEK!

First of all I demonstrated my ability to do (or not) the bed exercises. I still couldn’t do the leg abduction. Even with the slidy cloth. Ah well! A wheelchair was brought in and Phil plus another physio took me to the staircase. There were workmen on the landing. I was pleased I had my dressing gown on, although I wished I had worn a slightly longer nightie and knickers! 

I stood at the top of the stairs. Looking down felt like staring into the abyss. I must have gone pale again (or peely wally as they say in Scotland!)

“I’ll be in front of you every step. Don’t worry. Put your left hand on the stair rail and both feet on the edge of the step.” Phil reassured me.

Crutch down, bad leg down, then good leg. Ok. I got this. I felt momentarily dizzy and unsteady but by the time I got to the bottom I was ok. I knew that the criteria for going home was the ability to go up and down stairs. I was NOT going to botch this!

“Now, we have to go back up. This time, it’s the good, the bad, and the ugly. Your good leg first, then your bad leg, and then the crutch, that’s the ugly.”

I repeated this in my head as I climbed back up again: “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” Ennio Morricone’s iconic theme tune bounced round my head. Still, I was relieved to be back in my wheelchair.

 Back in the ward, I took up residence in my chair by the window overlooking Ross Hall Park. I read my kindle; Rugh Hogan’s latest, ‘Madame Burova’, I love Ruth Hogan’s books, which lately I have alternated with Strike novels by Robert Galbraith and books about the natural world. 

At teatime, Mr D popped in. Tall and casual in an open necked blue shirt and smart jeans. Brown leather bag over his shoulder. All ready for home after a long day at the office, chopping people up and putting them back together again. And thank God for that!

“How are you feeling?” He asked, looking concerned.

“I’m a bit better, I managed the stairs today, although I’m struggling a bit with my pain killers.”

“We hung on to you today, because we didn’t think you were ready to go home. We’ll see how you are tomorrow, but there’s no rush. Take all the time you need.”

“I guess I’m a bit concerned about the journey.”

“Yes, understandably so. It’s a long way. The best advice I can give you is to take your time. Stop every 45 minutes and get out and walk around. We’ll give you pain relief just before you get into the car, and that should see you through the journey. You’re doing great. But you have had major surgery, you need to remember that!”

I was completely exhausted. I was in bed by 7pm. I messaged Roy to apologise for not calling him that night, but my leg was swollen to twice it’s normal size, I was bunged up and nauseous. 

Roy texted back. 

‘Lost Lilah again - found her sulking by the bed. Hopefully you will feel better in the morning. I will try to land at 12pm. Love you xxx  

But there was one more ordeal!

Injections!

Major surgery on lower limbs predisposes you to blood clots, especially as you are immobile. Mr D insists his patients wear “blow up” boots in bed. They pump up and squeeze your calf muscles all night. They are a bit noisy, but the alternative is much worse. Then, once you go home you have to inject yourself into your stomach with Heparin. Fun eh? 

So, you pinch an inch (not difficult in my case!) and hold the syringe at right angles. Plunge it in and then withdraw it. you are given a yellow ‘sharps’ box to drop your spent injections in. 

Ordinarily you would do this for 10 days at home and then switch to aspirin. I do a fabulous impression of Linda Blair from the Exorcist if I take aspirin, so I have to inject myself for 28 days instead. Guess I’m just lucky. 

Day 1 post op and the Angels with Invisible Wings

 Every hour, on the hour following my op, my obs were taken and recorded. Sometimes by Nursing support workers and sometimes by nurses. 

These people are Angels with invisible wings. They must walk miles on an average shift, but they are invariably cheerful; nothing is too much trouble to them. 

Through the night following my op, I was aware of how quiet the ward was. This was due, I think to one particular Nursing Sister. She had a soft Merseyside accent, unusual in Glasgow. When she came on night shift, and introduced herself, I mentioned that she didn’t have a Glaswegian accent.

“No, I’m from Liverpool”

“I thought so, so is my husband, which part?’

“Old Swan, your husband will know where that is. Where is your husband from?

“Tuebrook, he says they were posh because they had a garden.”

We both laughed at that - “My boyfriend’s thought I was posh because we had central heating and I had my own room.”

Her brown eyes danced above her mask. Throughout that first night, she helped me with pain relief, anti-sickness relief and getting in and out of bed to the commode. When I rang the buzzer she arrived swiftly and silently. Her soft voice encouraging and comforting me. I was delighted when she said she would be on the following night too. Before she left in the morning she popped in and asked how I was getting on.

“It was a rough night, but you definitely helped me through. Thank you.”

“You’ll feel much better today.” She smiled “I’ll see you tonight, take it easy”. 

I had about 3 spoons of porridge and some fruit for breakfast. I didn’t feel like eating much. I discovered later that the colon shuts down for 72 hours post op. (Which is why I hadn’t had a poo yet!) Coffee, normally my drug of choice, tasted too strong, so I left it and stuck with water. I still felt nauseous and a bit “waffy” as they say in Cumbria. 

I also desperately needed a wash. I wasn’t confident or strong enough to get to the shower, so I was washed in situ and was able to clean my teeth. My mouth had felt like the inside of a dead bear’s bum! 

As you are not supposed to have an angle at the hip of less than 90 degrees, my toothbrush, toothpaste and a beaker of water were brought to me in bed. I was able to clean my teeth and then rinse without leaning forward. 10 days post op, I am still using this method. (Although I do sit at the bathroom sink now!)

Clean and fresh, with new bedding and my own nightie on, I was ready for my day. A sharp “ratatat” on the door, and in walked Mr D. 

“How are you this morning?”

“A bit nauseous and sore, but better than yesterday, thank you.”

He beamed “Great, your hip was in a bad way, the cartilage was worn right down, there was a lot of fluid in the joint, and there was new bone growth appearing, it had deteriorated quite a bit since your X-ray. But you have a shiny new hip now, but you are going to have to work hard to protect it. You will feel like you’ve been kicked by a horse for a few days yet, but you must try and move as much as you can. We will X-Ray your new hip today, just to see if the alignment is correct. You’ll also start with some physio today.”

What he told me vindicated my own view of my hip. It had felt increasingly worse since the X-Ray in July.

“Thank you, it did feel more than just ‘moderate’ arthritis.”

“Won’t be long before all the pain goes, and you can get your life back. Right, I’d better go, I’ll see you later” He gave me a little wave as he left.

Physio

I’ve come to realise physio is, after the op, the single most important thing you can do. It’s hard, and you have to push through the pain sometimes, but it is VITAL, before and after your surgery. I had been following a regime of hip exercises, but something I should have spent a bit of time on was my upper body strength. When I had my foot surgery, the surgeon said that he wished all patients would do upper body exercises so that walking with crutches wasn’t so difficult. SO, if you have surgery looming, get working on your upper body strength NOW!

Sadly, my continuing nausea meant I struggled with the physio at first. Before you are allowed home, you need to be able to walk up and down stairs. I could barely walk from my bed to the bathroom with a Zimmer frame, but we would try.

2 Physiotherapists and a nursing support worker came in to help me with my first physio session. My first hurdle was to perch on the edge of the bed. As soon as I sat up and my feet dangled over the edge, I felt VERY dizzy and nauseous. 

“Oh my goodness, you’ve gone very pale, you’re as white as that sheet!” Exclaimed Phil, the physiotherapist.

I laughed, “I do feel a bit waffy!”

“Waffy? What’s that?”

“Sorry, Cumbrian word for ‘bring the smelling salts’. My Mum used to say to me, ‘You look pale, do you feel pale?”

“Haha, that’s funny, I should write these expressions down.” Said Phil.

I persevered and managed, eventually, to stand up and balance on the crutches. My knees felt like they were about to buckle under me, but Phil and the other young physio were there to catch me. 

“Crutches forward, then bad leg, then good leg.”

Several faltering steps later I was facing the door of my room, just as a trolley pushed by 2 cheery porters appeared. 

“Room 227?”

“Yes” Said Phil.

“We have to take the young lady to X Ray.” 

Phil rushed off up the corridor and returned with a wheelchair. I was manoeuvred into place and wheeled the rest of the way to the trolley, where I was hoisted up and driven off to the X ray department. 

When I returned, Phil came back in to my room. “Do you think you could do some bed exercises?’

“Yes, I can try”

Bed exercises consisted of the following :

1. Lying on your back and sliding your foot towards your torso x 10. I could do it, but only a bit
2. Leg is flat, and you push the back of your knee into the bed. Easy, I could do that too.
3. A folded towel is placed under the knee, and you lift your lower leg up and down. I could do that. so far so good.
4. Legs straight and move the bad leg out to the side x 10. Nope. Phil put a piece of slidy fabric under my heel - “Try again” Nope - Not even a centimetre. 

“Don’t worry, it will come with time, I’ll pop back later and we can look at some standing exercises, and have another go.”

What a busy day I was having. I was quite exhausted, and settled down to read my kindle. It was a good job I had my iPad on it’s stand, because I dozed off. 

I could now get to the loo on my own, using the Zimmer frame. Evidently, 20 years or so ago, a hip replacement meant you had to stay in bed for 2 weeks, lying on your back with a pillow between your knees. How times have changed!

I was watching some inane game show on TV when Mr D popped in on his way home, what long hours he must work, I mused. 

“Hi Judith, just to let you know I’ve reviewed your X-Ray and it’s looking good. Perfect in fact.’

“That’s great, thank you.” I was genuinely delighted. 

“Now get some rest and we will see how you get on tomorrow. You might be able to go home, but it’s a long car journey and there’s no problem if we need to keep you a bit longer.”

His prophecy proved to be correct. 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Roy had been busy. He had “lost’ Lilah, one of our fox terriers, and finally found her upstairs in my studio, sitting next to my chair. She sometimes comes and sits up there with me when I’m working. Bless her. 💕

Day 0 - Here we go: Operation day - DISCLAIMER - Not everyone will react to the drugs the way I did!

 I woke early on the day designated for my op. I had stayed in hospital the previous night; saving myself and Roy a 3.5 hour trip at 4am from Kintyre.

He had carried my bag to the door of the hospital, gave me a huge hug and a kiss then stood watching as I turned and walked in on my own. I was anxious, more for him driving home alone than for myself.  I made him promise to let me know when he was at our usual “pit stops’, so I could imagine his progress. I looked over my shoulder as I reached the reception desk - he was still there. He gave me a wave and a lovely smile and disappeared from view as the receptionist asked me my name. I felt very emotional, being there, facing this alone.

I needn’t have worried. Well not too much, the staff were fantastic!

I had starved from midnight the night before, as I cleaned my teeth in the en-suite bathroom, I sipped a tiny drop of water off my toothbrush. 

Showered, with none of my usual fripperies: no body lotion, jewellery, make-up, Arghh! I did contemplate drawing my eyebrows in, I mean, who would know? My eyebrows had been plucked to non-existence in 1976 and have never really recovered. I donned my sexy backless hospital gown and sat on the bed and read my kindle book. 

Nurses bustled in and out, my blood pressure was sky high - betraying the raging anxiety beneath my calm exterior. Then Mr D arrived. He put me at my ease, jocular and reassuring. 

“You will be sore for a few days, rather like you had been kicked by a horse. There will be lots of bruising, but that will fade and in a week’s time you will be well on the way to enjoying your nice new hip. Now, I need to mark the leg” He pulled a felt pen from his pocket - “Your right leg, please” He drew a big arrow on my thigh. “Just to make sure we don’t do the wrong one eh? Right, I’ll see you in the theatre.” A smile and a wave and he was gone.

A short while later, I was on my way, being wheeled along corridors and in and out of lifts. I was pushed into a corner in a room that I presumed was the recovery room. Everything was as spotless and modern as any hospital should be. Medical staff milled around wearing masks and scrubs, all very chatty and cheerful. I heard music occasionally as doors swung open and shut. A friendly face with a podgy nose, squeezed by his mask appeared through the curtain.

“Hi Judith, I’m Alan, I’m one of your anaesthetists today. I’m going to be looking after you, and will make sure you are comfortable throughout the procedure. We will be putting an anaesthetic into your spine, and then we will sedate you, so you are nicely asleep.’

“I won’t hear any drilling and hammering will I?’

He laughed, “No, you’ll be out completely.”

“Like Gin and tonic then?” (Why do I talk such tatie ash?)

“Much better than that! The good thing is that the spinal anaesthetic will carry on working for a few hours, so you will be quite comfortable this afternoon.’

 He flicked through my notes, and looked up “I see you’re a singer, what sort of music?”

“All kinds, blues, rock, country - mainly Americana”

“Are you online?”

“Yes, I have 3 albums online, plus a few odd singles, including a disco track.’

‘Wow, I’m going to have a listen.” He stood up. “Ok, we will see you in a couple of minutes. Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine.”

I was next! EEK!

My trolley was wheeled down a corridor and into the operating theatre. Several surgical staff were waiting, one of them introduced herself as being from Ulverston, in Cumbria, my home turf. 

I was laid on my side, my leg lifted sideways into a sling or something, I couldn’t see what. A green curtain appeared. Jesus, here we go! 

“Sharp scratch Judith, are you ok?’

‘Er, I suppose so.’

“I’m just popping this into your hand”. Alan was sitting next to me: “Right here’s your gin and tonic”

 ‘Just an old sweet song, brings Georgia on my mind”

My eyes flickered open. Where in God’s name am I? And who is that singing like me? I blinked hard a few times. Shit! I’ve woken up in the middle of surgery. I need more of that gin!

A kind face appeared. Alan. “Hi Judith, we’re just finishing up now, you’ll be back in your bed soon.”

“She sings like me” I managed to mumble

“That’s because it is you, we’ve listened to your music all the way through the operation.”

“Wooooow!” I hadn’t felt this high since ... well it was a long time ago!

 The green curtain came down. I must have been moved onto my back, although I have no idea how. Next thing I knew I was snoozing in recovery. I heard words like Paracetamol Long tec. Short Tec. 

Mr D and Alan were in front of me. I can’t for the life of me remember what they said as I drifted off again. 

Soon I was back in my room. I had something over my face, blowing a gentle breeze of cold air. 

A nurse appeared in my field of vision. 

“We will need to keep you on oxygen for 24 hours, are you ok?’

I think I nodded, then closed my eyes.

“Would you like some tea and toast?’

“Can I have coffee and brown toast please?’

In the blink of an eye, there was coffee and toast and I was sitting up. I demolished it. I hadn’t eaten since 7pm the day before.

Mistake!

I felt very, very sick! I pressed the buzzer. A nurse appeared instantly 

“I feel sick”

“Ok, do you want me to get you something for that?”

I nodded, I felt better.

She came back with what looked like a papier-mâché bowler hat. 

“I can get you some peppermint tea if you don’t want any drugs”

‘That sounds like a good idea”

It wasn’t!

Have you seen the exorcist? Yeah, that! Plus, I hadn’t been for a wee for hours and couldn’t feel my lower half, so...

I felt so sorry for the poor nurses cleaning up after me. 

A couple of hours later the feeling started to return and I needed a wee. I pressed the buzzer, and a small army appeared. “I need a wee’

A commode appeared. I was gently swung round so my feet dangled off the side of the bed. 

“Are you ok? You have gone very white”

“I think so”

I was helped and supported to my feet, and lowered onto the commode.

I pointed at the bowler hat and squeezed my lips together with my fingers.

At least this time I didn’t need a full change of bedding and another sexy backless gown. 

I had a drip of fluids and something to stop me being sick plus more painkillers going into my left hand. 

I was totally exhausted and felt absolutely bloody awful. But as Scarlet O’Hara once said:

“Tomorrow is another day”. 

Day 0 - 2 Pre operation and getting your stuff together

 My Pre-op was on the 8th April in Glasgow, and my op was on the 12th, so 3 round trips to Glasgow in the space of a week - that’s a lot of driving! I could have done some of it, but Roy insisted he was fine, so that was that!

The Physiotherapist had rung a few days earlier. I wasn’t around so Roy had to answer the phone. When I got back he was keen to tell me he was in the process of placing an order to Amazon for a raised toilet seat, among other things.

“The physio asked me how tall you are, I said 5’10”. They need to know so you get the right height for the toilet seat!” He grinned, toilet humour is alive and well here in Kintyre. But I’m 5’4”

“If I’m 5’10” how tall are you?”

“Oh, I dunno, how tall am I?” He was looking puzzled now. 

“You are 5’10”, you twit! I’m 5’4”

He looked crestfallen, “I was just about to place the order, you’d better check it. You need a grabber and a long handled shoe horn because you’re not supposed to bend over.” He handed me his tablet and I checked the toilet seat height, changed it and clicked the ‘Buy Now’ button. 

So, you will be on crutches. 

You will not pick anything up off the floor or your new hip will dislocate! Which means:

You will not be able to put your knickers, trousers, socks and shoes on.

You will not be able to reach for anything higher than shoulder height or lower than hip height.

You should not cross your legs (You guessed it, your hip will dislocate)

You will not lie on your side, nor reach over your midline for anything. 

Hence the grabber. The long shoe horn and the raised toilet seat. At no point are you told how to wipe your bum! (Which involves twisting, reaching and potentially crossing your midline) But more on this later.

List for hospital and afterwards

1. Loose fitting nightwear and a dressing gown. Mine was too long, so a trip hazard! Just saying. 
2. Phone / tablet / book (I used the kindle on my iPad and a funky stand like the one used in zoom calls! Get one, you will be glad you did)
3. Headphones or ear plugs to block out the noise of clanging, rumbling trollies while you are trying to sleep.
4. Loose clothes for journey home. (VERY loose)
5. Toiletries. I took makeup too, and a mirror, cos I don’t even hang the washing out without my lipstick on, and these were to be the first human beings to see my face in over 5 months, so I didn’t want to frighten them!
6. TAKE YOUR OWN SHAMPOO AND CONDITIONER. I didn’t and my hair was like straw as a result of using the crappy “free” shampoo. It’s ok for washing your lala with, but don’t put it anywhere near your precious locks!
7. A comb. 
8. Supportive shoes. You won’t be able to put trainers on, probably not for weeks actually. the market for slippers is limited to sexy slide in ones that you would break your neck in, or “Granny Slippers”  I got some Mahabis, expensive, but warm, cos they re made from wool, they have a rubber non slip soul and a neoprene heel grip so they don’t slip off. (I LURVE them.) 
   
   
   
9. Your usual medication plus any supplements you take.
10. Long handled gripper for home. (My friend Leone assures me that you can’t use this for bottles of Martini; she tried.)
11. Long handled shoe horn for home
12. Raised toilet seat. I got a 4” on because I’m NOT 5’10”
13. A crutch caddy for carrying “bits” around with you - see illustrations below (small enough for a hip flask, not big enough for a bottle of gin.)
14. An adjustable stool for sitting in the shower (I have 2, one for the bathroom and one for supervising kitchen activities)
15. A slidy mat - any slidy fabric will do, or you can pay a fiver for one at the hospital. This is for when you do your physio.
16. You will be given or will have to buy crutches. Might be worth getting them in advance so you can practice with them.   
17. A lap table, essentially a tray with a bean bag underneath. Mine has a light and a hole for my gin and tonic glass.  It’s useful for crafting, balancing your meals on and in my case my iPad.
18. Something to hold those crutches in place, this reduces swearing and the need to keep calling your carer cos you dropped the bloody things on the floor again!

I bought some really nice nighties, cos normally I don’t wear one. (Ooh missus). The main problem you have is lifting your bum up to pull them down when you can’t actually lift your bum up! 

Wanna shopping list? Here you go - most are on Amazon but other retailers are available.

The Decision - Goodbye to Mrs Whippy

Mrs Whippy - our beloved Mercedes motorhome had stood mostly idle on the drive since March 2020 because of the Covid 19 pandemic. We had acquired hens in May, so even if lockdown hadn’t been imposed on us, we weren’t able to just pack up and go whenever we felt like it. 

In August, my daughter and I went on a little road trip to Yorkshire by way of Rosslyn and Northumbria. Although restrictions were slacker then, Covid was still with us. We had spent a few days together every year since we bought Mrs Whippy, and enjoyed our girly trips exploring England and Wales. Neither of us imagined this would be our last trip in her. 😥

In September, my husband and me, plus our 2 fox terriers embarked on what was to be our  final trip. Hens were being “chicken sat” by friends who had travelled up from Cumbria to stay in the house while we were away, 

Little did we know that Mrs Whippy would provide the solution to my hip problem.  

In December, a new wave of Covid swept the UK, and although we all thought we would be spending time together at Christmas, this was severely curtailed. 

In February 2021, my hip was BAD! I walked with 2 sticks for 20 minutes and that was it! I carried on with my classes, but was finding it increasingly difficult to move. I had embarked on a weight loss programme in order to reduce the strain on my joints and had successfully shifted several kilos. But I had to CRAWL upstairs to my music studio, where I record, mix and master songs, and teach singing and music. Sometimes the pain was so bad, and the painkillers so powerful, that I couldn’t work. 

I had suffered enough! My quality of life was being destroyed. Everything I had previously enjoyed was fast becoming a distant memory. I spoke to Roy about the possibility of “going private” and talked to my friends Leone and Mhairi about their experience of the BMI hospital in Glasgow. 

The funding for this procedure was either to come from our savings, or by selling Mrs Whippy. She was sitting forlornly on the drive, being started up every couple of days, and driven a few yards to stop her from seizing up like me!

Time to be pragmatic about this. Waiting lists for non-essential surgery were growing. Covid 19 was killing people in their thousands every week. I put my misgivings to one side and agreed that Mrs Whippy would have to be sold. The NHS was under immense pressure, and my dodgy hip might not be sorted out for years!

When Mrs Whippy was collected by the motorhome dealer, I hid upstairs in my studio because I couldn’t bear to see her being driven away. Once the money was in the bank, I rang the GP and asked to be referred privately.

Within a week of the phone call, I had an appointment. We drove the 3.5 hours to Glasgow, taking a flask and sandwiches because nowhere was open for lunch. Glasgow, that normally bustling city was eerily quiet. 

Once we arrived, we were directed to a “gatehouse” where a masked woman in hi-viz handed a clipboard and pen through the window, I had to fill in a Covid questionnaire and hand it in at reception. Roy, my rock, my logical, scientific, analytical husband, had to stay in the car. I was on my own now! I didn’t like this one bit! 

At reception, where I had to wear a disposable mask as opposed to my own, my temperature was taken by something resembling a bar code reader. It was normal. My heart rate wasn’t.

“Mr D...is on the 2nd floor, will you be taking the stairs or the lift.” A pause..”The lift is over there”.

I sat in the waiting room for a few minutes until my name was called. Mr D was charming, and personable. As I walked to his consulting room, he walked backwards ahead of me so he could assess my gait. My Wonky Donkey, Popeye gait. Which indicates, evidently, that the gap between the head of the femur and the socket have worn down.

 ( More here, I’m no expert so will always send you to the people that know what they are talking about!) https://journals.lww.com/jbjsjournal/Abstract/1971/53020/Walking_Patterns_of_Patients_with_Unilateral_Hip.6.aspx

A few questions, mainly from Mr D, some exercises and then the choices:

“You have 2 choices, you can have steroid injections into the joint and the bursa to reduce inflammation, Or you can have a hip replacement operation.”

(Oh Roy, where are you when I need you?)

“How long do the injections last?”

“A few months, then you have to have another, then another. But the effects diminish over time. They do offer temporary relief, but the problem is still there.”

I mulled this over - “Ok, what about hip resurfacing?”

“It only works on fit young men, because they have strong joints and bones, so I wouldn’t offer that to you.” He replied. He smiled with his eyes, kindly.

I paused for a minute allowing the impact to settle in.

“What if I lost some weight, got as fit as I could and had the injection?”

“It would certainly help, every stone you are carrying is an extra load of 3 stone on your hip joints. Plus the more you move and do aerobic exercise the fitter you will be for surgery.’

‘What if I had the injection, went on a fitness regime and then had the surgery? When could you perform the operation?’

“I have availability on the 12th April?’

That was 6 weeks away. I’m sure I could lose some weight for then.

“What would it cost? If  I decided to go ahead?’

“Around £13,000. Depending on the type of joint.”

I took a deep breath. What would Roy say? I was lost without him, and felt I wanted to talk to him first, but at the same time, I wanted my life back. 

“Ok, please can I have the injection and will you book me in for that date?’

“ Yes. I will get the injection now”

That was it! Decision made. I limped back to the car. Luckily Roy was in full agreement that I had made the right decision. The money was in the bank. Enough for 2 hips.

We stopped for fish and chips on the way back at Loch Fyne Fish Bar in Tarbert (Oh God, they are SO good!) I haven’t had chips since. By the 11th of April, 6 weeks later, I had lost another 6 kilos.

It is very important to try and get your BMI below 30. It is also important to MOVE - A  LOT!

Take painkillers, supplements, anything to help you move.

I built up to 30 minutes a day on the exercise bike, while singing my vocal exercises and watching the chickens scratching about. I could walk up the stairs by the time the date came round for my surgery. I could march along with 2 sticks at quite a fast pace, and had climbed up the hill behind the house several times. I continued with my Pilates and yoga classes, and did stretches before I got out of bed every morning. I didn’t look a single carbohydrate in the face for 6 weeks. I followed a regime of intermittent fasting; delaying breakfast most mornings until 11.00 am. 

Sheer bloody mindedness got me through! My eye was on the prize and I didn’t falter once. I read the 3 books below, and devised my own regime where I took bits from each one to suit. Everyone is different. My regime worked for me. It was drastic and fast, because I needed results. 

3 books helped:

The How Not to Die Cookbook

The Fast 800 Diet

Eat to Beat Disease

Pre-Surgery Advice From Versus Arthritis

The “Signs”

The First Sign appeared in a kundalini yoga workshop. For those of you unfamiliar with the practice, you spend a lot of time sitting in “Easy pose” (cross legged), on a cushion. Except it wasn’t easy, it hurt! My right hip did not like it, and my knee was a long way from hovering above the floor, no matter how much I pushed it.  I  fidgeted and wriggled until eventually, because I was disturbing everyone else’s chanting and rocking backwards and forwards in a meditative state, I was given a bigger cushion to sit on, and a second cushion to prop up my knee. “Namaste”

Gradually this discomfort grew, walking up stairs and hills gnawed away at my hip. As a keen walker and resident of Cumbria, this was most annoying. I’d always enjoyed walks in the mountains (as long as there was “pub grub” at the end) but gradually my gradients were eroded away - along with the cartilage in my right hip!

On a girly weekend away in London, where we were celebrating our 60th birthday year, one of our little gang, a physiotherapist asked me why I was limping? 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, do you have a problem with your hip? Because you’re walking like you do”

“Yes, a bit” I lied. It hurt a lot, and I was in denial. We had all been school-friends, but this was the first time I’d seen Libby in 40 years. I had planned to be funky, and trendy, as the rest of “The Golden Girls” were skinny, sporty and quite glam. I was never sporty at school, preferring the music rooms to the hockey pitch. Nobody chose me for their netball team; I couldn’t run or catch, and found the whole experience quite scary. 

My “thing” was music (Mainly singing and playing guitar) and yoga, I was very bendy and loved the stretching and meditation 🧘‍♂️.

As a singer, songwriter, performer, whatever, I was appearing in a choral recital for Christmas 2019. I was troubled by stepping up and down onto the raisers, but watching the video back, I was appalled at the “old lady” walk I seemed to have developed as I stepped to the front of the stage to perform my solos. 🧑🏻‍🦯

2020 - Covid and Lockdown

We retired to the east coast of Kintyre, overlooking the sea and Arran in January 2018. I’d joined a wild swimming group, where we swam from the gorgeous little bay just down the hill from our home; and my husband had bought me a kayak. This was the lifestyle I had dreamed of. 

We have a large garden, and when lockdown was announced, we spent a lot of time digging and creating raised beds. I hate waste, so recycled some pallets into seed trays, using a crowbar and my right leg to rip the pallets apart. My hip did not like this and protested by stopping me joining my husband and 2 dogs on our evening walk up the hill behind our house. 

Finally, I had to try and see the GP for the pain, except there were no appointments, only phone calls. I explained what was happening with my hip, and he prescribed co-codamol and organised an X-ray. 

“You have mild arthritis in your left hip, and moderate arthritis in your right hip, We can’t do much about it at the moment, because the consultants aren’t seeing anyone, but we will put you on the list and get an MRI scan done.”

“Will I need a hip replacement?”

“Most likely, but you can do strengthening exercises to help you, and painkillers will help you with the pain.”

My bendiness meant that my ligaments were pretty slack. 3 years earlier I had major surgery on my right foot, as it had pronated so far inwards that the heel had slid towards the arch of my foot. This was partly due to slack ligaments and partly due to an old fracture that hadn’t healed properly. I had the heel fused, and held together with an “A frame” of large titanium screws. Following this surgery, I noticed my leg rolled outwards and I couldn’t hold it straight. So really, my hip was bound to suffer due to the misalignment. What I hadn’t noticed was my “wonky donkey” gait, where I rocked from side to side like Popeye the sailor-man! 

Gradually I got to the point where every step was agony. For a few days in the Autumn, I had to hold onto the walls just to move from room to room. I couldn’t get up the stairs to my music studio, so resorted to crawling up on my hands and knees. I was desperate for some relief. I joined in online Pilates classes twice a week, one run by Cameron Angus from Coney Hill Studios in Bridge of Allan - Coneyhill Studios   And one run by my good friend,  Leone Shaw Tulloch of  LST Pilates

Both of them were excellent in understanding my hip problem, and guided me through strengthening exercises. Cameron gave me some online physio therapy advice, which was a great help, but as 2021 dawned, I realised that this hip was, to coin a phrase “knackered”  

I took to walking with 2 poles, I had piled weight on because I’d gone from my average of 12 to 15,000 steps to 4 or 5,000 very slow and painful ones. Another good friend, Pat Irving taught online yoga classes and gave me some gentle movements to try and help relieve the pressure. She is in Cumbria, and is also an excellent Acupuncturist. East to West yoga studio

I had so much generous advice from friends, I’d like to also thank another school friend who gave me a Zoom assessment and some exercises, Jacqui Tudor, who had worked for years in the NHS as a Physiotherapist.

I don’t know what I would have done without these wonderful people! 

  I had scoured the internet for advice, exercises, ANYTHING that would help. I’m 61, for God’s sake, that’s far too young to have hip surgery! Surely that is something that happens to frail old ladies? 

Conclusion

I was desperate for relief, sadly the NHS were overwhelmed by Covid 19. I spoke to my GP on the phone and asked him if there was any chance of seeing a consultant and having an MRI scan.

“I’m really sorry Judith, waiting lists are at an all time high, you probably wouldn’t be seen until the summer, and then if you need a hip replacement, the current waiting list is 2 years.”

What was I going to do?