Broken surprises.

It has four years since I had the replacement and four months since the bone graft.

Recovery from the graft is proving to be interesting, more difficult than I thought and with a surprise that my surgeon has never seen from this already unusual surgery.

I had a check up six weeks ago and I am still processing the news, the x-ray showed that I have fractured the bone graft. Clear through middle, where the stem tip hits the bone. We are a bit of a loss as to how this has happened and what this means for the success of the operation. It is gutting.  The unknown of this is a bit tough.

The recovery has been difficult with stiffness and flexibility. I am finding it frustrating and depressing, having a toddler around has made extra hard and I am thankful he came along after the hip replacement! It may have been easier to put this off till Squeaky was in school but we have so many other unknowns this had to be sorted.

I had four Hydrotherapy sessions and they helped. I am finding being focused on the physio difficult and really need to be better. I find I can lift and carry Squeaky but a bit loathe to run after him and he is running! Everywhere!
I need to find some motivation and not let this fracture drag me down and hope that my bone merges in with the graft. I need this leg to be back to normal regardless. I have to this but am so worried it is has failed and all this pain and the lack of flexibility is for nought.to write this a few
I have tried to be sparkly about this but am failing a bit. I am still off work and trying to get myself and this damn leg. Then forward.

Two!

It is a two day.

Two weeks since the operation and this means that the dressing came off! Well, Mr Gin gingerly peeled the amazing water proof dressing to reveal… Do you really want to know?  Skip the next paragraph if you don’t want to.

… A surprisingly clean cut. The old scar is gone, and the cut is not the same as I have seen on line, not a clean curve. A bit more angular and not as far into my bum muscles as I thought. It looks clean, a bit scabby and a couple of points I suspect will keloid later as well as the ball point marks left by the surgeon.

Bed Board from Amazon plus my hand for a bonus!

The other two, is the second shower in my own bathroom. I bought a bath board and we use it make transfer into our shower over the bath easy. I cannot lift my leg over the bath edge. Mr Gin, again a hero and helps get my leg into the bath and makes sure that I'm safe and not going to attempt my own stunts.

A shower is a wonderful thing, I have been ‘bird bathing’ for a week and a half and not really felt that clean. Washing my hair! Dandruff be gone!  Even though I can’t shower on my own, mainly this is all of us being careful and it has to be at night, I don’t care! Shower!

My Mum has also passed the two week mark of her stay, I will be forever grateful for her coming over!

Nervous, nah.

Currently riding the Victoria line tube with two suitcases, my mother and Mr Gin also a percentage of London's tradesmen as they head to work. It is early, there are cheap energy drinks being clutched and gentle body sways of the people with the ability to sleep sitting up.
Today is the day. We are heading to Epsom to check in. Surgery is happening today.
I got asked at work if I was nervous a while back, the answer was no, bloody petrified but not nervous.
I've had enough operations to know what to expect, generally, I'm pretty good with general anaesthetics and I've researched the facility well enough to be comfortable they know what they are doing.
I'm petrified of the other side. The pain factor of having bone removed is unknown, the ability to bounce back is unknown and although I know the percentages of complications, they still scare me, a lot.
The threat of nerve damage and infection are looming shadows. Nerve damage, especially of the sciatic nerve worries me a lot. There is no guarantee of its location and in my case if it is not caught up in scar tissue. It is going to be stretched and nerves really dislike this, really, really. I have a friend who has periodic bouts of sciatica and to have that all the time is something I would struggle with.
Infection causes all sorts of mayhem, it may cause a revision, having to fix or put in another replacement. At my age, 41, I can not afford that. I'm only going to be able to have three possibly four replacements in my life, they last about 15 years and my grandmother lived to 93. As you can see, I really want avoid a revision.  I have had a friend who had revisions done in her 40s and the effect on her mobility is affected to a life changing extent. Again an outcome that I want to avoid at all costs.
So, here I am, an empty tummy and dry hands because no food since midnight and no moisturiser allowed.
At midday my life will change and hopefully Mr Hutt  will make it for the better. I have list of things I want to do when this is over.
So, not nervous but suitably scared of downsides to work bloody hard at avoiding them.

Good bye old friend

Scars, I have a lot of them. I have little nicks on my hands, chicken pox on my fore head and belly and of course the one on my jaw from childhood bath fall accident. Most people have them, scars are a sign of life will lives, they are stories of carelessness or bravery or so small you can not remember where they came from.
My body shows the story of my hips in stark relief. I have a 2 cm thin white line on my right wrist. It is a reminder of what happens when a two year old rips out an IV line.  I have another on my knee from an ulcer that developed because nothing is going to stop a six year old running around, not even a half body cast. (Although my mother did keep me from getting it too wet, like similar aged boy we saw one day, his cast was brown and smelled!)

The big guys are hidden, I have a lovely curvy one on my left hip and a whole world of train train tracks and fun on the right.  I used to I use to fairly self consciousness of the scars, growing up in Australia and being a swimmer they were on display a lot and you picked up the furtive stares. As I have got older it is less of an issue. I worry about my belly more than my old friends.  Along with my limp they just tell a story, not all that interesting but on that has been intervening in my life. Effecting decisions and general  life.
I have hidden them, hated them and slowly grown to love them,   I have photographed them and am comfortable showing them off.




But on Thursday I am going to lose one. The long straight one down my right thigh. The one someone once though was cotton hanging from short shorts.



It will be cut out and a new scar will be in its place.  This feels a little odd. It is the last one that was opened, I can remember the stitches coming out.

The new one will be longer and will trace around onto my butt.  Something to photograph?  Yep.