For the second time in my life I am well and truly grounded.
Just over two weeks ago, I was pacing the hospital room waiting to be taken down. Why does that sound like something from the script of a courtroom drama? Anyway, taken down for surgery rather than a more severe sentence though as I sit here it does kind of feel like the latter. I had spent the five hours between being dropped off by my beloved at the hospital and the aforementioned downward journey wondering why I was putting myself through this. Elective surgery requires a mindset that I haven't tested before.
Previous surgery discussions a few years ago were based on the principle that if I didn't do anything I might die. That makes the whole decision-making thing remarkably easy. This, however, was something else. A year ago I pushed my knee once too often too far. For the next six months, lots of stuff got tried to see if I could avoid what turned out to be the inevitable. Broadly, the net result was that I could continue my life as normal and accept the consequences which was: night pain that stopped me sleeping, limping, walking with a stick, wearing a knee brace and not knowing from one day to the next how much I would be able to do. This is liveable with. There are lots of people with much worse issues than me and I am so fortunate in so many ways that this seems like a small price to pay. Except that it isn't. Long term.
So, despite my desire to cut and run before reaching the operating theatre (running quite slowly, obviously), I didn't and now I am two weeks into a six week stint of Being Good! This, it turns out, is quite hard too. Despite being told that the first bit post-op is very painful, I was working on the theory that I've had 4 children and cancer so I can cope with most stuff. Two lots of painkillers were provided on discharge but it turned out that the stronger one did not agree with me. In fact, a few hours after arriving home, I had my head in a plastic bin in my son's room. Just for reference, the rather robust bin was in his room rather than his sisters' for the same reason that I was using it now. Except he had more fun getting that way! Anyway, I'm not taking any more of those pills so soldiering on without is now the order of the day.
I have absolutely brilliant friends. Either that, or I have guilted them all into visiting because I can't go anywhere. After two weeks, I am now the lucky recipient of more gossip, funny stories and anecdotes than I have been in a long time. Two of my four children have been home, one of them helpfully asking "When did you get so old?" as I perambulated slowly up the garden. But at least I am perambulating and I can now make it to the cattle grid and back with the little dog who thinks we've all gone mad. One point with regard to Darcy, the small dog. I have been the centre of her universe for the last four years but it turns out her affections are all too easily bought! She is now following my beloved's every move and is all over my guests like a rash. Just saying...
The lovely physio suggested on Monday (our first appointment of many, probably) that, having told her I could walk round the garden with my sticks, I should walk to my next door neighbour's. I didn't say that was over half a mile away, as I was so grateful that I could move beyond the confines of the sofa that I was almost giddy with excitement. Did I remember to ask her any of the questions that had cropped up over the last week and a half? No. I am now writing a list as I go along of stuff to ask her next time. I shall be better prepared in future.
Meanwhile at home, my beloved is whirling round like the proverbial dervish doing many changeovers in the Barn (busiest time of year, of course), washing (though there was nearly an underwear crisis this morning), feeding me and trying to stop the entire garden from dying. He is doing a sterling job but I must be well enough to get my bulbs planted at the end of September. I'd like to think all this hyper-activity means he is losing weight ...we shall see.
So hopefully I have at least achieved a tiny dent in the rehab mountain and despite me and 'him indoors' being cooped up together far too much, we have not killed each other yet. I'll keep you posted. Now where's the carving knife?!
