It wasn't my initial intention for my subsequent update to be so many weeks after my operation and thus, quite a way in to my recovery! I can’t believe that 11 weeks have passed me by… Originally, it was my plan to write regular, ongoing updates, but for the first couple of weeks I really didn’t feel up to it (or anything), then Christmas and New Year came around, and since then I’ve been dealing with some severe ‘brain fog’ - consequently this post has been weeks in the making; it really has been so difficult to focus on very much (other than pain, movement and scars!).
In short, all went to plan and my recovery and progress have been going well, albeit, as expected, very slowly. To date, the ‘journey’ has been incredibly emotional, (as well as physical) - and will no doubt continue to be for quite a while longer! I offer my apologies if you are reading this whilst preparing for this surgery, but everything I write here is completely candid and frank; unquestionably this has been the toughest thing I have ever been through. Nonetheless, here I am, and despite pain, it feels wonderful to be on the other side and no longer to be experiencing the pre-op anxiety which can be such an upsetting part of all of this.
Looking back over the past couple of months, I have so much to recount, I’ll attempt to break it down to some degree.
Surgery Day
Arriving at the Royal Orthopedic Hospital for 7.30am, I expected to be waiting for quite some time, however as soon as I checked in, I was whisked straight into a room for some pre-operative questions and was greeted with the news that I was first on the list for operations. I was welcomed by the very warm smile of a lovely girl who introduced herself as Phoebe, a trainee medical student on placement from University, and asked if I would agree to her observing my surgery and stay with me for the first few hours of the surgical process. It would be the first procedure she had ever seen and I was happy for her to be there as long as she felt she could stomach it all. I was quite taken aback by her bravery!
Following thorough questioning and what seemed like reams of paperwork, I was introduced to the anesthetist who was very friendly and welcomed any questions from me. I was relieved to hear that he was familiar with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and he mentioned it was in his family too. Mr Politis also briefly popped his head in to see how I was, appearing to be really happy and ready to ‘perform’, which was reassuring. I was told each procedure should take roughly one and a half hours.
I was passed over to another nurse who accompanied me (and my dad) along to prepare for theatre. I made a teary goodbye to my boyfriend and mum. My fear had totally reached its peak and the trembling kicked in as I was taken into a cubicle and asked to change into a gown, a generous pair of paper pants and the surgical stockings, before being given the go-ahead to proceed to theatre.
The atmosphere was very tense, not helped by the room being very small and seemingly crammed full of people. Looking around, trying to ease myself, I happened to read the labels on the drawers in front of me that were obviously full of surgical equipment, needles and such. I immediately stopped scanning the room! A cannula was inserted into my hand, and I was given something to calm me just before the general anesthetic was administered. The anesthetist nodded towards the digital clock on the wall that read 09:17 and said that by 09:19 I would be fast asleep. The last thing I remember was watching the digital clock in the corner of the room & saying, “It’s 9.19 and I’m still awake…”
The next I knew, I was dreaming about making a cup of tea at home as I slowly regained consciousness and realised my surroundings. I was awakening as I was being wheeled along the corridor into recovery; feeling surprisingly chirpy and delighted to see Phoebe’s familiar face by my side as we parked up. The nurse looking after me at this point, Lovejoy, gave me oxygen and was impressed with how awake I was. By now it was almost 4pm, having been in theatre for a good six hours. My legs were numb with a big wedge in between them, apparently in place to prevent me from crossing them. The epidural was definitely working well as I was prodding my left thigh asking Phoebe what it was; she actually looked under the blanket to check and reported back - it was indeed my leg.
I was incredibly thirsty and Phoebe was kindly supplying me with plenty of cups of squash. For some reason I couldn’t stop talking - about anything and everything; totally chatting the poor girl’s ears off, (which is not really like me). I presume the drugs were working well! I was asking how the surgery had gone; whether it had ‘freaked her out’; what music they listened to – they apparently didn’t listen to anything (even asking if I broke any wind – I didn’t, thankfully!). Phoebe was totally in awe of the surgeons and their intricate work - even saying she wanted to become one as she was so impressed. She told me that Mr Politis led the Femoral Osteotomy followed by Mr McBryde leading the Triple Pelvic Osteotomy.
A member of the anesthesia team very kindly offered me his phone and asked if I wanted to call my dad as he knew he would be waiting to hear how I was. I rang, full of cheer, not as if I had just woken up from a six hour operation, and I ascertained that he was surprised and somewhat relieved to hear from me.
At this point I was wheeled down to the High Dependency Unit. For the first few hours I felt quite alert, content, and in no pain at all (obviously as ‘high as a kite’). It was a huge sense of relief that the worst bit was over and I had made it through! It was also really lovely to see my family and they were very happy to see me (after expecting me to be in theatre for only three hours – which turned into six!). I realise that this whole journey is taken on by the whole family and not just as an individual; going through something like this really does affect everyone who is close.
“Would you like chicken and leek pie or vegetable soup?” My stomach did somersaults. I think I thought out loud, “Who could eat pie right now?” Reluctantly, I opted for the soup and eventually sipped a little through a straw.
Mr Politis came to check on me and was very pleased with how the procedures had gone, revealing that the plan was to first carry out the FO and leave the TPO if I bled too much, as apparently people with EDS sometimes bleed more than usual, (which is the first I’ve heard of that). Thankfully, both procedures went ahead as planned. I asked him about the condition of the labrum, but he said that they didn’t get to see into the joint itself. In amazement, when I looked down I noticed that my resting foot position was different to usual. My left was doing its usual outward rotation, but my right foot was pointing upwards! It was exciting to see. I also made the realisation that I went in with a pair of pants on and came out without any on…
At this point, I still felt spirited - requesting cups of tea - but as the night wore on my buoyancy began to diminish before the onset of nausea crept in (rather rapidly). I had not been given a buzzer so found myself suddenly yelling out, “Can somebody help me? I’m going to be sick!” Before I could finish the request, I’d thrown up all over myself and my bedding. This was when I realised how much of a bad move that was, as I was barely able to move in any sense to assist in being changed. My hands and face were given a quick wipe before leaving me for over an hour. Lying there with vomit embedded in the dressing of the cannula, down my gown and blanket, along with the constant vile smell, I quietly awaited someone to freshen me up. Finally someone arrived with new sheets, but in order for them to be fitted I had to be ‘rolled’. I quickly learnt that this word was bad news. It meant that two people had to turn me onto my ‘good’ side by moving my legs (wedge still in place), as I grabbed onto the bar and held myself there whilst they did what they could to change the sheet. To say that this was incredibly uncomfortable is an understatement!
That first night in hospital was a strange one. I was beginning to become aware of a dull ache in my hip, but it wasn’t anything too extreme. Everyone was telling me to rest, but I couldn’t get to sleep at all due to the strange surroundings and all of the new sounds bleeping around me in every direction. It seemed whenever one machine went off another person’s would start, and a chain reaction of beeps around the high dependency unit went on constantly.
Hospital Stay
The next morning I was given a wash and was very happy to be passed a toothbrush. The pain level had risen in my groin, but was still fairly manageable. They kept lifting up my blanket and spraying me with a cold spray to check how and where the epidural was working. At one point it had risen too high up near my chest so it was turned down a little. I was given aspirin through one of my cannulas to thin my blood. I felt the nausea coming on again and quickly asked the nurse for some anti-sickness as I wasn’t taking any chances this time, but once again – too late!
I was told that the bed I was on had a broken plug and that they’d need to move me onto a different one before I could be moved to a ward. This was unwelcome news as I could only imagine what that entailed; however I was reassured that I wouldn’t have to do much! A team of people flooded into my space to do the job. When I say a team I mean about 10 of them. I felt incredibly hopeless and very embarrassed, but they somehow got me onto a board and transferred me across to the new bed.
I was now ready to leave HDU and head up to the ward. After waiting a little while for the go-ahead, my parents & boyfriend were told they could take my paraphernalia up and I’d be following behind them to meet them up there. Not too long after they’d gone up, the machine I was hooked up to started going berserk. The nurse by my bed looked very panicked as she got the attention of the other nurses pointing at my machine. My heart rate had shot up to 140bpm. They got someone to go and tell my family to come back, as I’d have to stay in HDU until things calmed down. They speculated that it was because my family had just left, but I honestly felt no anxiety at all until this disarray started! I kept checking my screen for my BPM, but the nurse told me off for doing so.
Mr Politis happened to check in on me as all of this chaos was going on and suggested the high heart rate was down to the pain; the level had certainly risen after being moved and having the epidural turned down. Suddenly a lot of people were around my bed again and I was told I needed to have an ECG. All seemed happy with the results and luckily it slowly went down to 120bpm. A couple of hours later I was finally taken up to my ward. It did remain over 100bpm pretty much the whole time I was in hospital (typically my resting heart rate is around 70).
Within the first few hours in ward 12 my situation seemed to deteriorate rather quickly. By the time I arrived there, my pain had risen to an extremely uncomfortable level, and continued rising until I could no longer communicate properly. Finally, armed with a buzzer, I pressed it to let someone know, but quickly learned that, even with a buzzer, it was difficult to get attention. I was able to feel myself rubbing my legs and realised that the epidural must not have been working properly. My epidural machine began beeping, but nobody came to check it for over an hour. I lay there (the new arrival in a full ward) groaning in agony. When it was eventually checked, they found that it was beeping to signal that it wasn’t working properly; somehow an air bubble had become trapped. I’m certain that it had something to do with transferring beds since the pain seemed to worsen after that episode.
Following the huge spike in pain hitting me, it felt like days for it to become slightly bearable again. From groin down to knee was the loudest scream of the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life. It honestly felt like I’d been hit by a bus travelling at a high speed. As there was nothing there to mask the pain anymore, and I had not been given any pain medication of any strength, it was as if I could feel each point which had just been sawn and screwed. I had prepared myself for the suffering of some pain, but nothing had prepared me for this.
When my parents came to visit me the next morning my dad checked my back to look at the epidural site and found that it wasn’t in there at all, so the level of pain I’d been feeling made a lot of sense. After letting them know, I then had to wait a good 40 minutes for another cannula to be fitted so a PCA machine (morphine drip) could be attached to me. Even with the morphine the pain was still insanely strong and did little to mask what I was feeling, however I still pressed that button for another dose every five minutes and hoped for the best…
The physiotherapists showed their faces for the first time and wanted me to sit up on the edge of the bed. It sounds so simple now, but at the time this felt like an enormous task and it actually was unbearable. I went very pale and felt as though I was ready to pass out. The pain, on moving my leg was piercing. I somehow made it to the side of the bed using the monkey bar to pull myself as the physio lifted my operated leg, but when she began slowly bending it at the knee to drop my leg to the floor, all I could do was shriek… I dreaded them coming back! I know this is an important factor in recovery – but I did wonder whether they ‘cared’ as at no point did they show any empathy.
Sleep in the hospital was kept to the minimum. Finally drifting off in the early hours, the nurses would appear, draw the curtains and cheerily wake everyone up at 6.30 on the spot - each morning. I did have some morphine-induced naps throughout the daytimes and often found it difficult to keep my eyes open; especially when I tried to text or read anything; but whenever the strong pain rebooted, I’d be wide awake again. I was fairly surprised to find that my ward had no personal TV, radio or Internet access. There was just one 20” TV on the far windowsill with a remote that we never had because it was shared with the other wards. Their reason was that somebody had stolen all of the TV’s that were fitted. I wasn’t too bothered as I wouldn’t have been able to watch anything properly anyway, but the overall lack of technology did seem strange in this day and age.
Because most things would happen at roughly the same time each day, it didn’t take long to get in to some sort of routine. The meals, the ‘meds’, the visiting times, the shift changes… The best and most awaited time of the day (other than my family visiting, of course) was around 8pm when I’d be asked whether I’d prefer a cup of Horlicks or a hot chocolate! The meds would come around four times a day, every four hours. I could certainly tell when it was time for them, and especially when they were slightly later than usual! On top of the PCA I was also taking two dihydrocodeine and two paracetamol four times a day; something in the mornings & evenings that was a strong, slow-release pain relief (I didn’t ever get the name of it); some form of laxative (that was NOT working) and one ibuprofen (three times a day, every eight hours).
After a few days, I was taken down to be x-rayed. It was very odd, yet strangely freeing to be wheeled through the rest of society amongst ‘normal’ civilization (with my bag of wee & PCA syringe in tow). The radiographers did not seem at all happy that I was unable to get off my bed and onto the machine myself, and made me feel quite disheartened that I was making extra work for them. Passing the café on the return journey, I became fixated on the drink vending machine, really craving an ice-cold can of fizzy sugariness. I almost asked Alan, my porter, to stop off, but didn’t quite have the audacity!
The physiotherapists arrived once again and this time wanted me to stand up and sit in the chair next to my bed. It was a scary prospect, but I was determined to make progress. On the first attempt to stand upright sent me completely pale and weak again. Looking quite concerned they told me to sit back down on the edge of the bed. It was such hard work and the drowsiness of the morphine was certainly not helping. On the second attempt I managed to lower my weaker leg to the floor and felt a weird pins and needles type tingle going on in my foot. Somehow I made it to the chair and the therapists left. I’d assumed that sitting down after the operations would miraculously be better than pre-op, as my whole hip joint had been rearranged, but this was far from the case (and unfortunately still is…) The pain was beyond out-of-control and I needed to get up and back in bed ASAP, but nobody was around to help. I pressed my buzzer and awaited help, but it unfortunately took about half an hour for someone to come and get me out of that chair. It was a relief to get back into the bed again after that ordeal!
Four days after my operation, and the bloating was getting ridiculous. I was swollen, felt very grotesque and my hair had become a big ball of grease. I eventually begged for my catheter to be removed. It was seriously bugging me and I just needed it gone. I hadn’t really considered the alternative as there was no way I was getting up and walking to the bathroom every time, but being cut loose from that thing was a highlight. The physiotherapists were back again and this time their feat was to get me to the bathroom for a wash at the sink. This sounded appealing as the bed-bath cleansing was not the most effective or indeed, pleasant of experiences. I was given a walker and did manage to escape from the bed more easily, but every time I tried to move my operated leg to go forward, the clunking & clacking seemed to pierce through the joint, causing me to grimace with severe anguish. It was as if all of the metal work inside of me needed a lot of WD40 and it made me feel incredibly nauseous with every movement. In a dizzy haze and with complete exhaustion, I somehow very slowly made it to the seat at the sink. I was amazed at how good the fresh running warm water felt in my hands and on my face, even though the torturous trip back was in the back of my mind.
On the Friday night I accidentally caused a big scene. All I was trying to do was see the screen of the PCA machine so I knew when I was due another dose, but because it hadn’t been screwed on to its stand well enough, the whole thing came crashing down to the ground with a loud bang. The nurse came over with a fierce frown and told me off for touching it. I really felt like a naughty child - all I wanted was some pain relief! It was then that I was switched to hourly oral morphine. I much preferred being able to administer my own pain meds as it now meant I had to press my buzzer and wait for an unknown amount of time every time I wanted another dose, but I eventually found it to be better than the PCA & I was in less of a haze. It was such a relief to be free of any wires and it also meant I was able to get out of the hospital gown for the first time and into my own nightie.
Being on the ward felt similar to how I imagine it would be like being in the Big Brother house. To begin with I had a lady opposite me constantly moaning about how much her foot hurt after having a bunion removed (I know that must be very painful, but at the time, lying there with a freshly broken pelvis & leg, I was not up for listening to any of it). Another lady on the other side of the ward had a recent knee replacement and was supposed to have been discharged days ago, but her mobility just wasn’t getting any better, bless her. She really reminded me of a character Julie Walters plays and was a very entertaining personality to have for company throughout my time there. The girl who arrived next to me a few days in was the only other younger patient on the ward and we had some good giggles through our curtains, but it did amuse me that she didn’t know what operation she’d had done. Another lady at the end of the ward was a hip replacement patient, when she had visitors it seemed her whole extended family came to visit as about 15 people would gather around her bedside each evening and they would openly and loudly discuss their family matters!
During the weekend I tried really hard to get out of bed as much as I could. Each time it got a little easier, but it was still exhausting work. I hated using the bedpans so that was good inspiration! After being prescribed some Movicol liquid I finally managed to have my first bowel movement and it felt like it was an achievement worth celebrating. I attempted to wash my hair in the shower chair on the Sunday and it certainly lifted my mood. I was thankfully, slowly beginning to feel more human.
By the Monday came around I finally felt ready to go home. Of course I wanted to be at home well before that, but today was the first day that I felt ready. I eagerly awaited the physio’s arrival all morning – what a difference that made - as only a few days earlier - just seeing them approach from afar made me wince. They finally came over armed with a pair of forearm crutches as I was about to head over to have a shower, so I had my first attempt with them on my way to the bathroom. I picked it up quite easily and found them so much better than using the walker. I felt like a completely different person to the one they had seen the week before and was glad to have finally turned a corner. I was told that my weight bearing status had been moved from non- weight bearing to partial (although I was only able to lightly place my right foot on the floor at that point). They said they’d be back later to try the stairs, which made me very hopeful that it was my day to escape (it’s well known amongst the hippie community that in order to be released home, you need to be able to complete the ‘stair challenge’ - and I was determined to smash it).
The physio came back after midday to take me to the nearest stairwell and I was briefly told how to go up and down. I found it much easier than I’d anticipated and I was told that they were happy to discharge me. This was such happy news and my face was beaming with joy. I couldn’t wait to be released to all of my home comforts! I just had to quickly speak with the occupational therapist about the equipment I’d need to help me at home and then I could go. I was given a toilet seat raiser to take with me and she ordered a bath bench to be delivered the next day. The front TPO dressing was beginning to come away at the corners so a nurse came over and changed it for me before I left. I told her I was squeamish and didn’t want to see anything, but when I heard her surprised reaction at how good it looked, I couldn’t help but take a peak. I was so shocked to see that after only 7 days it was healing beautifully and there was nothing gruesome about it at all. I was then taken down to the discharge lounge in a wheel chair and given a huge bag of medication and the rest of my 28 blood thinning injections.
And so, exactly a week after waking up in recovery I was loaded into the back of an ambulance and driven home. That ride was bittersweet. It was so beautifully refreshing to see the outside world, yet each bump and bend in the road was incredibly amplified. I couldn’t help feeling nervous about the full flight of stairs I needed to master to get into my flat, but I managed to tackle them with a good amount of effort. The ambulance driver made sure I was safely inside and I was left to my own devices. It was rather surreal. It was amazing to see my little George, (my cat) although I could tell he was wondering what the new big metal arms attached to me were about.
Home & Dry
Being at home was a lovely and welcomed change, but I really struggled to find a comfortable position. I was so used to having an adjustable bed and a monkey bar to move myself around in the hospital. My back & bum had already had enough of being laid on 24/7 as well. I still wasn’t sleeping well at all. To achieve any form of comfort at all I had to use a ridiculous amount of pillows and have them arranged them in a particular way on my bed. I really wished I had a reclining chair at that point! I was also getting very emotional about the slightest of things. The bath board delivery didn’t come the next day as promised (or even for a few days after I’d got home - as the therapist had forgotten to order it) and I cried uncontrollably about not being able to have a shower.
I was very lucky to have my mum come and look after me for the first week I was home, her help was invaluable. It was also a great excuse for us to spend some quality time together, although not in the greatest circumstance. She and my boyfriend have been incredible throughout this recovery! George has also been looking after me very well throughout the healing process and to begin with refused to get off my lap. His purring cuddles have certainly helped me through this too.
On day 10 post-op I noticed an orangey- yellow discharge coming from the unchanged FO dressing that we figured it was likely to be iodine, but I called the district nurse to come round just to check and to change my dressings. When she pulled back the dressings she was very impressed at the speedy rate of healing and told me she didn’t need to re-dress them as they were already nicely knitted together (I have one 5in scar on my groin from the first part of the TPO, and one long 13in scar down my leg from the FO that connects to the back of the 3in TPO incision on my bottom). I was shocked that my skin had healed this well, especially with having EDS.
The swelling in my leg was still growing at a very high rate, which had me and my mum quite worried. We kept measuring it everyday and thankfully by the end of week two it stopped getting any bigger. My knee was becoming incredibly painful and by the end of the second week it was absolutely screaming at me just as much as my operated hip. I also realised a couple of weeks out that I hadn’t been told my specific restrictions, so I rang my surgeon’s office for more info. He rang back a few days later and told me that I could weight bare up to 50% and not to apply any rotational force to my leg, but I was okay to bend and everything else as the osteotomies were very stable.
Three weeks into my recovery and I had an assessment with hydrotherapy. The first thing the physio said to me was. “You’ve been referred here by Graham Brown?” (The man who two years ago was telling me for six months that my pain was down to being traumatized, and that I’d exhausted the hospital’s facilities when he couldn’t fix me with breathing exercises…) I was very shocked that he had absolutely no idea about my operations, but I was luckily able to request my old PT, Alison, for the actual hydrotherapy sessions. It was also this week that I had my first bath, which was an incredible highlight. Getting in and out was a different story, but I was so thankful to be submerged amongst the bubbles. Christmas was just a few days away and my mum & dad drove back down to Birmingham to pick me up so I could spend it in Durham with everyone. I knew that the journey up north would be difficult, but I thought that with the right cushions in the car and with the front seat back I’d be able to manage. It just didn’t work and was actually excruciating. Sitting was still impossible. I opted to lie in the back and we made lots of stops so I could move and stretch my legs. I really didn’t like travelling like this, but to spend Christmas with my family, anything was worth it!
I spent most of my time at home with my feet up on the couch, but I had to use the stairs twice a day to get up to bed, which I found to be a demanding task. It took so much energy, especially going up. I also had a really bad bout of sciatica down my ‘good’ leg and could barely put my weight through it or use it properly, so that made everything a lot harder. I cried a lot. I continually used ice and took oral morphine around the clock for any relief I could get. Although still in the really early and very painful stages of this recovery, I still had an amazing Christmas and New Year. Anytime with my family is special and everyone was so understanding of my situation.
Week 5 came around quite quickly and I had my first post-op appointment with Mr Politis. The clinic was running over an hour late and I couldn’t sit or stand for long, so one can only imagine how I felt that day. The secretary could see that I was in agony and offered me a bed to lie on in a side room away from the waiting area. I was incredibly thankful. I wish I’d known about this room for all of my pre-op appointments! Mr Politis was pleased with how the x-ray looked. The pelvic cut was healing very well, but my femur didn’t seem to look as if it had any bone growth at all. He told me that I could progress to full weight bearing slowly over the next six weeks, as this can help bone to heal. He reminded me not to put any rotational force on my leg, as well as telling me not to smoke whilst I’m still healing. As if I was going to take that up again after all of the effort it took to quit!
I mentioned the relentless knee pain and he wasn’t too concerned. He said it’s fairly normal due to my kneecap being pulled outward my whole life and now it’s in a new position. I asked about the sitting situation and he didn’t really say much about that in particular, but did mention that for the first 3- 6 months I’ll wonder why I’ve had these procedures done. Obviously I still have a torn labrum & FAI, but I’ll have to wait until I’m fully healed from these osteotomies to explore the arthroscopy route.
I have to admit having exactly the same sharp groin pain as pre-op (plus new pains) is pretty disheartening. You don’t expect to go through two major operations for the problem still to be there, but I have to keep reminding myself that I’m still fairly early in this very lengthy recovery and have a long way to go until I’ll have an inkling about what the long term outcome will be.
Week 6, I had my first hydrotherapy session. It was nice to see Alison and it felt great to be back in that warm pool again. I did a few strengthening exercises that at the time didn’t seem like much, but for the next couple of days I felt like I’d done a huge workout. I asked Alison if it was normal still not to be able to sit down and she reminded me how early I was in the recovery. She did say that it could be a mixture between my torn labrum, the impingement & tight hip flexors. I was trying to get out of the house more often, even though it still took a lot out of me each time I tried; but on the occasions I did, the fresh air felt amazing.
During week 7’s hydro session I worked on my external and internal rotation as well as doing some strengthening and stretches. The difference between my right leg and left is a huge - and something that’s going to take my muscles and brain a long time to get used to. It is very strange having a completely rotated leg and I didn’t ever realise just how ‘off’ they’ve been this whole time. The internal rotation of my operated right leg is now fantastic (having gone from pretty much zero degrees), but I’m mourning the loss of my external rotation and still wondering if I’ll ever be able to sit cross- legged again as it has been corrected so much. I attempted to begin cutting down on the codeine even though I was still in a lot of pain. Although I was still very dependent on them and had already cut out the oral morphine, I really disliked being on them for this long and wanted to do something about it.
Week 8 and my ITB started to become very problematic (the iliotibial band is a thick band of fibers that runs down the outside of the thigh attaching to the tibia). This typically happens when the glutes are weak (and I’m beginning to learn that weak glutes are a huge factor in lot of problems with these operations). If I moved in the wrong way I would get a piercing firework of pain down the lateral part of my thigh, which would make me screech. Although it was extremely tight, it felt to me like the band was getting caught on the top part of the plate near the greater trochanter bursa, so I do hope that the plate does not become as problematic as people in the FO forum say it does. During my hydro session I focused on stretching that out, as well as the usual strengthening exercises (one leg dips, side step ups, forward step ups and some float work) and was given a ITB stretch to do at home.
Week 9 and Alison wanted me to start going down to one crutch around the flat so that I could put a bit more weight through my operated leg. I’d say I was up to about 75% weight-bearing on two crutches at this point, but she said that going down to one made it less easy to keep the weight off my leg. She said to use one during the day and when I was tired, in too much pain, or left the flat to go anywhere to use the two again. This was exciting news as this meant I could now carry a cup of tea!
Week 10 and the increased weight bearing really heightened the groin and knee pain. I was delighted not be eating out of Tupperware, or drinking out of travel mugs any more, but the pain was getting to me a lot (especially as I’d now generally cut down to only one codeine at night). Alison was really happy with my strength and progress in the pool and wanted to review me at the end of the session as she thought I was nearly ready to progress from the water to the gym, but when it came to it, my strength in certain aspects was not great. She booked me in for a couple more sessions of hydro and gave me some new exercises to do at home. I was given the dreaded clam shells and side leg raises to do 3-4 times a week, as well as one leg stands (holding onto kitchen bench) and a stretch to get the external rotation a bit better (although this is to be done as pain tolerates as it really sets off the sharp groin pain).
This brings us to the present, which is the 11th week post-op. It’s quite bizarre just how quickly all of that time has gone by. I’m still finding it difficult to stay comfortable throughout the days, but I am doing more around the house -although it is very hard to find the balance between over-doing it and not doing enough. My sleep is still interrupted by pain, but I’m able to get sleep on my good side and tummy for around 15 minutes a time. My lower back is really taking the strain at the moment (and is tired of being laid on) and my shoulder and neck are becoming fairly painful. I do hope that’s not because I’m compensating too much when I’m using the one crutch, but it is very likely to be the cause. I’m trying my best with all of the new exercises I was given last week, although the clamshells and side leg raises are a killer! To begin with, I could barely lift my left leg off the floor to do the one leg stands, but over the past week I have progressed to about 5 seconds (holding on of course). I attempted a couple of steps without a crutch and my limp is incredibly exaggerated, so I’m nowhere near ditching the aids just yet – unfortunately. Before the operations I did have vague aim to be off crutches by the 12-week mark as it’ll be my 25th birthday, but looking back I think that was a tad ambitious!
My next follow up with my surgeon is at the beginning of March, so I’ll be able to find out how my femur is healing and give another update of what’s going on around then.
