Lessons from Thump Swing

Unless you’ve been living under a rock—or unless you’re just stumbling upon this blog—you know that I had hip surgery recently. Four months ago tomorrow, to be exact. Given this fact and that Monday is my last day of physical therapy (*happy dance*), I thought I’d write about a few things I learned during this time and dispense some morsels of advice if you ever have to partake in such a joyous occasion as surgery. In no particular order…

1.   I’m not as big of a baby about pain as I thought I was. Oh, I’m still a baby (a BIG baby), but there was far less crying and moaning than The Husband and I expected. Thank God for painkillers.

2.   Speaking of painkillers, their name is on oxymoron. Painkillers do not take away the pain. Let me repeat—PAIN KILLERS DO NOT TAKE AWAY THE PAIN. They merely take the edge off the pain. The surgeons and nurses tell you this, but it doesn’t really connect until you go off the painkillers.

3.   Crutches suck. Enough said.

4.   Your hip is involved in a lot more than just walking and running—sitting, lying down, laughing, sneezing, having sex, lifting things, reaching for things…I’m pretty sure your hip is involved in practically every movement your body makes. That’s probably an exaggeration, but it sure felt like it. In any case, every single little movement hurt for a while.

5.   Physical therapy and your physical therapist are your new best friends. Make this your mantra, and repeat it as often as you need to. Repeat it when the body part in question is shaking from the exercises. Repeat it when the body part screams as the therapist rubs your scar tissue. Repeat it when the body part twitches off the table from the electrical stimulation. If the mantra doesn’t work, give your physical therapist a “cute” nickname to distract yourself. My main therapist was named Beelzebub (“Beelz” for short), and her short, Mexican assistant was El Diablo.

6.   On the PT note, let me step up on my soapbox—do it. And don’t just do it at the actual PT office. Ask your therapist for home exercises, and do them every day. In fact, do as many of the exercises you do in the office as you can at home. If this means that you have to dig through your couch cushions or eat nothing but Mac & Cheese for a month so you can afford to shell out some dough for the required exercise equipment, do it. It’ll be worth it—trust me. *Stepping off soapbox*

7.   Kiss your pride goodbye, especially if you have major surgery. Bathing yourself, going to the bathroom by yourself, and dressing yourself? Things of the past. I’m pretty sure my legs gave Troy Polamalu’s head competition before I got around to shaving them again, and the grease in my hair could have started a fire. Kudos to The Husband, who turned two VERY blind eyes and marked this down as training for when we turn old, gray, and wrinkly.

8.   The Husband deserves his own point. Contrary to what he’d have everybody—including himself—believe, he CAN actually cook, clean, do laundry, and generally keep the house from falling apart without me. In fact, he can even grocery shop…with coupons. Shh—don’t tell him I told you!

9.   Stairs may look cool, and you may have visions of your future daughter walking down them on her prom or wedding day à la Father of the Bride, but think twice before buying a home with them. They are NOT conducive to things like hip or leg surgery. I can only imagine what they’ll be like when I’m old, creaky, and arthritic.

10.   Next to husbands, cats make fantastic bedmates. I don’t think the Scout or the Nala left my side for the first week of my recovery, and I usually awoke to one of them stretched out at my feet and the other one curled into a ball by my face. And one of them always seemed to find her way to my side when I was bawling my eyes out…I highly recommend getting a cat. (Unless, of course, you’re allergic to them. Then don’t.)

11.   Some people will be incredibly kind, and others will be incredibly rude. My parents? They drove four hours just to bring me ice cream the day after surgery. My work? It let me work from home until I had been fully weight-bearing for a week (two months after surgery). The lady in Target a week before Christmas? She parked her cart right in front of me and glared at me as I tried to squeeze past. The Bible says to turn the other cheek, which I did…right after I had what was probably NOT my finest “What Would Jesus Do?” moment. Thank God for forgiveness…

12.   Have a sense of humor. You’re in pain, you’re drugged up, the body part you had surgery on feels like a foreign object, you can’t do anything for yourself—it’s easy to get down and stay there. But you can’t let yourself. If you do, find someone who’ll tell you to get over yourself, make you laugh, or do both. It’ll be one of the best “gifts” you give yourself.

13.   Come up with a cute moniker. Shortly into recovery, The Husband bequeathed me Thump Swing. My new name was based on the sound you heard when I gimped around—the “thump” of the crutches and the (inaudible) “swing” of my leg. Some people were mortified when they heard about this. I found it hilarious (See #11 above.).

14.   And because I can’t end on Unlucky Number 13 (but mostly because I can’t end on an odd number)—trust your journey. My surgery was elective, and there were quite a few times when I asked what the hell (Yes, I said hell. Surgery can make even the clean-mouthed of us utter a few curse words.) I was thinking when I signed up for it. Not everybody’s surgery is elective, though. Regardless of whether your surgery is elective or not, you have to trust that it, your recovery, and everything that happens afterwards happen for a reason (Yes, Mom, I did listen to you all those years.). I won’t lie—your journey will be a long and difficult one. But if you don’t trust it, you’ll have a hard time making it through.