Jeeeezus, I have written and re-written this post about a zillion times because I can’t think of anything to say. I’m coming up on four weeks post-op, with just over two more weeks to go on crutches, and I suppose my lack of heart-warming content is due to the fact that I have literally nothing going on. I’ve become the human form of my own cat.
Just waiting and napping and reading and waiting some more. No advancements to be made with PT, no new doctor’s appointments. It’s like the third lap of the mile. Everything got off to a rolling, panicky start and now we’re stuck in the longest, most agonizing lap. Startin’ to feel that burn…
I enrolled in classes at the university again, because ya know, there’s nothing more fun than being 10 years older than the freshmen. I’m cobbling together an Interior Design minor and trying to reconcile that with a yet-to-be-declared Kinesiology major, which mostly still exists in its previous form as a minor from my undergrad days. Which I got somewhere else. If you need an example of someone who has no fucking clue, you found her. My future looks like a Pinterest board.
Basically, what’s gonna happen is I’ll end up going all the way through a PhD here in Kinesiology and then decide to go into real estate.
While selling homebrewed kombucha at the farmer’s market because I haven’t made any money in 25 years.
Anyway it’s such a beautiful fall afternoon that I think I have to to throw my book in a tote bag with some snacks and drinks, sling the whole thing over my shoulder, and crutch out to the porch for a while.
I am writing this because I couldn’t find the information I was desperately hunting for on the internet. Maybe it will be helpful to someone else. Always call your doctor first in an emergency or if questions arise, but if that option is not available because it is after-hours or the weekend, as was the case for me, sit tight and try to relax. Unless it’s an actual emergency; then you might wanna get that checked out ASAP. How to differentiate is probably up to you.
Saturday morning. 16 days after surgery. I blink my eyes open just before 7:30. My cat is already eyeing me from the nightstand. When she wants breakfast she is quite the attention hog, and being that she is younger than 2 years old, she has lots of energy. I roll over to ignore her for a few more minutes. But she has other plans. On this particular morning, she chooses to get her kicks by attempting to jump into the high windows above my bed (which, I might add, are obscured by curtains and don’t even accommodate her well). She launches from my nightstand, sending a stack of books flying and knocking over a water bottle, my lamp…
Half-asleep Claire is NOT having these shenanigans today. I wrench myself awake, yelling “For fuck’s sake!” as I grab my lamp off the floor, and she goes flying out the bedroom door. I jump out of bed like a rocket, slam the door shut, and throw myself back under the covers.
It took all of 10 seconds. My adrenaline is rushing. Several minutes go by, and slowly I realize…
I don’t think I used my crutches.
I panic. I can’t remember. Do my pits feel freshly chafed? Does my shriveled calf feel strained? No, no, I think I would’ve noticed if I’d landed on my left foot — my leg has zero muscle, it would’ve collapsed — I would’venoticed! I glance at my crutches. They have slid slightly off my nightstand, as they were right in the books’ line of fire. Doesn’t seem like I would’ve just left them there, like that, though… I do not remember using them. It happened so fast. I think I would remember fumbling to grab them and put them back again… I. Can’t. Remember.
I stayed in bed another 90 minutes crying and debating what to do. Googling anything I could Google. I called my doctor’s office, forgetting it was Saturday morning. Trying to remember. And the more I tried, the less I could recall. The details slipped out of my mind like water. I circled my ankle. Became angry. Upset. Fucking pissed off at myself for what I did. Mad at the cat. But it wasn’t her fault. Why haven’t I been locking her out at night? Why haven’t I been wrapping my foot at night? Why didn’t I give her attention? How did I not think to grab my crutches? Why didn’t I breathe for five seconds before reacting?
And that’s the truth. Ididn’t even think. As the adrenaline wore off, I began to notice a faint throbbing, a dull ache. There hadn’t been any pain previously. But now, this ache, and I feel like I know in my heart what happened. I have no evidence to prove that I’m innocent.
I got up to eat. Feed the damn cat. Wrap my foot. Put ice on it. Take ibuprofen. And then I returned to my room, closed the door, and went back to sleep for hours.
* * *
The verdict is that I most likely didn’t cause anything to worry about. I spoke to an aid in my surgeon’s office right away on Monday morning who reassured me. Three or four steps isn’t enough to ruin the surgery. There was never any noticeable swelling or bruising, and the aching subsided to give way to general stiffness. Over 72 hours later, I have fully resumed all my PT and ROM work with no adverse symptoms.
Here’s the thing — accidents happen, and doctors account for that. My feeling is that if they thought it was too big a risk, they could have put me in a cast. They would do more to prevent it than simply mandating compliance. The last time I was on crutches, for a stress fracture, I landed on it a couple times due to losing balance on stairs. The same has happened once or twice this time. It’s to be expected when using crutches.
I am not a health professional. If you have an accident that you are unsure of, I would advise getting help immediately. New bruising, swelling, and pain that comes on afterwards might be a sign of trouble. If you fall and twist the joint in question, you deffff might wanna get to the ER. But those little bumps and mishaps — they are bound to happen. Be smart, don’t sweat it, and calm the eff down.
It’s already been two weeks since surgery. Where does the time go? Yesterday I had my post-op review and got the stitches taken out. Here are the questions I took with me, and the answers I received.
How much longer am I restricted to non-weight bearing?
I have been sentenced to the full 6 weeks. Which means I have one more month to endure crutching, hopping, crawling, and pit chafing. I will probably rent a scooter or a peg leg before classes start next week. How I plan on actually getting to campus is still TBD.
Why do I require 6 weeks instead of 2, or 4?
The way it was described to me was to think of a jelly donut. The fibrocartilage needs time to lay down and become strong, or the first steps I take will squish all the jelly out of the donut. Ya feel? It’s disappointing, especially because there isn’t any pain and it seems perfectly possible to walk. But for the sake of healing properly, I’ll take the advice.
When can I start running again?
In 6 months.
Hoooooo, that’s not what I was expecting to hear. I was hoping like 12 weeks. By the time I can run again, a full year will have passed since I last considered myself “healthy” enough to run. A full year since I knew I had to make a change and get help.
My immediate thoughts: at least I won’t be tempted to run over the winter on slick or frozen surfaces or over snowy terrain, and I won’t risk damaging a post-op ankle in an accident. It’ll give me time to really make sure I am healed and strong, and I can spend that time learning to love any form of cross-training I can get my hands on, like it or not.
Can I use the pool?
So… I was told not for four more weeks. But the reasoning was only that getting into and out of the pool may pose difficulties, and “how are you supposed to crutch across a wet pool deck?” Touché. But I’m already eyeing those disability chairs at the rec center, ya know, that dunk you into the pool and lift you out again when you’re done. Methinks I can take advantage of that opportunity, yes? I have to wait for my incisions to be 100% healed, but I’ll probably go for it earlier than four weeks unless I am strongly convinced not to. I am stubborn. Should I swim or no?
What kinds of PT and exercise can I do right now?
Pretty much what I’ve been doing. Core, upper body weight lifting. Nothing that requires applying weight to the operative area. I visited my PT this morning, and he gave me a set of band exercises to try. Gotta keep my intrinsic foot and calf muscles awake. There’s not much else I can tackle for now.
Continue to keep the foot elevated if I am sitting for long periods of time, and ice if swelling occurs. I can switch from bathing with one leg sticking out to sitting on the floor of the shower in three days.
Okay. I can do it. I’ve been on crutches longer than this before. And then what’s another six months. This will finally give me the downtime I’ve always wanted to try some spin classes. I say that with only mild sarcasm. Who wants to run outside in December anyway?
This has been my most difficult post to write, for some reason. I blame the entirely depressing circumstances that surround surgery recovery. My dad went home a week after my procedure, and the last five days without him have been really sad. The first morning I woke up, several hours after he had gone, I cried and cried, feeling totally helpless, useless, pathetic, and lonely.
There isn’t much to do while waiting for a joint to repair itself. There isn’t much I can do. For a week my dad stock-piled my freezer with home cooked meals, watered my gardens, cleaned my house, did my laundry, and moved my laptop from the table to the couch and back again every hour. We ran short errands together so that I could get outside for some fresh air. Now my house is quiet and lonely, just me and the cat — who is decent company but has so far proved to be quite useless at putting dinner on the table and bringing in the mail. I didn’t even unlock my front door for the entire day once. If it sounds sad, it’s definitely worse.
Anyway, four days after surgery I visited my PT to have the bandages removed. He was pleased to see that the swelling around my ankle was minimal. Just some bruising and orange iodine toes. We worked on some range of motion exercises, and then agreed to revisit once I’ve had my stitches removed. Working on PT and some core exercises is about the only thing I actually have on the schedule every day. So, once I get tired of spending the whole day on the couch reading, scrolling, and snacking on reheated food, I crawl into the garage to do my routine.
I start with ankle circles and passive stretching on a wobble board to regain my ROM. The first couple days were really abysmal — it’s amazing how much you lose after only four days. But slowly things improved, and I no longer felt like I was pulling a muscle when I stretched. I also self-massage by rolling my calf on a field hockey ball to loosen things up. At this point, I’d say ROM is probably almost back to normal. There hasn’t been any pain inside the joint, just some tugging at the stitches if I overdo it.
As far as core, anything where I can stay on my back or off my foot is fair game. I’m still expanding the foot-free possibilities, but a short list of doable exercises includes:
Bicycle, dead bug, scissors, row boats, Russian twist
Firehydrant, donkey kicks, bird dog
Clamshells, leg lifts/hip lifts, hip circles
Hamstring curls, superman/locust/swimmers
Anything that can be done lying on my stomach while clenching my butt cheeks that feels like it requires effort
I also have a set of small weights that I can use for some arm exercises. It’s not as fun to me as heavy lifting, but I can save that for the gym… whenever I get back in one. At the very least, doing 20 reps of arm lifts in as many directions as I can think of burns off some fidgety energy. I have nothing else to do, I might as well get ahead on my strength.
🎶They tried to make me go to rehab and I was like yea of course I just had surgery🎶
^thanks to Internet compatriots I now have Amy Winehouse stuck in my head forever. What would we do if we couldn’t mistake famous runners for IRL friends? At least he also looks sad.
I’m ready to be done wallowing in self-pity and get back to life. Somehow the school year crept up on me and classes start literally next week. It’s been over a year since I last took a class on this campus, and I’m feeling that rushing anxiety that comes on when something is coming so fast, so inevitably, and you’re completely overwhelmed by your to-do list. There are dishes in my sink I can’t do, weeds in my yard I can’t pull. I keep stressing about getting back to work, and then I have to just stop myself. There’s nothing I can do to rush the recovery process. Work will be there when I am able to go back. The weeds… will definitely still be there. The things will get done that need to get done, it’s just hard to imagine that while I’m currently staring at the ceiling for a living.
On Thursday, August 9, my cousin, dad and I loaded up my car and embarked on the hour-long trip down to Fort Collins, CO, for my arthroscopy procedure. My cousin had been in town visiting for several days and was on her way to Denver. My dad came all the way from Florida to gladly be my nurse for the next week.
We left Laramie at 6:30 am. I had to be at my appointment at 8:00 am, and surgery was scheduled for 9:30. Much to my surprise, I wasn’t particularly anxious. Just thirsty. I had been allowed to eat solid food up until 11:00 pm the night before, and clear liquids until 5:30 am that morning, but I hadn’t actually had anything to drink since I woke up.
My surgery was scheduled with Dr. Houghton at the Orthopaedic and Spine Center of the Rockies in Fort Collins. Both he and another surgeon in Laramie had reviewed my MRI and provided the same diagnosis and treatment options. My insurance better covered the procedure in Colorado, which is why I traveled.
I was called back to the pre-op ward shortly after we arrived. I changed into my surgery gown and a hair cap, and had my earrings taped. Then I was put up in a bed to wait for my procedure and was administered an IV. My dad and cousin were then allowed to wait with me, which eased my anxiety and passed the time. At this point, I was mostly hungry. The nurse offered a relaxer drip and I gladly took it — “It’s gonna feel a little bit like you just had a couple margaritas.” It helped quiet the anxiety in my mind and stopped my extremities from shaking.
The doc was running a little behind schedule, so 9:30 came and went before he briefly appeared to initial my operative leg. It was around 10:15 am when the nurses collected me. I left behind my glasses and waved goodbye to my crew. The margaritas had worn off, but I was ok. At that point, you know you’re in good hands and that you’ll be unconscious in a minute anyway.
It was a short and blurry trip to the OR, my only impression of which was that the lighting was excessively bright. In about two minutes, I was moved onto the operating table as an assembly of people I couldn’t make out repositioned me, placed a gas mask over my face, and told me the anesthesia was coming. I could hear the beeping as my heart rate shot up, but the slow fade was right there waiting for me.
I woke up with that groggy confusion where you know vaguely what’s going on, but you feel like you’ve been asleep for years. I immediately asked what time it was, and wondered whether the surgery had happened yet. It was about 11:30 am. The nurse asked me how I was feeling, and I blurted out that I’d really like a bagel.
She helped me change back into my clothes and wheeled me out to meet my dad in the ward. She gave me a pain pill and briefed him on the next steps. I was still a bit too groggy to follow along. Eventually, my dad went to retrieve the car, and the nurse wheeled me outside. I remember smiling as I left, and feeling an easy, blissful happiness.
24 Hours Post-Op
Once we got home, I spent the afternoon on the couch feeling very satisfied with the whole day. At the surgery center, I was provided a small walking shoe to wear with my surgery dressings and a pair of crutches. No boot! The wrapping and bandages will come off on Monday, four days post-op.
I was in very little pain and great spirits upon arriving home, which had nothing to do with drugs. For the first 24 hours, I took a pain reliever every four hours, and now I’m just taking it as needed. My foot was almost entirely numb until about 3:00 pm the next day, and when that wore off I could finally feel a dull aching sensation near the incision.
The surgery nurse instructed me to keep my leg elevated and do ankle circles and “calf pumps” as needed. I don’t have much range of motion due to the bandages, but I’ve been keeping pretty limber. I’ve also been doing calf massage manually or with a stick.
My throat was pretty sore from the anesthesia, but drinking water and echinacea tea helped with that. The first morning after surgery I opted for green tea instead of my usual decaf coffee, and my dad crafted a green smoothie for me to have with breakfast, using kale and mint from my yard.
48 Hours Post-Op
I am not one to enjoy mandatory bed rest, so the last 48 hours have slowly gotten boring once the novelty wore off. Lots of reading, naps, and endless scrolling. Sleeping has been relatively easy once my nighttime anxiety about blood clots settles down.
The hardest activity by far has been bathing. I might not try it again for a minute. It was mild chaos — just, like, flailing around while keeping one foot above water in a plastic bag. And I have pretty good balance, but that’s a lot of faith to put in my right leg while maneuvering out of slippery porcelain. Ya know, hygiene is overrated anyway.
To recover from something like this requires a sound nutrition plan. I’ve been eating well and with intention. Lots of veggies, grains, and protein. I know the prospect of immobilization scares a lot of neurotic runners, but you have to respect what your body is going through, and retaining your runner physique is far less urgent than repairing the injury completely. Now is not the time to pass judgment. There’s not much you can do about being restricted from bipedal movement; don’t make things harder by restricting your diet as well.
I don’t know how long the non-weight bearing phase will last. Could be 2 weeks, could be 6. The shoe makes me optimistic that it’ll be on the shorter end. I am ok with not knowing. I am ok with trusting the process. I am ok with the temporary loss of physical activity if it means I can have it all back eventually. Embracing the unknown is hard, but remaining positive that your patience will pay off is the only way to see this stuff through, in my experience.