A Rural Recovery Routine

Margo Oxendine, Contributing Writer

Margo Oxendine

Did you know that a half-million people receive this magazine? That tells me that there are probably thousands of you out there who are limping along on bad knees or hips. You know you should have a replacement, but the whole idea is, well, awful. The costs, the hospitalization, the recuperation, the pain.

Oh, the pain. Yes. If you’ve a bad hip or knee, you know all about pain. Both my knees gave out almost simultaneously. I distinctly remember the day: Shortly after the derecho in 2012, I was hauling a heavy bag of garbage — about $500 worth of spoiled steaks and other fun food — to the dump-sters and BANG, the most awful pain shot through both my knees. It was crippling.

Since then, I’d learned to just live with it. And I know you have, too. I see you out there, limping down the sidewalks, gimping through Walmart. It’s all I can do not to come up to you and start commiserating.

Well, I leaped off the “replacement cliff” Sept. 11. Since then, I’ve been recuperating, either in a hospital or ensconced at home. And I think there are many of you who might like to know just what is in store, when you finally gather your courage (and/or your money) to get some titanium in there where bone is grinding on bone. So, here are some things you should know.

Beforehand: Put your many questions down on paper, in a notebook, and ask them; write down the answers. As surgery nears, more questions arise, and the answers are easy to forget. Load in a lot of groceries. Fill your cupboards and pantries with all your favorite nonperishables — this is no time to diet, or deny yourself tasty treats. A few days before, go to the library and check out as many books as you can carry. Pack two bags: One for the surgery hospital, and the other for wherever you’re going for skilled care afterward. Buy yourself a snazzy walker; make sure it has a seat, and brakes, and a basket or pouch. My Rollator is the smartest money I’ve spent all year. If you don’t already have them, buy these things: grip bars for your shower; high commode seats, preferably with handlebars on the sides; a device that puts on your socks. If you’re known at a favorite restaurant, ask them to set up an account for you; that way, you can call in your order, and one of those friends who always asks what you need can simply pick it up and deliver it.

Surgery: Foremost, abandon all modesty and dignity at the door. Unimaginable things will happen; be determined to forget them and move on. Know this: You will feel marvelous just after your surgery. You will wonder why you waited so long. You will spend one blissful night. The bliss will vanish the next morning; prepare for pain, and lots of it. Grit your teeth and forge through therapy. Your physical therapist will tell you, in a chuckling voice, that “PT” stands for pain and torture. She’s not joking.

After-care: If you live alone, listen up: You will NOT be able to manage on your own immediately upon release. If you have a guest room, enlist a dear friend to be your “guest” for at least three days. Pay them, if you must. Make sure they’re strong, and have a sense of humor.

At home: Please make certain you have arranged for home-health care. Your insurance probably covers it. For me, it entailed three wonderful, professional women coming in three times a week to give you the care you absolutely need. They will be strangers, with one of whom you will shower. Get over this. Another will be a nurse. The third will be a physical therapist, who will again joke about pain and torture. Listen to her. Do what she says. You will not heal otherwise.

Now for the “fun” stuff: You will be home alone, with a valid excuse to miss every event you didn’t want to attend, anyway. Frequent naps are encouraged. Friends will stop by with flowers and cards and snacky treats and jugs of still-warm soup and pans of cornbread.

Lounge around and enjoy life, despite the pain. If you do your exercises, believe me, it will slowly abate. So stop dreading the inevitable. As the saying goes, Just Do It!

Oh; and by the way, Happy Thanksgiving! Merry Christmas!

To order Margo Oxendine’s A Party of One, email [email protected], or call 540-468-2147 Monday-Thursday from 9-5.