The Knee Op and the Recovery

The big day of my knee fixing operation finally arrived last Thursday.

Despite the surgeon putting it down as routine afterwards I think it was anything but, as the list below should prove.

It all begins the day before when I receive the confirmation call from the hospital at 5pm. In amongst the machine-gun fast list of information passed on to me was this little doozy - "shave your knee before you come in".
My "excuse me? Did you just say I have to shave myself?" was met with a confirmation and the information that I could get hair remover cream at any chemist.
Taking it in my stride after the brief call finished I immediately enquired as to whether any of the immaculately presented librarians happened to have an emergency stash of said cream.
Unluckily there was not a depilatory to be had anywhere in the library so I had to venture to the supermarket and buy a huge basket of assorted groceries in which to hide my girly hair removal product.
At this point I must point out how disappointed I am with private medical care. For my last operation - under the public system - I was shaved by nurses, and you can't really ask for more then that (well except maybe for them to not sedate you before the shaving happens, but, you know, it's the thought that counts).

So in any case I was up extra early to take care of my knee smoothening. I have to say that I found it a simple process although my newly deforested knee did feel like a strangers knee - possibly something one could become used to...
ahem, but I digress.

The next "routine" thing that happened was for half a sky's worth of rain to fall in the morning and consequently my train to be delayed three stations from destination due to signal faults up the line. This was no measly delay, oh no. It was stated to be of 20 to 30 minutes duration. This delay would eat up all of my careful planning to be two trains early so a delay would not cause me any trouble. I guess Connex showed me in their final days.

So I finally arrived a mere 25 minutes late to bump into an old friend from high school who quickly informed me she was working as a nurse in recovery and would see me later.
Still stunned from the unusual and unexpected meeting I failed to take in that reception was not at all concerned about my lateness and seemed to have built it into their schedule - it's as if they knew all about me.

Much waiting around ensued, interspersed with physio instruction , paperwork and preliminary physical examination. During the physical I was informed that, although it is not stated on the literature about the operation they had given me, the patient (me) needs to be under supervision for 24 hours afterwards. "Humph", I mused. "Well luckily Handy Dad and Freeloading Mum should be accommodating for the evening".
I was also informed that I would absolutely need crutches so I dutifully hired myself a pair. In the very least I should be able to milk some LibraryLand sympathy with them.

Eventually I was called in to change into the exciting hospital robes and then, after sitting around in the cold for a while, loaded onto a bed and wheeled off for sedation.

The anaesthetist greeted me by my middle name, having taken a brief glance at my chart, and then proceeded to not find the vein for several minutes. He was muttering something about tough young manly vein walls so I forgive him - plus I have this cool looking bruise all over the back of my hand.
Once I had the thingamy in my hand he was called away before sedating me because a current operation had a patients "BP dropped to 68" or some such ER sounding thing.
This left me alone for a surreal moment with one of the theatre nurses who had the exact demeanour of Miss Amanda. Right down to the same turns of phrase - "ah yes, it's always soccer or football. My stupid husband had his knee done twice because of football." and so on.
I am fairly certain that there weren't any mind altering substances in my system causing me to hallucinate familiar faces in the hospital as I was next wheeled into the theatre and slid onto the table before the anaesthetist came rushing in and quickly had to knock me out before the knife men went to work.

I came to several hours later in recovery and had a nice little chat with my high school nurse before being okayed and sent back to the ward for some sandwiches and juice.

I recovered quite quickly and was waiting around for Handy Dad when the day's stormy weather caused an alarming power flicker - I thought that hospitals would have uninterruptable power supplies?

I was soon whisked away by Handy Dad and spent most of the evening at the ancestral abode enjoying a free dinner and supervisory company before being dropped home for the comfort of my own surroundings.


My last few days have been a whirlwind of recovery.
I've been cooped up inside going all Rear Window until this afternoon when I took myself for a short stroll.
I have been going slowly mad doing repetitive exercises, some of which have confusing instructions - how exactly is one to interpret "...hold for 6 seconds, do sets of 10. Increase number of sets as pain permits. 2-3 minutes, 3-4 times per day."

In any case I have watched TV and movies galore, read many books and magazines, and pontificated many a gaming quandary. I've also grappled with some mild afternoon nausea and some annoyingly planned road-works outside my flat for the whole day.
However most importantly I've discovered that The Tiger, and most probably all other cats, make for lousy nurses.

You know, I'm almost on the verge of being ready to return to work... almost.
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