Knee Surgery, Day 7

Yesterday, after taking off the tensor bandage, my knee was a cheerful gnome of pain, likely released, I suspect, by the flesh expanding rather suddenly after all that compression. Sort of like one of those strange deep-sea fish dragged to the surface from the depths. And while it calmed down somewhat overnight from the tempest of torment, the pain has not fully gone away. Just another day in the saga of knee replacement recovery,

Not that positive notes don’t sound: going up and down the stairs with a cane is a tad easier and less gruelling than before. No faster, mind you, but at least I’m not gripping the banister for dear life and screeching in pain with every step. But I still need a strap to hoist my foot onto the bed or couch.

If you asked me today would I still go through the operation, knowing the slow and painful recovery that followed, I’m disinclined right now to say yes. Ask me again in a week or two. Or six.

It’s impossible to foresee clearly how my life might have deteriorated with my bad knee growing worse over the years, and the arthritis spreading. Reduced mobility,  pain, and a lot of swearing would be involved. But how much compared to what I’m going through now? In a few weeks, will I have forgotten the agony of these early days? Will I have forgotten the weeks when I was not allowed to have a glass of wine before dinner?*

Losing mobility means losing independence. I won’t be able to drive for perhaps six weeks, and maybe longer if my recovery stalls. Ever talk to someone who has lost their driver’s licence? It’s a real blow to their sense of freedom and self-reliance. It also creates big problems for things like shopping, entertainment, appointments, and medical issues. How do they get to and from stores, offices, parks, restaurants, and so on?

The problem is mitigated somewhat in a big city with a good network of public transportation, but in a smaller community with limited public transit, there are few choices. Walking to the grocery store every day is possible in some areas, although in winter those trips may not be possible. And if the person has a mobility challenge as well, those trips can be very taxing, and seriously limit what you can carry.

Susan and I like to walk, and are fortunate in that we live only about 1km away from the downtown and not much further from the grocery store we frequent. If we ever go out for a meal, we always walk to it, even in winter (and to avoid drinking and driving). But there are new developments on the town’s periphery that are much further away, and because our car-centric townhall never plans for pedestrians, are not connected to the major shopping and offices by a network of sidewalks. In fact, many developments lack sidewalks within them, or have them only on one side of the street at best. TO find out how walkable your neighbourhood really is, try getting to and from the closest grocery store using a walker.

Using a walker also really underscores how old I am. I’ve never been in denial about my age, but shuffling behind a walker is a visible symbol to others as well. Not for others, yet, of course, because I’m still restricted to indoor activities. Tomorrow I need to go to my first physio session, and it will be obvious to anyone who sees me. Look at that old geezer with the walker! I’m a trad apprehensive about making the trip, however. Getting down the uneven walkway; getting into and out of the car; my first trip outside the house since my surgery… would that they could do it here until I’m more confident going outside.

Every morning I wake up hoping for two things: the pain has diminished and the dictator is dead. So far, neither has come true.

Notes:

* My grandfather had a bad knee he damaged during the Halifax Explosion, in 1917. His knee was very swollen until his death, in his 90s. It would creak, audibly, when he stood up from a chair. My brother has had both knees done, too.

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