On and Off the Ledge
And necessary.
I am fortunate to have a really good plastic surgeon to work with, and he may have solved the issues with the aperture around my osseointegration implant. And for that I am grateful.
It took three surgeries: two to debride the "exuberant" (surgeon's word, I swear) granulation around the implant, and one to cut a swath of skin from my hip and graft it around the implant to keep the granulation from coming back.
But nine days in the hospital is a really long time, especially because I wasn't sick. Things got better after I moved rooms and didn't have a whackadoodle roommate any more. But it was boring, and being woken up several times a night doesn't do much for anyone's mood.
Visitors can be a double-edged sword. My fear was I would have to entertain them and with nothing going on in my life that would have been difficult. But I am thankful to say my visitors entertained me.
Jerry, of course, came twice a day. He brought me cappuccinos and a sense of normalcy.
My friend Len, whom I've known longer than I admit to being old, visited and we had a great talk. There was lots of laughing and talking about things important to both of us. My cousin Ann-Laurie visited and we chatted about dogs and hip replacements. And other stuff.
My neighbors Raymond and Irene can always be counted on. They brought lunch, regaled me with stories about their grandkids, and Raymond, who is a physician, asked pertinent questions and reinforced the good decision it was to go through the tedious process of three surgeries.
While in the hospital I was attached to an industrial-strength wound vac. It sucked out yucky stuff and kept a tight seal around the skin graft to help its healing.
When it was time to be released, I was then tethered to a home wound vac, smaller but still pretty powerful. And cumbersome. It made getting dressed and going to the bathroom a challenge.
Fortunately, five days after discharge from the hospital the wound-care nurse thought things looked good enough to free me from the wound vac. She showed Jerry how to wrap three layers of protection on the wound.
I asked my surgeon's PA if she thought I would be able to use my prosthesis after my next visit to the surgeon, coming up next week. Her face said it all. I didn't call her Dr. No for nothing.
Instead of leaving there elated that healing was going so well, I was bereft. I was doing so well, and when we go to my cousins' house in Cleveland for Thanksgiving I wanted to be mobile and show them how far I had come.
I was seemingly inconsolable until I had a visit from neighbor Irene. Right now I can't even tell you what she said, but somehow, in a 20 minute talk she lifted my spirits and brought back my optimism.
Next week when I see the plastic surgeon the outcome is a crapshoot. Maybe he will let me use my prosthesis, maybe not. Either way, I hope I can remember that it's all part of the process of me getting more of my life back.
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