Dental Mess

Nothing like a bunch of unexpected extra puzzle pieces that have to be dropped into place. Monday, my dentist called. "I can't give you dental clearance till you get the root tips on the upper right taken out - you've got abcesses," he said. Ugh. NOW he tells me. So, I called the oral surgeon he recommended, who managed to squeeze me in the next morning at 8 am. I had a houseguest, so I told him to sleep in while I scooted off to root removal land.

First thing his office did, after doing all the intake paperwork, was plonk me inside a panarex - at least I think it's called that. Takes panoramic xrays. I stood there, biting down on a bit of plastic, while the xray machine whished its way around me in a circle. Felt like preparations for NASA or something.

Then, into the examining room. Again, no spit sink. Must be a Chicago thing. The oral surgeon said I had abcesses at the roots of THREE teeth, and I'd better hie over to my dentist and find out what in the bleep is going on, as he only was recommending one set of root tips be nabbed. So, they made me a print of the xray, which I trotted over to my dentist's office. He took a look, and said, yeah, you need three out. Turns out I've had the abcesses for over two years, but because no big surgery was forthcoming, there was no need to deal with them. Ugh and double ugh.

So ... back to the oral surgeon. And out came root tips for three back teeth - my pathetic excuse for a wisdom tooth, and the two top second molars. My mouth is tiny anyway, so I think I can do without them, but boy, it feels weird. The oral surgeon also said one abcess had moved into my sinuses, which explains the weird filled feeling I've had on one side of my head, and probably explains the leakage in my ear I was having earlier this year. I suspect all will improve, with the extractions and the antibiotic.

I spent most of yesterday with, of all things, tea bags in my mouth. Tannic acid is known to stanch bleeding (not staunch - that misusage drives me bonkers), so as the bleeding hadn't stopped after 2 hours, in went the tea bags. I think I was sounding like Marlon Brando in The Godfather, trying to talk around those things. My houseguest said I looked like a chipmunk. I'm glad he didn't try to take any pictures!

Call Me Weeble

Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down. That's me. I get up in the morning, and I weeble my way into my day. I get up from a chair, and I weeble through the house. What's weebling? It's this really weird stiff-legged wobble, that now passes for a walk. Whatever happened to my great energetic sexy stride? It's become Weeble.

I've found out a few more things about this hip replacement. What shall forever be prohibited from me. Running. Jumping rope. Trampoline. Basically, anything where both feet must leave the ground. I'm glad I already did my parachute jump - that would be off the bucket list as well.

I also discovered that I'll have to wear a splint on my legs for the first few weeks when I sleep, so that I don't accidentally roll over and cross my legs. At least the prohibition against crossing my legs is only for three weeks or so. The prohibition against leaning forward is also for three weeks.

I hope that this operation also takes care of the pain in my right knee. I've been told the pain radiates - that the knee hurts because of the hip problems. So we shall see.

The joint being put in my hip is made of oxinium, which is some kind of fancy metal-nonmetal blend. Titanium and zirconium, if I remember right. So I guess I've have this really groovy postmodern hip. A hip hip. (eeeee!) I guess that's the answer to Tower of Power's "What Is Hip?" What is hip? Oxinium.

Tidbit 1

I just discovered there are special raised toilet seats designed for people who've had hip replacements! There's a medical supply store not too far away from where I live, so I figure I'll pop down there tomorrow and talk to the folks. I know there's one down on Michigan Avenue as well - maybe I'll go there too, and see what they have.

A few millimeters forward

I decided to try out getting dressed with the grabber. Yep, great for pulling up pants. One less thing to worry about. I'm going to have to experiment with what the grabber can do. I have a feeling it's going to become my favorite toy during recovery.

I think I'm going to go for the spinal block and sedation, instead of general anesthesia. From what the husband tells me, I'll be pretty much out for the whole operation. And coming to consciousness won't be as big a fuss. One thing I really hate about surgery is the horrible discomfort of emerging from general. I especially hate the rationed ice chips.

A Little More Info

Yesterday was the pre-op intake day. I went down to the medical center, and spent time talking with the anesthesia people and with the physical therapy people. The husband came with me, but left at the end of the anesthesia people meeting.

They took a rather lengthy medical history, including all past operations and all meds I take. I had forgotten that during the last surgery I had, I had a lot of nausea problems while in the recovery room. They are now researching what kind of anesthesia I had then, so that if they use general, hopefully I won't have to truck with nausea again.

They mentioned local - a spinal block - which I really didn't want. However, the husband had had a spinal and femoral block when his patellar tendon was reattached in 2006, and that, supposedly, reduces postop pain. So ... maybe that's an option. I'll think about it. But I'll definitely talk to folks first!

A nurse came in and took some blood, for a general assessment and to type. Looks like I'll finally find out my blood type - I've never known! She was, without a doubt, the very best blood-drawer I've ever experienced. I didn't feel the needle go in, or come out. That's expertise!

Then, I had to scoot (relatively speaking) over to another building to talk to the physical therapy people. I wound up being worked with by some girl who almost looked young enough to be my granddaughter! She didn't know a whole lot, and seemed really embarrassed by some of my questions. The other therapists were a lot more knowledgeable, and two joined in and gave me advice.

The good news:

. I'll be able to sleep on right side (the side with the wound) without needing a pillow. However, if I sleep on my left side, I'll need to put a pillow between my legs.

. I've still got quite a bit of core strength left over from my days doing Pilates, so getting in and out of bed won't be a huge trial.

. I still remember how to cope with crutches, so I had no trouble at all learning how to walk with them, and turn, and negotiate stairs. It's going to be lots easier than it was in 1988, when I was non weight bearing for 10 weeks!

. Sex will be fine, as long as I don't bend the right hip too far.

. I don't need new chairs - I'm sitting at 90 degrees. I'll just have to be cautious about leaning forward. Still, if it's 85 degrees, I'll be fine.

. Cooking is fine, as long as I can scoot over to a chair every so often if I'm tired.

. And ... I'll be able to be physically active again! Ski, Pilates, hike.

One thing I didn't cover is getting dressed. However, I told some neighbors this morning I was having the procedure. One told me he had had his hip resurfaced last year, and he feels like a new man. I told him I was worried about getting dressed, and he said "use the grabber." Makes perfect sense.

I'm still concerned about silly things ... like, will I be able to rotate my body in order to wipe myself? That's going to be difficult, if I can't. I'm glad I have most of the equipment I need, like the long-handled scrubber, the grabber, and a cane. I do still need a raised toilet seat, so I'm going to have to get that.

The disgusting thing is that my doc wants me to only sponge bathe for five weeks. I'm going to have to try to negotiate that one.

And I have to find out what the actual surgery is going to cost! I was much too tired yesterday and today to deal with it. I'm going to have to deal tomorrow.

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FIrst Up

Getting a hip replacement is not my idea of a walk in the park ... if I could indeed walk in the park. I'm a 53 year old woman, a relatively recent first-time bride (2005), and a former athlete (fencing, dancing, skiing, etc.).

Over the past five or so years, however, my right hip has become increasingly recalcitrant about letting me do what I want. First, high heels left the shoe repertoire. Then I started listing to the right when going up and down stairs. Then I started having to pull myself up stairs. Then came the limping, especially when I stood up from sitting for a time. And sitting for a time's impossible to avoid, as I write for a living.

So, in 2007, I hauled myself off to a doc. The diagnosis: not bursitis, which could have been handled by a nice injection, but degenerative osteoarthritis. I was given about two years before I'd need my hip replaced. However ... the doc would not do surgery unless I lost quite a bit of weight. Can't exercise, can't lose weight, can't have surgery, pain continues, etc. Can you say Catch-22?

A year ago, the husband and I left New York for Chicago. My hip got progressively worse. Taking a walk of more than five blocks was agony. Going to a museum to look at paintings was excruciating. Stairs became one step at a time. And forget shopping. I almost was tempted to use one of those little spazmobiles, but I've not gone there yet. (No, I'm not being un-PC - a good friend with lifelong cerebral palsy came up with that terminology.)

So, off to the doc I went again. Thank goodness, docs in Chicago aren't bigoted about doing hip replacement surgery on heavy people. Still, I didn't feel ready. So I kept requesting stronger and stronger painkillers.

Each time I'd get a new painkiller, I'd think, "Yay! I can DO stuff again!", and would head out on long walks, etc. But that would only last about a week or two. Then I'd be back in deep pain mode again.

I'm not willing to go on things like Vicodin, as I like having my brain lucid and rational. And at this point, I've only got one more level upward to go on my current painkiller (Ultram) before I'll have to go the Vicodin route.

I'm also in another strange Catch-22 place. My health coverage runs out at the end of February 2010. If I don't do it now, and health reform does not go through, my hip problems will wind up in that no-man's land called "pre-existing condition." Which means, short of winning the lottery (or a nice book contract), I'll be doomed to immobility, and a quality of life that's about 1.5 on a scale of 10. Thank goodness we have a nice apartment, a good marriage, and basically, a nice life. But quality of 1.5 is no life, really.

So ... I've bitten the bullet. The hip replacement operation is scheduled for Dec. 2. That should give me enough time to have the physical therapy I'll need to get back to normal. In the meantime, I'm reading as much as I can about hip replacement, and am compiling a list of questions to ask the hospital people tomorrow, when I go for pre-intake.

The big fears are that my mobility will be permanently compromised. I'd like to do Pilates and yoga again, I want to ski, I want to be able to wander a museum for a few hours, and I want to be able to take loooong walks (I've been especially peeved that I haven't been able to take a nice walk along Lake Michigan).

From everything I've read, however, the mobility compromises are temporary. I should be able to do everything again in about a year or two.

So ... onward and upward. I'll check in after tomorrow's appointments.