Getting Around On Mended Knee

My Green-Eyed Perspective by Jan Sperry Astani

This morning I dressed myself. While that simple task isn’t usually something to write home about, it was a milestone for me. After having outpatient knee surgery last Thursday, doing even the simplest things, like walking and dressing, takes on a whole new significance.

After discovering last month I had a torn meniscus, and after deciding that limping and walking funny weren’t the best look for me, I opted for surgery. While the doctor was poking around my knee to fix the tear, he discovered more damage than anticipated. Arthritis had found its nasty way into my 49-year-old knee. How lucky am I?

Like any good student, I read all my pre-op instructions to make sure I was the best prepared patient possible. I had to laugh when the instructions said that 24 hours after surgery, I shouldn’t drive, operate heavy machinery, drink alcohol or make important decisions. I’m happy to report that Anderson Cooper or Katie Couric didn’t call in that time frame to ask me to co-host their TV shows. Heaven forbid I would have told them “no” in my state of anesthetic euphoria.

(Note to the people who make that special pre-surgery red liquid soap – you might want to re-think the color. When you accidentally drop the package in the shower, it looks like blood. Perhaps a Wonderland White, Cool Mint Green or Spring Sky Blue would be a better hue.)

My favorite memory of the procedure was getting a special yellow and black bracelet that boldly stated: FALL RISK. It was as if the medical team knew about my life-long struggle with gracefulness. I wore it proudly and finally cut it off a few days after surgery.

Thank you to the genius who invented heated blankets. They definitely took the chill off the sub-zero operating room, where my last memory is the nurse telling me that the room might start to spin. Too bad I fell asleep before that happened. Upon awakening, I was greeted with the shakes for about 45 minutes. The last time that happened while I was in a hospital 15 years ago, I left with a baby. Thankfully that didn’t happen this time.  

Between my sweet husband and my two attentive boys, I had great post-op care. My younger son even offered to stay home from school on Friday to take care of me. I obliged, knowing all too well that he had a hidden agenda of spending the entire day playing video games. But he kindly and politely put his games on hold to attend to his gimped-up mom throughout the day. His Aunt Trudy, who’s an R.N., would be proud.

My husband jokingly nicknamed me “Hop-A-Long.” I corrected him by saying “Limp-A-Long” was a more accurate description. So this Limp-A-Long is most grateful for the kind words, recovery wishes and prayers from loved ones and friends. I was even showered with three home-cooked meals and beautiful flowers. My mother-in-law was so sweet to call in and check on me often, and after finding out she was making us Persian food, my husband exclaimed that she loves me more than she loves him. I think he’s right!

Part of me was hoping that my knee surgery would fix another unwanted and unwelcomed medical issue that’s crept back into my life. I was sure I’d read somewhere that the knee bone is connected to the hot flash bone. You fix the knee – you fix the hot flash. My doctor, unfortunately, didn’t know that. I guess he was absent from medical school that day. That’s OK. I guess I can get used to waking in the middle of the night, throwing off all my clothes to cool the furnace burning in my body. Now if I could just figure out how to handle that during the daytime when I’m out in public.

Each day my knee gets better, and for that I’m grateful. I can’t wait to get back out and start walking again. Maybe I’ll even hit the YMCA and brush up on Zumba. I’ll be sure and bring my recovery ice packs with me. They’re wonderful for hot flashes.