Hip wrecked and rescued by serendipity
Time passes slowly when you’re sprawled inelegantly across the floor. Not alone, I am surrounded by friends who, like me, have accepted the challenge of keeping fit by walking and keeping track of our mileage for a month.
In what would prove to be ironic, I have just won four rubber bracelets indicating the most miles walked by an Aspen Pointe resident in June. They are still on my wrist when we leave the meeting and I break a primary rule for maintaining balance: stop walking before turning around.
It doesn’t matter if someone from behind asks a question. Right now I can’t even remember what the question was. But turn I did and the toe of one Birkenstock hooked into the toe of the other and hurled me onto the most unforgiving surface in the building (cement with a skinny vinyl covering).
I did this once before but that time I was struck by a car, flew through the air and landed with my right hip firmly embedded in the blacktop of Whole Foods Market parking lot. This time, I’m in denial. This couldn’t be happening again. Just give me a minute, I say.
Our fitness guru has used her radio to call the nurse from the remote Birchwood (assisted living) wing of the building. She arrives and stands across the hall with her arms folded. If you can’t get up on your own, we have to call the ambulance, she says. If I could get up why would I still be on the floor? Like it or not, it would seem I’m going to the hospital.
Three guys in blue suits arrive with a gurney; they ask questions I don’t remember answering. Four minutes later I’m in the ER answering more questions, this time by a cheerful Australian doctor with a shiny head. We need X-rays, he says. Do you want something for pain? No thank you, I say, I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance. This would soon be sorely tested.
The X-rays show a displaced fracture of the neck of the femur. Surgery will be necessary. The Aussie is booked through six o’clock the following evening. Would it be all right for his associate to do the honors? It’s your call, I say.
A bit later there’s a knock at the door. Hello. I’m Dr. Gannon. OMG! The most fabled orthopedic surgeon on the planet has had a cancellation at noon tomorrow for an elective procedure. Talk about serendipity. He already has a printout of my medical records. You don’t take any drugs, he asks incredulously? Well, I’ve had too many adverse reactions, I say. It’s Tylenol or nothing. I’ll send the anesthesiologist around later, he says, writing Tylenol on a giant white board.
He describes a procedure that he has designed for the partial hip replacement. Turns out surgeons from all over have come to study this with him. I count my blessings. Later the Aussie walks by my door. People always say they have a high pain tolerance and it’s usually crap, he says. But you really do. Small consolation, I think.
There’s always some nurse pushing a new med. The day after surgery she wants me to take a Nucynta pill before the therapists come to drag me to my feet. It’s new, she says. How new, I ask. About six months, she says. How much data do you have on it, I ask? She looks at me like I’m from Mars.
Then my daughter sides with the nurse. Mom, they drilled holes in your bones; you can’t do this on Tylenol, she says. They wear me down, so I take one. When the therapist arrives, I have completely lost it. Soto voce, she says to her aide, this woman is crazy.
Could you possibly come back this afternoon, I ask. They’re relieved. Later, she asks, are you the same woman who was in this bed this morning? Well, yes, I say, but not really. Nucynta is now on the long list of drugs that aren’t for me.
The discharge nurse comes in for a chat, says I’ll need help, maybe home health care for a few weeks.
I tell both my daughters I won’t go to a nursing facility. I think I can tough it out in my apartment. They are discussing this at the Aspen Pointe reception desk when the fitness guru, never one to mince words, says: That’s a really dumb idea. The girls are shown the “respite” rooms in the assisted living wing. Oh, Mom can do this, they agree.
So, four days after surgery, in a seamless procedure, I’m whisked to the respite room where I’m pampered for a week. Going straight to my apartment actually would have been a really dumb idea.
My Buddhist friends have a saying: Your troubles stay with you until they teach you something. So, what did I learn? I learned that all surgeons are not arrogant; a few are gifted and also are kind and caring human beings. Ditto physical therapists, a truly dedicated bunch.
Next time, rehab and why two walking poles are better than one cane. Also, why medical costs continue to soar and what we could be doing about it.