Bad knees and dogs . . . .

I haven't posted in a while because I have been relaxing at the shore and there was no Internet connection available. There usually is some wi-fi I can hack into on the air waves but I think people have gotten smarter and now they lock  their wi-fi signal .

I heard from the hospital and surgery is scheduled for 7 am tomorrow. I have to be at the hospital at 5 am! Holy scalpel!  Who is awake at that time? Can my doctor function at 7 in the morning? I am first on the list so that is good because I won't have to fast that long. Giving up food is a big deal for me. It's also good because he probably is fresh in the morning. After all, I do my best work in the morning when I am awake so let's hope Dr. Booth does, as well.

This afternoon I am trying to figure out what to take to the hospital and what to pack to have Gabe bring when I get transfered to Bryn Mawr Rehab. When the lady from Dr. Booth's called today she said I couldn't bring anything to the hospital and that I should not wear any makeup, perfume, jewelry or nail polish. No make up? I don't even go to WaWa without makeup. I could be sick as a dog and I wear makeup. I wear make up to the beach! What am I going to do? This is harder than I thought. I wonder if it is too late to cancel?

Finally, I was thinking about what my legs will look like after this surgery. Here are my pre-op knees. Pleasingly plump, tanned and well rounded. I like the shape of my knees. After surgery I will have a nice 8 inch long scar on each knee. It got me thinking about how that might affect my future career.

1.  I won't be able to be a stripper. I think the scars on the front of my knees might detract from the multiple folds and saggy boobs.
2.  I can't be a bathing suit model. Nobody wants to have a bathing suit model that looks like she had a run in with a slasher.
3.  I don't think I have a career in sky diving. Landing the wrong way on my $50,000 knees might piss off the doctor a little bit.

Other than that, I hope things will look up soon. This time tomorrow I will be in a heavenly morphine coma with two bionic knees. Everybody keeps telling me "everything will be fine" and think of where you will be this time next year". Right now I am fixated on where I will be this time tomorrow. Am I scared? Sure I am. I'd be an idiot if I wasn't. However, I have been blessed with a family that cares very much about me and wonderful friends. I am counting on that to get me through this whole adventure. I hope to blog more along the way--as soon as I wake up from the pain meds.

 In the meantime, if you are the prayerful type, talk to St. Roch--the patron saint of knee problems. He is also the patron saint of dogs so I figure he has to be a good saint.  I found this picture on google and thought it showed him fixing a knee and helping a dog at the same time. My money is on him. Tell him I never want to be a stripper or a bathing suit model--just walk without pain.

Getting ready to veg . . . .

Today is my last whole day at home before the surgery. I am leaving tomorrow for 10 days for the shore and then come home on Wednesday night and go to surgery Thursday morning. Then I probably won't be home for another 14-19 days, depending on rehab. This is both scary and sad. I am so sad about missing my poor Queenie. I know what you're thinking---what about the husband? Well, I will get to see him but I doubt there is visiting hours for the dog (although I am definitely going to check with Bryn Mawr Rahab). I mean ---- what is more therapeutic than a dog's touch or a kiss from the pooch? Anyway, that is one of the things I will miss the most about being away. Gabe tells me that dogs have no memories of being away from you. Somehow I don't find that reassuring.

Of course I will miss my family but I will try to Facetime, Skype and talk on the phone but not until after the morphone. Come to think of it, it might be a pretty great entry if I write a post while on the morphine! You get very good drugs when you have a knee replacement.

I will miss my great big screen TV and how Gabe watches The O'Reilly Factor each night while I read and try not to listen. Needless to say, our political views are starkly different. But I will still miss hearing him yell at the TV, flip the channels on the remote, settling somewhere between the WWII on the history channel and the tattoo guys on Discovery. I can only hope my roommate has the same remote flipping tendencies.

I will miss my soft bed and my room air conditioner that makes it feel like the morgue. Menopause has nothing on me when I got to bed at night. I have discovered the way to get rid of hot flashes is to keep the room at 37 degrees and to hell with pajamas. I hope my roommate likes the room cold!

I will miss good food and those midnight raids to the fridge for cold spaghetti and Doritos. My only hope is that the food is so bad I loose weight and come out looking like a fashion model. Somehow I don't think that will happen in 19 days but I might loose a few pounds and every pound helps.

Most of all I WON'T miss the pain. There will be a long period where things will look worse than when I started but eventually there is light at the end of the tunnel. I have been in such pain for over a year now that I am ready to surrender. Whatever it takes. Lay it on me baby!

So, for the next 10 days I will be dreaming at the shore of pain free days and nights--just sitting on the porch feeling a nice sea breeze, reading a trashy novel and dreaming. Sounds worth it!

Vanity . . . .

Nobody could describe me without saying that I am vain. Vanity is not a bad thing, just a personality trait for me. I don't go out of the house without make-up. I try not to be caught dead at the grocery store in sweats. I curl and primp my hair every day, even when I am sick. But the thing I am most vain about is my nails. They are sculptured (I don't call them "fake") and I have had them for 27 years, since my 13th wedding anniversary. Shocking, I know, but true.

They are long, always freshly painted and I owe them all to my beloved nail salon owner, Lisa, from Heaven and Earth. Once every two weeks I go and get my nails and toes done--a glorious 2 1/2 hour therapy session where I spill my guts, relieve all my tensions and leave with a smile on my face and a pep in my step. My nails are so beautiful at times that I get comments from the grocery checkers. They take my fifty-something year old hands and turn them into much younger versions. I love colors with names like "ChicaGo Get a Manicure" and "La Paz Itively Hot". OPI nail color is my key to happiness! Needless to say, I love my nails and I love my bi-weekly visit to the nail salon.

Today, in preparation for the surgery, I am getting them all cut down---not off--that would be too traumatic for me. I need to do it today because I am going to the shore for the 10 days prior to surgery and won't have a chance to get to the nail salon. We are literately coming back from the shore on Wednesday night and going to the hospital on Thursday morning.

Anyway, I need to get them cut completely down so that they can put the pulse ox on my finger during and after surgery and so I will be able to use the walker without slicing my palms to shreds. I also will not be able to get to the nail salon for at least 5-6 weeks. I will miss those visits with my "therapist". I think she probably knows more about my life than my own family. It's amazing how while I am sitting there aimlessly getting my nails done that I seem to be able to spill my guts to what should be a stranger. But . . . . I have been going to Lisa for nearly 20 years and she is no stranger. She has become a friend that I depend on to listen to my trials and tribulations. She doesn't think I am vain. She just laughs at my funny stories and supports me when I need it. She knows that I like the pedicure water hot and my nail colors should never be red--always something pink and purple. She knows I like oval nails, not square and that my right foot is slightly numb from the peripheral neuropathy. She knows that I have excruciating pain in both my knees and takes her time allowing me to put my foot on the stand at my pace, not hers.

I started this blog this morning talking about being vain but I realized I was thanking a good friend for being there for twenty years . . . . . and helping me to be vain if I want to be.

Cowardice . . . .

OK. I admit it. I am a chicken. Bawk! Bawk! I backed out of the whole blood donating thing. Here's what happened. (see my Thursday night post)

I perseverated all night the night before on how I might bleed to death and loose my tan from the loose of blood. Irrational but true. Then on the morning, going down to the hospital I drove Gabe crazy asking him questions about when he gave blood. He was absolutely no help because he repeatedly said "I can't remember". Is that man-code for "you don't want to know" or is it just that he is a man?

I went to the pre-admission testing at Dr, Booth's (which included an order to pee in a cup--which I could not do--bad sign for the day). While talking to the nurse I mentioned my fear of giving blood and she hinted that I didn't have to do it if I didn't want to. I  puffed up my chest and said, no problem. Who am I kidding?

After the cardiologist we only had 45 minutes to get to the blood band for my "donation" so there wasn't enough time to get lunch. We stopped by the gift store and got a bag of M & Ms (the universal donor candy).  We went up to the 7th floor with me munching on my M & Ms all the way. When we got there a very nice young (and I stress young) girl was on the phone talking to her mother. She said she had to go and asked if she could help us. I told her I had an appointment to give blood. She eyed the M & Ms suspiciously and asked if we had eaten a meal. We told her we had a big breakfast at 7:30 (6 hours before) and she went (and I sweare this is how she sounded) "tsk, tsk, tsk---you need to eat a BIG meal right before you give blood". I showed her my M & Ms and she rolled her eyes. She sensed I was anxious and she then proceeded to tell me that when she gave blood she passed out cold and was incapacitated for the rest of the evening.Not a confidence building statement. She assured me that blood bank blood was perfectly safe, tripled screen. I actually asked if she thought Dr. Booth would be mad at me if I didn't do it. How lame is that? She told me it was fine and  I figured--how can I not trust someone who calls their mother??

Finally, I said to Gabe, "we're outta here" and we turned around and headed for home. Bawk! Bawk!

Pre-opping is not for the faint hearted . . .

I'm posting tonight because I will be busy all day tomorrow and wanted to share what was happening. Tomorrow is "pre-op" day. Yippy (she says drooling with sarcasm). I have to go to Pennsylvania Hospital first for pre-op stuff (bloodwork, chest x-ray, etc.), then to the cardiologist, then up to the 7th floor blood bank to donate blood. My opinion of the whole day is rather grim.

First, I hate driving or driving on the Surekill Expressway. I usually need a Xanax just to get in the car. Gabe is driving me and (God bless him) he puts up with a lot from me. I brake, I cover my eyes, I squeel. By the time I get down to the hospital my blood pressure will be sky high.

Then there is the whole idea of waiting. I will be waiting at Dr. Booth's office, waiting again at the cardiologist's office and then waiting to give blood. Mary, my scheduling guru at Dr. Booth's office set the appointments up one after another for our convenience. It does make it easier to get it all done in one day but what a long day!

Then the cardiologist, whom I have never met, has an office that is two blocks away. OK, now remember what kind of surgery I am pre-opping here?? I don't walk very well but I have to go two blocks to get to the cardiologist's office. I can't wait to see how that EKG turns out!

Finally, I have to "donate" blood. There is nothing donating about it! Donate means to give something willingly for a greater cause. I am definitely not willing to do this. I hate giving blood. I always get light headed and I am usually convinced that I am going to die. Don't tell me that I am being irrational. This is MY blog! Not only do I have to give blood tomorrow but I have to go back down to Penn and do it again next Friday. For a double knee replacement you need to have 2 units of your own blood on hand "just in case". This DOES NOT give me a lot of confidence. What do they mean by just in case? Just in case they nick an artery and I bleed to death? Just in case I wake up during surgery and need a blood "fix"? I am not happy about this part at all. And the literature says to make sure I eat before I give blood. That's almost impossible since I will be jogging up the street from the cardiologist to the 7th floor of the hospital with little time to spare. I better take along some M & Ms. You've heard of the universal blood type? Well, M & Ms are the universal food type . . . they cure everything.

Last, but not least, I get to drive on that insane expressway all the way home again . . . . during rush hour traffic. Give me another Xanex.

Braces . . . .

No, I don't mean the teeth kind. I mean the S & M type contraptions that I need to wear on my legs to walk. I have the standard knee brace on my left leg (the blue one). This has a hinge for me to bend my knee but also makes me sweat like a weight lifter, not to mention the smell after a day or so (UGH!) Thank God it's washable. Then there is the one on my right leg. That's the leg of my last operation. This sucker is the mega braces of all braces. It is specially designed to turn my knee outward so as not to put any weight on my inner knee, since that is bone on bone. It costs $546 and (yes) the insurance paid for it. The truth is I don't think it works. I still get that "pinch" every few steps when there is bone contact, even though it does make me walk a little better.

Getting these things on in the morning is a trip. When I wake up I have to pee so bad that I don't have time to get them on. I hold the walls to get to the bathroom and sigh with relief. If you are under 50 and reading this you have no idea what I am talking about. Then I hold the walls to get back and  put the torture contraptions on. It takes me about 10 minutes to get them on and adjust them so I can walk. Then I walk like a zombie (stiff legged) for another 10 minutes until I get used to them.

I have been wearing these braces for about 3 months now. They suck because (unless I wear a skirt or maxi dress) they show under everything. I went to Boscov's the other day wearing a pair of shorts and scared kids for miles!

I can't wait to get the knees done just to get rid of the braces. I know I will have ace bandages and other stuff for a couple of days but then . . . . freedom. The good (and bad) news is that I have PT this morning and get to take off the braces. :)

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Bad start this morning . . .

I seem to be late at everything today . . . late getting up, late for PT, late posting . . . I didn't do too well for a Monday.       Let's talk about PT. I think it should be called physical torture. I am going twice a week to get stronger and strengthen my leg muscles in preparation for the knee replacements. I will probably have PT for at least three months after the surgery. To say I am getting familiar with my therapist, Wendy, is an understatement. Some of the positions I get into when she is stretching out my legs are downright obscene!

If you read this before Tuesday at 6:30 pm then the first and second paragraph were switched. When I did an edit I switched them by mistake!

I begin with 6 minutes on the recumbent bike. She keeps threatening to increase my time "the next time". Then I go to a series of machines to do leg lifts to strengthen my quadriceps. Next it is a series of exercises on the table including leg lifts, bridges, and knee slides. Now, keep in mind that the place is filled with the over 60 crowd. I am the youngest one there. Some of these guys are in their eighties and "working their program" better than me. 

Anyway, there is nothing funnier than to look around the room and see several of the more mature clients doing bridges. That is the one where you lay on your back, bend your knees and lift your pelvis in a not so sexy way. Up and down. Up and down. It's definitely a challenge not to laugh when I do this exercise. The only time I want to bump and grind is after a good bottle of wine and a romantic movie.

Next, Wendy takes my leg and lifts it over my head and asks "do you feel the stretch in your bottom?" Do I feel the stretch? I feel like a contortionist in Cirque de Soliel. Then she takes my leg and stretches the right leg over the left side of my body and the table and visa versa. Believe me, this should be called physical torture. It hurts but I smile demurly when asked and say (gritting through my teeth) "no, it's fine" because I want to get strong before my surgery. Gabe keeps telling me that I have to be strong.

I feel like I am building muscles I didn't know I had or have never used before. I would think that I would have lost weight by now but I remain the same every morning when I step on the scale. Maybe it's the snack I have when I am done therapy. I'm usually really hungry after a workout and feel the need to reward myself for "getting strong"!

Off to the dentist . . .

This morning I am off to the dentist. Apparently, whenever anyone has even one knee replacement you need to have dental clearance saying that your mouth is free of any infection or disease. Since I have a long history of caps, cavities, fillings, gum surgery, jaw surgery, and implants, this is no small feat. In anticipation of this, I saw my favorite dentist, I mean periodontists and implant specialist, to get checked out. Not surprisingly  I had some gum problems around my latest implant (I have 8 implants and have had about 6 or 7 surgeries).  That was 10 days ago--12 needles and 6 stitches--and today I go back to get the stitches out.

Dr. Pouya Hatam is one of the most gentle and kind doctors I have ever met. She is Middle Eastern, beautiful (in that Oh so exotic way), and patient (her most important virtue). She will sit and listen to my nervous jabbering, my effort to stall the drill. She will stop when she sees that I have had enough and patiently wait while I regroup. She makes every effort to do the least invasive surgery (is that an oxymoron?) and I value her expertise and opinion more than any other.


She told me last visit that (as long as she could clear up the latest problem) she would clear me for surgery. I needed to be on antibiotics for 10 days and then Periostat for (most likely) the rest of my life. Whenever I see a dentist, I need to take an antibiotic one hour before and a day after. Gabe does this, as well. Apparently, there is a concern about a mouth infection infecting the new knee if bacteria breaks off and goes into the bloodstream. I think I'd prefer to think of the happy little tooth pictured above floating around in my mouth and remain the eternal optimist (see yesterday's blog!)

Final note--I wish today's blog post was funny but it just isn't. There is nothing funny about going to the dentist. So I decided to look for something to lighten it up and found this . . . .

Taking time to smell the flowers . . . .

I wasn't going to blog today but then I woke up and saw what a glorious day it was going to be and decided to take pictures of the flowers to scrapbook. When I saw how beautiful they were it got me to thinking how lucky I really am. Don't try to follow my thinking--it will make you dizzy (Flowers made by God--God please take away my pain--wait, God gave me my family--I should be grateful, etc. etc.)

Anyway, since I am an eternal optimist (which drives my mother and daughter crazy when they are having a tough day) I thought that I should try to take stock in what I have instead of the pain I am in. After all, I am on the journey to being pain free (see my post from Monday) so I should be grateful for that. So, today I am making a "grateful" list of what I am happy about today and, for all you pessimists out there, don't read it if you don't want to be happy . . .

1.  My family--however big or small, as they come and go out of my life, they will always be the most important thing in my life.
2. Queenie-she runs a close second and sometimes takes the top spot when I am mad at my family.
3.  My granddaughter, Olivia, graduates from 8th grade today and is, without a doubt, going places in her life. She is gorgeous, smart and just like her mother.
4. C & C-that's the twins. Christian and Claudia are leaving 4th grade and going to 5th. Each has their own personality. Claudia is impish, creative and will probably grow up to be a therapist. Christian is thoughtful, logical and lives for baseball.
5.  I don't have a tumor. Remember Arnold Schwertzenager in Kindergarten Cop--"It is not a tumor!" Anyway, I just need new knees. Get over it. It's not a big deal. A year from now I won't even remember the pain. (Yeah, that's what they said about childbirth!)
6.  I have a roof over my head. There are many in this economy that don't.
7. I eat three (OK maybe 5) meals a days. This is evidenced by my larger than life bottom. There are many that don't eat every day. I don't envy their skinniness.
8. I have a great job where I get to mold minds every day. I know that sounds a little lofty. Maybe I influence but don't mold. "My kids" are like my family sometimes. I know that in today's litigious world hugging kids is a "no-no" but that has never stopped me--hence my title of "Teacher most likely to get fired". They give me so much more than I give them.
9. I've traveled many places in my life. There was the para sailing in the Bahamas, the zip lining in Costa Rica, swimming with the Dolphins in Port Lucaya--wait--do I have a death wish???
10.  Finally, I get my summers off. I can sleep until 9 if I want, get up and leisurely have coffee, and read books all day if I want. Reading is my passion, only second to scrapbooking. Summer is the time I can do both.

And, best of all, I can take pictures of the flowers.

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What to expect . . .

I didn't sleep very well last night. We went to Phil's for dinner to celebrate my last day of school and we were greeted by Charlie, the host. Charlie is a robust guy that has something in common with Gabe and he never fails to discuss it with him when we eat there---a total knee replacement. So, of course, I had to tell Charlie that I, too, would become part of the club soon. I almost wish I hadn't. I didn't realize that Charlie had also had a double knee replacement so he is uniquely qualified to "fill me in" on what to expect.

This is where is gets hairy. If Charlie said "it's rough" once, he said it a dozen times. He said the hardest part for him was that he had to sleep on his back for 6 weeks (my BIGGEST fear) but that he found ways to cheat by propping up his legs. Since Charlie tops the scales at at least 300 pounds, this was a somewhat scary  reference. Then he told me that I HAD to go to Bryn Mawr Rehab for my rehab or, as he put it, "The Cadillac of Rehab Hospitals". "Whatever you do, don't go to Magee." OK, so now if I can't get into Bryn Mawr I am having nightmares about what to expect at the dreaded Magee.

Finally, he told me that the first week home was the hardest and to expect to have "crying jags". So, this is new?? For the past 6 months I have cried at watching Mary Poppins, let alone double knee replacement. Again, the picture of Charlie with his legs propped up in the air having a crying jag was just too much to bear.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep well last night. I kept having visions of myself at the wrong rehab center with nurses that torture you, where they never feed you, with my legs up in the air like I am giving birth to the knee replacements. Not a pretty picture. I don't think we will eat at Phil's for a while.

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My journey to a pain-free life . . .

Magnetic resonance imaging (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I haven't posted in over a year . . . I'm not even sure what this blog is dedicated to (technology, scrapbooking, school, family . . .).  So, as you can see, I am really confused and not very organized. My health has been a mess for the past year and I am about to embark on a huge journey by having a double knee replacement. That is after a year filled with pain and crying, Vicodin and surgery. It's time for a change.

Anyway, I decided to revive this blog and chronicle my next couple months, prior to, during and post-op. It may not always be a happy blog but it will hopefully inform my friends and family of my progress and keep me from having to repeat the same things over and over--not to mention giving me something to do. I am hoping that when I am doing better (aka Wonder Women with the incredible steel knees) that I can go back to blogging about school and the issues that surprise me every day.

A little background . . . . I had surgery for a torn meniscus on my right knee on April 9th but it really did not help. I had a previous surgery on the same knee about 1 1/2 years ago and I was doing OK until a couple of months ago when all hell broke loose. First, my left knee went out and the orthopedic surgeon gave me a cortisone shot in that knee. Then, the right knee gave out and a million x-rays and an MRI later I needed surgery. Meanwhile, the left knee got worse--another cortisone shot. Don't ever tell me those suckers don't hurt. The doctor told me that and I almost decked him when he put the needle in my knee joint. And, to think, I had that done twice (by choice!).

Today I had my evaluation appointment with Dr. Booth (of the famous "Three B's"). I had waited a month for the appointment and that is really a short time to wait for the God of Knees. Since his office is downtown at Pennsylvania Hospital, Gabe drove me. Believe me--I am dangerous on the expressway so be glad my husband tolerates my backseat driving and has agreed to chauffeur me around. My appointment was for 2:30 and we got there at 1:45. At 3:00 we still hadn't been seen, but then again, neither had the 48 other people in the offices of Booth, Bardolozzi and Balderson (hence, the Three B's). They took x-rays and I was seen by Dr. Booth's PA and finally, the rainbow came out, the seas parted and in walked the Great and Powerful Oz.

I am making jokes about the importance of Dr. Booth but, to be honest, he is a wonderful doctor with a great bedside manner and an infamous reputation. I am very lucky to have him as my surgeon.

He looked at the x-rays and told me both my knees were "bone on bone". My right leg is actually bending inward due to the problems. He suggested a double knee replacement because he didn't think I could be pain free with just the right knee. I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief and said "OK" without thinking. I had come prepared to battle with him to convince him that I needed both knees replaced and he messed with my karma when he suggested it first.

First, he went over what would happen, then his scheduling secretary, Mary, went over things but that is for another blog day. I am exhausted already. I hope to chronicle this journey as often as possible but don't get testy if I skip a day or so. Remember, I am really confused and not very organized!

Surgery is scheduled for July 12, 2012. More to come . . . .

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