Post-op journey, days 1-3:
Day of surgery:
I awoke to find it was nearly 7 pm. My OS said the good news was that I didn't need any blood transfusions and that the surgery "went well," with my R leg straightened and more even with the L. The unsettling news was that it took twice as long: my tibial plateau had begun to re-fracture and he had to remove 4, not 2 screws and more bone than originally contemplated. I was feeling pretty good--no pain whatsoever, though I could feel my trunk and left leg. But I couldn't feel my R leg at all--not even the foot. I couldn't wiggle my toes. Uh-oh. I was given a little Oxycontin in my IV and wheeled up to my room. My husband, son, his ex-girlfriend (who boards with us) & my housekeeper were there waiting for me. I don't remember much about the rest of that night except I didn't really feel anything till morning--and that I got fragmented sleep, since I was being visited constantly for finger-sticks, blood draws, vitals, pain assessments, meds, anticoagulant shots, etc. My feet & legs had been placed in compression-pump booties which whooshed rhythmically. Had I not been flying on 2 Norco #2s every 4 hrs and a PCA pump (presumably morphine or Fentanyl), that sound--and the sirens outside and the patient in the next room's CPAP machine--would have kept me totally awake. As it was, I think I might have gotten 3 hrs. of sleep in fits & starts. Oddly, I experienced no nausea at all (and still haven't).
Day 1 post-op:
I awoke to the heady smell of flowers--oh, no, was I dead and smelling my own funeral lilies? Nope--my sister in VA had sent a vase of roses, hydrangeas, heather, snapdragons and delphinium. I called to thank her, still dopey from the painkillers and sleep-deprivation. Oh, brother, was I starting to feel the burn in my knee, despite my foot and front of thigh still being utterly numb. In came the PT, who sat me up, made me dangle my R leg over the side of my bed (OWWW!). Then it seemed as if I'd lain down for only an instant before she came back, put my leg in an immobilizer, and declared it was time to get up, get dressed, and go to the lounge chair. Was she kidding? Apparently not. I was handed a non-wheeled walker, an assortment of tools to pull on my underpants & shorts; I eschewed the bra and just put a huge tee on instead. No shoes--had those slipper-booties instead. Up I stood. The R leg was really starting to hurt (by now the sciatic block was starting to wear off and I understood what a "10" was on the pain scale) but I was surprised by how shaky the L knee felt--and how loudly IT was starting to crunch--whenever I stood. Made it to the chair, the splint was removed, I was told to do leg raises and ankle pumps (by now I could feel my ankle but not the foot). Every leg raise was met with a stern "you can do better." Oy. My OS visited, and said I was doing really well with my raises & bends--75 degrees of flex, nearly 0 extension. (Take that, Ms. PT)! After what seemed like forever I was let back into bed. And I finally got food: a fruit punch and two jellos. (Of course, the food, though liquids, had its intended effect--and I apologize profoundly to the two solidly built nurses who must have wrenched their backs getting me on and off the bedpan).
Day 2 post-op:
I could feel the back of my knee & thigh, as the sciatic block had worn off. I found out what was in the PCA pump: more anesthetic, not morphine, for my femoral block. More pills, blood draws, vitals, pain assessments, finger sticks. In came breakfast: rude awakening was that it included decaf, artificially sweetened salt-free everything, skim milk and Promise margarine...but regular OJ and white toast. I asked why no sugar, and was told I was on a diabetic diet--my morning blood sugar was 150. Well duh--what'd they expect after a fruit punch & 2 jellos? My preprandials later on were below 120, but I never got sugar the whole time I was in hospital. Another visit from my OS, bearing regards from his wife--we made small talk for awhile. The bladder catheter was yanked (yay!), I got lunch (grilled cheese) and I was given the option of shuffling to the bathroom. I pleaded instead for a bedside commode, and got it. "Walkies" today included to the commode, the chair (where I did my teeth & a sponge bath as best I could with no mirror--I felt my hair, which had gone into surgery sleek & straight, now alternately sweat-drenched and dried into Medusa-like corkscrew curls) and to the threshhold of my doorway. Husband and son came to visit. My best friends came in (bearing more flowers and a hilarious card: "you paid HOW much for a joint and didn't get high?") and we sat for three hours, through dinner and bedtime decaf. Oh, I'd have killed for a latte from one of the three dueling espresso-bars in the lobby, but I was still off caffeine. The nurse came to remove the femoral catheter & pump--the femoral block was wearing off. The PT came in, I told her my home situation (stairs to get into my home, nobody to take care of me during the evenings till my husband came home at midnight, exhausted from rounds) and she and the social worker agreed to recommend I be placed in rehab.
Day 3 post-op:
I hurt. I HURT. (Though not as much as when I broke my leg and wasn't allowed so much as a Tylenol for 10 hrs.).Finally, bacon and real scrambled eggs--but still decaf! PT came in: this time we shuffled to the doorway, then 6 feet out into the hall, and back--and I used the regular bathroom. In came the social worker: good news, my insurer ok'd inpatient rehab; bad news--RIC (part of the hospital) and Bowman (part of Rush, where I rehabbed my broken leg) weren't covered; the one nearest my home (affiliated with a great health club) nor the one in Skokie--built just for joint replacement rehab--my OS preferred were both booked solid for weeks. My OS came in, we talked, and commiserated that unless health care changed for the better, this was as good as it'd get in our lifetimes. After much wrangling (most approved facilities were pretty lousy chains, according to my husband, except of course for the one WAY southwest where he's chief of cardio and nobody but he would be able to visit me), we found a facility that's part of a continuing-care community in upscale Lincoln Park/DePaul (though not as upscale as the hospital's neighborhood, Gold Coast/Streeterville). It was a half-mile walk from the CTA elevated train, so my non-driver son could visit me every day. The hospital's Director of Public & Patient Relations came in to ask me about my stay and wish me well. My housekeeper packed the car with my flowers and the remaining two days' clothing & toiletries; she followed the wheelchair van that took me to the rehab center--my home for the next 10 days.
United States
It was quite an ordeal that brought you up to a knee replacement. It's to bad you couldn't get them both done at the same time. I wish you well and a speedy recovery! Do you have any idea when you'll have your left one done?
