Update for Monday, December 7th, 2015.
Last Thursday was my 13-week post-op check up. After I dropped off the gift basket, I had a seat in the waiting room. About 15 minutes later, the clerk called my name. I followed her to an exam room. The doctor was seated at his computer. "Come in, come in," he said. He's a young fellow, a resident, probably sent over from UCLA.
I said hi and he said, "It looks like you're doing good. How's the hip?" I told him that the area can still feel tender at times but it seems to be working well. He wanted to see the scar. He closed the privacy curtain and I dropped my shorts. He lifted up the left leg of my briefs.
"It looks great, it's healed well." I asked the question I asked on my last post-op visit: Does the scar look better than average, average or worse than average for this point in recovery? "Average," he said, which was the same answer I got the last time.
The reason I asked about that is the scar-minimizing compound I've been using twice a day for several weeks. It was mentioned in a previous blog entry. I'll keep using it until it runs out but I doubt that I'll buy any more. The doctors don't think that scar looks any better than it normally would. And they should know.
I told him that it was wonderful to be able to put on real shoes, tie them, and be able to clip my own toenails for a change. I described the precautions I took when doing anything with a sharp hip angle; those were mentioned in my last post.
Then I said I was back in the gym five days a week, working my legs again, but increasing the load incrementally.
"Five days a week? That's more than I go," he said.
"You're a doctor, you don't have any time. I'm a nobody, I've got lots of time," I cracked. He laughed.
Then he dispatched me to the Imaging Clinic down the hall for X-rays. Those folks laid me on a table and shot several pictures from various angles, then I went back to the Ortho Clinic. Moments later, the doctor was looking at the X-ray pics on his computer.
"Wonderful. Perfect!" he said then turned the monitor to show me. "Would you like to take a picture?"
I happened to have my camera in my pocket. I got down on my knees, turned off the flash, tried hard to remain still and shot two photos. They are included here.
He told me to come back in three months. We shook hands and I left the room. I went across the hall to a big room, which is where they stashed the gift basket. I was greeted by one of the assistants, we'd met a few times before.
"Where's your buddy?" he asked, referring to my live-in caretaker, who had departed several weeks earlier.
"She went home," I said. "And I need a cookie, I'm gonna raid the gift basket." I snaked my hand under the clear plastic and snatched a cookie. Ah. Delicious!
I said bye to him and went out to the front desk. We set up the next appointment three months hence. The ladies at reception thanked me again for the gift basket and I thanked them for how well they've all taken care of me. Then I got in the lobby elevator and pressed the *1 button for the first floor and departed the "ground floor" basement for the actual ground floor where earth meets atmosphere.
After a stop at a nearby Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf for a hot cafe mocha and a tuna sandwich, I got on the 405 Freeway and headed north for home.