CHAPTER SIX
LZM Cowboys Up

As I sit in my "studio", (a name suggested by a friend after telling me to stop calling it my "junkroom") at my laptop, the sun casts the shadow of my home onto the bare wall of the home next door, I catch movement with my right eye and look out of the window. I recognize the movement as some one's adorable golden Cockerspaniel that is loose in the neighborhood.

I thought I was ready to document the history of my hip. I see though that I would rather talk about a cute little dog....and the weather.

It is becoming more difficult to recall the details. I want to write it all down before I forget all the hard work and determination it has taken to be able to walk upright without waddling like a duck out of water. Keep that duck in mind.

The first instrument of support I used to assist me in walking was a walker. The walker was brought to me to help me get onto the bedside potty chair. I soon used it to walk to a chair to sit for a few minutes while a contraption was put on my bed. This contraption was a metal pipe framework that had had hangy downy thingys for each of my hands to hold onto and aid me in pulling myself up and in getting in and out of bed. Then, I was able to go all the way to the real toilet. Well, actually, a plastic riser was put on the seat of the real toilet. I would also have a riser on my toilet at home for a couple (few?) of weeks.

I always had to keep the right surgery leg out in front of me when I sat down, otherwise it hurt hugely. When the hospital physical therapists descended on me the next day, they told me a bunch of other positions I wasn't suppose to get into, for fear of dislocating my new hip (which would have been nice to know BEFORE I started moving around). Just getting in and out of bed was painful and labor intensive in itself. And then you add on their admonitions of, "be sure to stick that out that way", and "don't turn this the other way". You had to be a contortionist. And luckily I was used to being flexible and adventurous in bed!

My biggest fear was doing something to dislocate my new hip. So, whatever I was asked not to do, I didn't do, and whatever I was asked to do, I did, and then some. I did some of the exercises the hospital physical therapists told me to do three times; six times, or ten times, or more, a day. They were very matter of fact and humorless and I wanted to show them a thing or two.

I weaned myself off the drugz quickly because that would mean being connected to one less wire. The pills I was given to replace the morphine took me to a tropical island where I felt secure, contented, warm and sunny for awhile before I fell asleep.

Then I had the drain removed from my incision by a male nurse (not Pall) who had neglected to when asked to do so earlier. Now he was anxious to get off work and was treating me roughly. The dressing had been changed on other occassions by other nurses without so much pain.

"What did I ever do to you? I have only been nice to you."

He made no reply.

Painful as it was, that was one more thing I wasn't connected to, making me much more mobile.

No hospital stay is complete without a mention of the food. I am usually ravenous all the time, so when I found myself without much of an appetite, I thought it was the food. When asked why I hadn't eaten much of the cardboard that had been slathered in brown tinted thin wallpaper paste I said, "I think it is the food, not my appetite." One of my favorite nurses, Windy, would bring me little containers of raspberry sherbet and fix me chicken broth in a styrofoam cup, so I wouldn't starve! When I got home, though and could have whatever I wanted, I realized that it was my appetite. Wish that side affect had lasted longer!

Coming soon........Let me out of this place.