"I've Had a Baby, Five Tattoos and a Knee Replacement"

This is what I uttered to the nurse as he removed the staples, worried I needed him to stop because they hurt. Compared to those things I listed above, removing several hundred staples from my leg was a piece of cake. What's funny was that the nurse said it's the men who get squeamish about the staples.

Note the wicked scar from previous surgery. There's one just like it on the other side of my knee.

He also told me I could stop using the torture machine. Apparently my goal was to push the leg to 90 degrees. I'd done that days ago. No one ever told me I could stop with that. I'm now to concentrate on walking. I'm not allowed to get in a pool for another month. The concern is that all of the funky stuff in the water—chlorine, urine, god knows what else—might infect my incision. You don't have to tell me twice. I can certainly wait.

I'm worried that the knee will prevent me from popping up on my shorter boards. I think my worry is probably premature. The problem is I don't know what to expect. I don't know what's possible with a prosthetic knee. That's both a blessing and a curse. I can use this opportunity to change the paradigm connected to knee replacement patients. I might also be inclined to think the knee is incapable of doing some of the things I'd push it to do. I know I've gotten ahead of myself with these thoughts. Obviously, I have way too much time on my hands.

I did walk the dog around the block today. I think the snail we saw near the front door made it to the lawn and back by the time I came back home with the dog. Now my hips hurt because my gait is all wrong. (You try walking with a swollen, compromised knee and see what hurts.)

I look forward to the future.

Got That Monkey Off My Back

My short-lived, love-hate relationship with Vicodin is over. I'd gotten to the point where I only took it at night before I went to bed. Last night, I decided I didn't want to take it at all. My knee began to throb at the appointed time. Nope, not gonna do it. I let it throb, cried a little and went to bed. I didn't sleep through the night; I've done so only once since the surgery. Still, I didn't do the knee replacement equivalent of tossing and turning—whatever that might be since I can neither easily toss nor turn at this point. My new drug of choice is Naproxen Sodium (also known as Aleve to those who insist on buying the name brand).

The instrument of torture appears to be working as I can now almost straighten my leg, although I still scream, and also slowly bring it to a 90 degree bend under my own power. Apparently I'm supposed to be using it four to five hours a day. I'm driven to make this work, but I can tell you now that there's no way I can stay on that thing more than three hours a day. It's no less irritating than it was last week. I hate this machine. And yet, I go to it voluntarily. Each time I get off it, my gait is a little better. Of course, then I got to bed and wake up to find myself limping as noticeably as I was the previous day because the muscles have shortened overnight. As of today, I've got it set at -3 for extension and 92 for flexion.

I drove today. For some reason, that bugged the shit out of my mother. I don't know why. I'm off the drugs and the new knee is on the left. I am completely compos mentis. Why wouldn't I start driving again? I'm stuck at home alone most of the time. The dog is sick to death of me. I can't walk him yet. I'm tired of television. There's only so much icing and use of the instrument of torture that one person can take before it's time go beat a hasty retreat, if only for a bit. I've not had my beloved pistachios in ages. I can only buy them at the farmer's market on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I had money. I have a car. I am of sound mind now that the Vicodin is out of my system. But could I deal with the parking, the walking, the carrying, etc.? In a word, yes. And once I was done there, I went to the grocery store for a few things. I move slowly, very slowly. That doesn't mean I need to keep my happy ass at home.

The pain is manageable. I read knee replacement forums where people talk about still being on pain meds months after surgery. For me the pain at present isn't that bad. I've felt worse on cycling rides from hell, cycling races from hell, marathons from hell, workouts from hell and stubbed toes. I'm not looking forward to the removal of the staples. That might evoke a scream or two from me. It's time for them to come out. The doctor's office has yet to return the calls of the home healthcare nurse who needs the authorization to remove them. It's not like this will be a small job either. I've got at least 15 staples running up and down my knee cap. Nasty! I want them out. I want to shower. I want to start swimming with the pull buoy. You people better make this happen!

Knee Replacement: One Week Later

It's still early in the day. Who knows what improvements might be made by the end of this day?

A week ago today, right around this time, I was being wheeled into an operating room after an enjoyable pre-op wait with Soul Brother #1 and a cool, funny nurse. A few hours later, I was presented to the world with my new bionic knee.

I'm down to one Vicodin a day now. I know the pain meds are a necessity. It was foolish of me to try and stop them when I did. However, with each day, the pain diminishes. A few days ago, I decided I'd try using ice in lieu of the pain meds. That plan worked. I now use the cold machine more than I do the torture machine.

I still use the cane. I'm at the point though where I've started hobbling around without it when moving around the house. In fact, I needed to move a surfboard the other day and no one was around to help. I got tired of waiting. The next thing I knew I had the cane on my right and board on my left. Eventually, the cane became a nuisance. I ended up carrying the board without the aid of the cane. I even took it up a couple of stairs . . . slowly.

I will need to learn how to walk. For the first time in 29 years, I have a left knee that is able to straighten completely. In other words, I've spent all of my adult life with a leg that I could neither straighten nor bend fully. I don't know what it's like to have two good knees. I still don't have two perfect knees. The doctor said I'll always know this isn't a real knee, but it will be a hell of a lot better than the osteoarthritic knee. There have been a couple of times when the new knee went straight while I was hobbling around. I immediately thought something was wrong, screamed and waited for the pain to hit. There was no pain. It took me some time to understand that this was what a good knee feels like when it's working. I'm not at all used to this. I want to see if this new knee is able to bend more than the old one did. My range of motion on that one was pitiful and did limit my surfing in some respects. If my range of motion is the same as that of the old knee, I won't have lost anything since I know how to work with that. But if this new knee, through hardcore rehab, does have increased range of motion, I will be forever grateful to everyone connected with the invention of knee replacements.

I don't doubt that I will surf again. I understand that my rapid improvements might slow down. I understand that there might be some unforeseen problems along the way. I made the drop, eyes wide open because I didn't want to lose my way of life as a surfer, as a wife, as a mother, as an athlete. I have no regrets.

Wanna See the Incision and the Staples?

Don't worry. I'll spare you that picture. Before the surgery, I thought posting the picture would be helpful to anyone considering knee replacement. Believe me when I tell you it's not. When I saw such a picture, I almost called the doctor to cancel. That is the same reaction I had when I saw a picture taken mid-surgery, with the knee bones exposed. As Soul Brother #2 screamed over my shoulder when the picture came up on the screen, "That's disgusting!!"

I have yet to take pain meds today. I'm not being stubborn. I simply don't feel the amount of pain I've felt over the last few days. I think that pain arrives later in the day.

A physical therapist came by yesterday. He's going to start coming to the house next week. Yesterday's visit was his opportunity to assess the situation. Can you believe he told me to increase the degree of flexion on the instrument of torture by 5 degrees per day? I know he was born addicted to crack!! That's not gonna happen as I am at my pain threshold now. I'm going to increase it by two degrees per day. What I am doing is trying to massage the quads as the thing is bending my leg to the point where it feels like everything inside is going to explode. I've noticed that this is helping. I don't know if I'm breaking up the scar tissue or releasing the muscles by hitting pressure points. All I know is that the massage of the muscle makes the torture device tolerable..

It's only 11 a.m. I will rate this yet another good day.

And Grace is bringing food as I type! This is a great day!

ADDENDUM: I took a pain pill at noon. The pain wasn't intense at all. It was still not something I needed to suffer through. I've also been taking steps here and there without the cane. The leg feels funny. Because the quads aren't working to stabilize the knee, there is a bit of shifting. This doesn't worry me. There was a lot of shifting when I did the original injury that resulted in this knee replacement. Once my quads are strong, the knee will be stable. I've got no regrets.

Tough Chicks Need Vicodin

Yeah, I went back on the pain meds yesterday. And I get why they're necessary. What I don't get is why people who aren't in pain find them entertaining.

I think, though, I pushed through a major pain hurdle with regard to the knee. It seems to have loosened up quite a bit and my quads are actually beginning to contract. From what I've gleaned when reading knee replacement forums, the major strengthening post-surgery is in the quads. During the operation, the quad muscles are cut in order to give the surgeon access to the knee joint. Then, of course, the quads are essentially lifeless for awhile, especially since most knee replacement patients stay off their feet for weeks. I've pushed the envelope. I know that. Yesterday I pushed a little too hard. But today I'm feeling the benefits. My quads are working. I can easily contract them, which means my leg won't lose as much strength or stability because I've already made them remember what they're supposed to be doing.

I slept with my leg in the torture device for four hours. While I'm sleeping, I put it on easy settings. The point is to simply keep the joint moving.

Today, I feel remarkably better than I did yesterday. My leg no longer feels dead. It's weak though. When I sit or get in the bed, it won't lift on its own. I have to use my hands to pick it up. That too shall pass once my quads get stronger.

I slowly walked around the corner, on my cane, to my mom's house today. She was not happy to find me at her front door, thinking I'd really overdone it this time. I hadn't. It's just that my leg felt good and I knew I needed to put some weight on it for a bit. Each step I take makes those quads do a little more work. After coming back home, I iced the knee.

Today is a good day. I can already see the light at the end of this tunnel. Guess what? There's a surfboard down there too!

Note to Self: You Are One Tough Bitch!

I say that because I am no longer amused by this experience. I've stopped the prescription pain medications entirely. They were doing me more harm than good. Now I'm stuck with the pain. After using the fucked up orthopedic instrument of torture today, a device that had me crying like a baby (but that's what I get for stopping the pain meds), my mood has gone from bad to worse.You strap your leg into this thing and then program the amount of flexion and extension you want from it. I have it at 1 degree of extension and 75 degrees of flexion. It was made clear to me that I'm going to have to work my ass off in order to go back to the life I had before the surgery. So I'm working. And I'm crying. And I will continue to work through the pain. The doctor told me that I can't damage the knee at this point. What I understood him to mean by that was that I was going to have to do a little more than the knee seems capable of handling. Even though something hurts, the knee is not going to fall apart. Therefore, I strap myself in and stretch as far as I can stand it. Then the machine flexes as far as I can stand it. This goes on until you turn the machine off. I turned it off after 30 minutes, 20 of which were spent crying.

You know what else is fucked up? In order to prevent deep vein thrombosis, you have to take blood thinners, blood thinners which you inject into your stomach. Twice a day.

Fuck me this is hard!! I know it will get better eventually. I will get through it, but I'm going to use my blog to bemoan my fate. Then when I look back on this in a year, I can actually believe that I am one tough little bitch.

ADDENDUM (SEVERAL HOURS LATER): I caved. The pain was too much. I took come Vicodin, but I wasn't at all happy about doing so. Am I still tough?

That Was Gnarly!!!

My 8 inch scar and I are home safe and sound. I got bounced early for being such an independent, low-maintenance patient. I took a couple of morning constitutionals around the orthopedic ward with the walker early today. I was bored and tired of being in the bed.

I still feel like shit, but in a good way (if that's possible). The surgery was easy. All I remember was sitting up and talking about how interesting the operating room was. The next thing I knew I was being wheeled into my room. The serious pain didn't hit until the next day when the spinal wore off. The staff and I began the oral pain meds a little late in the game. That left me with a few hours of excruciating pain and serious nausea from the meds. When the meds finally did kick in, I was able to get a few hours of sleep at a time.

I didn't have much pain today until I came home. I took some Vicodin. That dulled the pain while intensifying the stomach issues. I've got a continuous passive motion machine and a machine that provides cold to the area of the body that is hurt. I've also got a cane. The physical therapist said I didn't need a walker or a raised toilet seat. I was and am easily able to make due without them.

I'll be a much more pleasant person when and if the swelling ever goes down. Nonetheless, I made the drop. Eyes wide open.

And lived to tell about it.

I will make the drop. Eyes wide open.

The Ubiquitous Quiver Shot

(Clockwise starting with the red board)

7'0" Soul Performance mid-sized custom thruster
9'2" Chris Slick single fin
9'3" Paul Gross longboard hull
9'1" Salted performance noserider
7'3" TG "bonzer" speed egg
5'10" TG mini-Simmons

After I'd put all of the boards away I realized I forgot to include my mat in the picture. That was made by Paul Gross too.

I took this picture to use for motivation during my rehab. Right now, all of the boards are in the garage. One may get to see the light of day if I surf tomorrow. Then it will return to hibernation with the rest of the quiver.

Four of the boards bear my name on the stringer. Those same four boards were also made by folks who blog.

Yes, I know there are a lot of longboards. They are my weapon of choice most of the time. I love the glide. I love to find trim. When I want to make attempts to tackle bigger waves for which longboards are unsuited, I turn to the boards in the seven foot range.

I don't ride a shortboard. I never will ride a shortboard. I am 45 years old and female. What am I going to do with a shortboard other than sell it on Craigslist? Don't hate. Don't judge. Just surf.

Skanking Dance Party!

It hit me that my knee is even preventing me from throwing my online dance parties. I don't dance anymore. That hurts too! Since I don't dance at home, I no longer encourage everyone else to dance.

Me not dancing? Something is definitely wrong! Let's do the surgery yesterday!

Can a Sista Just Get a Few Decent Waves?

My days are seriously numbered at this point. I'll soon meet with someone from the orthopedist's office to have an in-depth discussion about knee replacement. My head is in the right space. I'm not fighting it at all anymore. This has to happen. Without it, I would become sedentary; the pain is that constant.

I do not notice the pain when I surf. No, I take that back. I do notice the pain while I'm waiting for a wave to come my way. I don't notice the pain once I spin around and start paddling. I don't notice it during the pop-up either. In that respect I'm lucky. I think the cold water helps to alleviate much of the pain anyway. I look forward to being pain-free. I've read that a prosthetic joint takes a little getting used to. I can deal with that. I'm just tired of being in pain. Now there is also pain in my hip. I'm certain that's the result of having changed my gait as a result of the pain in my knee.

I'm hoping the surgery isn't postponed. There have been a few setbacks along the way. When my doctor did the pre-op physical, she refused to send me for a chest x-ray even though the surgeon's office requested one. My doc said she couldn't justify a chest x-ray for someone who is relatively young and in excellent health. I have no problem with that, but the surgeon might. I also got a call today saying I had to go back down for another blood test because she inadvertently missed a box that needed to be checked when my blood was sent to the lab. So, one of the tests needed for the surgeon was not done. (Did I mention the blood donation center at the hospital butchered one of my arms when I went to bank my pint of blood?)

All I need now are a few decent waves. I don't ask for much. I'm not requesting epic conditions. I'd be satisfied with shoulder high waves with juice and shape. Oh, and an uncrowded lineup. Oh yeah, the sun needs to be out too.

Perhaps my expectations are too high. Perhaps I'm high. No, that wouldn't be the case. It might be the case once I start popping those post-surgery Vicodins. Nah, I'm scared to death of becoming addicted to painkillers, and anything else, and I'll probably tough out the pain once it comes down a few hundred notches.

Pray for some kind of halfway decent surf, please.

Gotta Hull Lotta Love!

I felt just fine this morning, fine enough to tackle any wave that came my way. What did I find? Little dribblers crumbling their way toward the shore. Why couldn't I have felt this good yesterday?

I took The Minx, my torpedo-like longboard hull, out for her maiden voyage this morning. As was suggested by the shaper, I took the first wave on my belly. That's where you get to see what a hull is capable of delivering once you learn to surf it well standing up. Someone on an SUP screamed to me that I looked like I was a rocket. (In the water? A rocket?) I understood what I was hearing. In other words, I was flying down the line. Much to my chagrin, that was probably my wave of the day. There wasn't enough to work with out there to really open the board up. Yesterday would have been a good day for that.

It's not hard to surf this board at all. I loved it. I've not yet found my sweet spot on it when standing. After riding the board prone, I know it's there.

Did I say something yesterday about being physically unable to surf every day until the surgery? Strike that. I'm feeling great. What's irritating is that there is some swell on the way and it looks like I won't be able to surf tomorrow. I do have a window of time later in the morning and early in the afternoon, but I think the winds might get on it before I can get out there. No matter. I'll surf as much as I can until I can surf no longer.

I Need that Pint Back

Really, I could have just stayed on the shore and done about as much as I did in the water today. It wasn't until the end of the session that I figured out why I was so tired. It wouldn't even be so bad except that there were actual consistently head-high waves out there. I've waited all winter for that. I made the paddle out without much effort. After that the session went downhill. I just wasn't feeling it. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. My reflexes weren't working at all. I know I read that it takes about two weeks for your body to replenish the loss of that much blood. I'm only two days past giving up that pint.

I suppose this means my intention of surfing hard until surgery is no longer a realistic one. I'm now going to revise that goal and only surf a few days rather than every day until surgery. I'll still workout. I just won't surf every day. I'm not up to that task at this point.

It's funny, some people have felt like I'm deserving of pity, what with Soul Brother #1's layoff, his cancer and now my knee. There is nothing about which to be pitiful. As I approach the day of the surgery, I get more excited and relieved. I'm thankful we still have insurance throughout all of this. There are people who have lost their jobs, their homes and their insurance. I've read about people discontinuing cancer treatment because they can no longer afford it. Others stopped taking medications they needed for the same reason. I'm sure there are others who also need joint replacement and must now endure the pain of osteoarthritis until they are once again, if ever, insured. I certainly am not feeling sorry for myself. I'm one of the lucky ones.

With that said, let me say thank you to everyone who has sent me good vibes. I'm especially thankful for the pep talk from Worm, the tweaked x-ray from Paul and Kirk for telling me about others—younger, athletic folks—who'd had the surgery. Those three people in particular helped to get my head straight. I just heard from Julie too. She sent a link that I find very encouraging:

So what is joint replacement? When cartilage wears down and the bones begin to rub on one another, it causes both pain and deformity. One side of the knee wears out faster than the other and the bones become lopsided. For most, we wear out the inside (medial) portion of our knee joint and the top of our hip joint first. This is why you see many people becoming bow-legged as they age.

All joint replacements, therefore, are meant to decrease pain and realign joints straight again. Joint replacement is performed by making an incision over the involved joint and removing the ends of the bones that no longer have cartilage on them. Special jigs are used to measure and align the cuts made on the ends of the bones to make sure the new joint is anatomically aligned like the natural joint was before arthritis wore it down. Now we are even using computer navigation in the operating room to more precisely align the bone cuts back to their natural anatomic position.

Once all the bone cuts have been made, the ends of the bones are replaced with metal replicas. Prior to surgery, X-rays are measured to ensure the proper sized implants are available, and during surgery the surgeon measures to determine what size joint replacement is needed. When the surgeon confirms the proper size and alignment of the implants, they are cemented into place. This is why you can walk on joint replacements immediately.

The implants are made out of cobalt-chrome, ceramic or titanium alloys and are polished to a highly shiny surface. They reflect light like a polished chrome bumper or a mirror. Between the two polished steel implants, a very tough piece of plastic, called polyethylene or poly, is inserted. The two bone ends move over this poly surface like your natural joint moved over its cartilage.

Rehabilitation after a this operation can take three to six months depending on the kind of shape a patient is in prior to surgery. The post-operative results, however, are generally excellent with significant relief of pain and return of function. More than 90 percent of people continue to have good or excellent results more than 10 years after joint replacement.

I'm ready, spinal anesthetic and all.

Preparations

Yes, I'm scared. I'll put that right out there for the world to see. I'd already worked through all of my previous fears. Then the doctor mentioned spinal anesthesia. Excuse me? Does this mean I'll be awake during the surgery? Am I going to hear you cutting through the bone? Unfortunately, I was too stunned to ask those questions. I was still reeling from the grilling he gave me about my current level of pain and disability, expecting him to say I was not yet a good candidate for knee replacement. He said quite the opposite. Although I'm quite young for this procedure, he is of the belief that I am a perfect candidate.

A date for surgery was scheduled. Now I'm scrambling to get things done. Yesterday I banked a pint of blood for the operation. As one who only eats when I feel the need and is always on the verge of dehydration, giving up a pint of blood has resulted in a serious fatigue. I drank two shots of wheatgrass today in an effort to replenish some of the iron I lost. I don't eat red meat at all and could happily live without any other meat so I'm forced to find other sources of iron that I can use to help my body recover from that lost pint.

The pre-op physical is coming up, as is the meeting with someone in the surgeon's office about knee replacement.

My goal is to be back on a board by mid-July. I don't know if that is a realistic goal. The doctor would say that it is. However, I'm the only one who will know when I'm ready.

Photographic Proof

Thanks for the photo, Esther. I hope you don't mind me doing a little Photoshop work on it.

"Shaun Tomson! You're Goin' Down!"

How many people can yell it, mean it and have it come true? Not many, right? Well, I'm one of the few then. There's no way I was going to let some former world champ on a shortboard beat me at my home break!

I know what you're thinking. That chick must have attached her leash in the parking lot, tripped over it on the way to the water and hit her head. Kook! No head-hitting here, my friends. Instead, I was competing in some form of relay for a charity surf-a-thon. We were split into teams. The rules were a bit confusing to those of us who were competing. The gist of it was that we would compete in 15 minute heats. The goal was to catch five waves (or as many as you could). If you caught your five waves before the heat was over, you could get out and tag your teammate. If you got fewer than five waves, you got out once the heat was up. Somehow, this was supposed to be a race. And a surf contest? All of that was unclear. Since it was for charity, who cared? I figured I'd paddle out and have fun.

I was in the first heat. So was Shaun. (My god, that is one gorgeous hunk of man!) As we waited for the horn to start the heat, that's when I turned and let him know how it was going to be! I knew I had the advantage, hands down. He's a world champion who has surfed some of the best breaks on the planet. He knows what to do with a good wave. Well guess what, Shaun? My home break is not a good wave. Nor is it a particularly well-shaped wave for those who ride shortboards. I suppose I thought he'd be waiting for something rideable to appear on the horizon. I knew better than to wait for that. This is the spot where I learned how to surf and still surf on occasion. I could see our home break closeouts were in full effect. The horn eventually sounded. About six of us paddled out for the heat. Four of them paddled too deep. Two of us stayed on the inside. I wasn't necessarily trying to get the longest waves. I was going for my five waves. If this is a relay then time matters.

I am, by nature, a kind of shy person. I still suffer from performance anxiety even though I've spent a lifetime as a competitive athlete. I'm especially prone to performance anxiety when I know a lot of people are watching me. For some reason, I didn't care today. I didn't even think about all of the people on the beach. I was focused on the waves, on the fact that I was not going to let myself get embarrassed at my home break. I can surf those shitty waves quite well. Katy caught one. Then I caught one. Then I caught another and another and so on—four lefts and one right. Before I knew it, I was bellying/paddling in to tag the next person on our team. And then what happened? I have no idea. Eventually the horn sounded and other people went out. Shaun Tomson came in. What about the other people? I wasn't looking at them. I only had eyes for Shaun Tomson. He is the first surfer I remember seeing on TV. Back in the days before Fuel TV, there was something called ABC's Wide World of Sports. Hell, this was back before cable television. There was no need for a cable box when the only channels you had were 2,4,5,7,9,11,13 and a few on UHF. But I remember seeing a lot of Shaun Tomson. I also remember that he took my breath away. Some 30 years on, I finally meet Shaun Tomson and I can't even make eye contact with him. When I told a teammate that I'd given Shaun Tomson a little gift today, she said, "What was it? Your tongue?" Is this how polite ladies speak to one another?

It was a fun day. I got to talk trash to Shaun Tomson. I also got a hug from Shaun Tomson. What a nice man, he is. Because I've had a crush on him since I was a teenager, I didn't say much to him. What was I going to say that didn't involve a lot of flustered conversation and drool?


I also happened upon Rob Machado. I got a hug from him too! I remarked that we have the same hair. He directed me to look in the back of his hair; he thought there was one bone fide dreadlock back there. When I paddled back out a little later for a free surf separate from the event, I got to spend some time in the lineup with Peter Townend. He was freezing. He'd just gotten back from surfing in Australia so he was not amused by the water temperature here. He, like Tomson and Machado, is a nice and gracious man.

This was a surprisingly great surf day. I hadn't expected to have this much fun or see all of these great surfers there. I'm assuming a good deal of money was raised to support the cause. The relay was still in full swing by the time I left (with the spouse, the child and the dog in tow). Perhaps if I ever see Shaun Tomson again, I won't be afraid to actually have a conversation with him.

Ready For a Hulluva Good Time!

I still haven't gotten my hands on the board. Someone else's hands, and cat, are fondling my board. It will be in my quiver soon enough.

Patience. It is a virtue. Or so they tell me.

Hullelujah!!

My 9'3" Paul Gross beauty is almost ready. When I saw the picture, I was so overwhelmed that I began singing the chorus from Handhull's Messiah!

Who's the April Fool Now?

Damn those people at NPR! I almost fell for it. Almost. But when they started talking about using the skeletons for home improvement projects and teaching the whales to sing in three-part harmony, I remembered what day it was.

NPR Pranks the Listeners