Rehab Update

Wow, two weeks since the hip replacement operation, and each day a delicious lunch is brought to me sitting in the recliner in front of the TV. I’ve been retrained to do the rest: make breakfast, cereal or eggs, and dinner, usually hummus and toast, sometimes with muesli and yogurt dessert. (I’ve also starting putting on the ice packs, doing the dishes, and taking little walks out into the yard to gaze at my two little budding pot plants, talking with admiration at them.)

I have been bombarded with sugar these last two weeks, starting when my ride down to the hospital brought me an espresso milkshake, the sort of thing I’ve been vaguely depriving myself of for years, and at first I had a taste or two, then half of it, then put the big cup in the freezer. (Within an hour I was slopping the rest of it all over the big brownie I’d bought uptown earlier when getting into the surgery spirit.)

Then at the hospital I ate dessert everyday, even after breakfast, and here at home recovering, my “coach” has made apple crisp twice, at my request, but also every day or so drops a cookie or pastry off on the counter, a muffin other days, and in the freezer I discovered an organic ice cream sandwich.

I feel bad about all the sugar, my next test results are going to be haywire, and I’m in no position to exercise it off for the next few months, now slowly making the rounds through the house with walker, grabber, and dressing tool. (I am helpless to resist whichever fancy cookie she puts out for me.)

I’m really not used to all this unnecessary sugar but what to do? I am weak, like the general population which couldn’t resist corn whiskey in the 1800’s and corn products today, as obesity became rampant during the last forty years of the “super-size me” generation.

Yes, I’m reading, actually listening to, The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan, all about how corn farming changed in the last century when agribusiness replaced the family farm, a very disheartening, albeit eye-opening, look at farming, economics, and fast food culture, with some mad cow disease mixed in. (Do you know the story of corn in our country? Fascinating and depressing, a wonder plant with hundreds of industrial uses developed in labs, including hundreds of processed foods.)

The cable switchover happened yesterday, I was content to abandon my usual TV diet and lose a lot of my regular channels (mind pabulum) because I didn’t want to pay $60 more a month, jettisoning cable news and sports and Comedy Central. But they all showed up anyway on the most basic cable, the cheapest way to watch the 49ers on Sunday.

I also ordered HBO for Bill Maher (no I don’t agree with everything he says, the guys got such a hard-on for Israel) and as entertainment background for when prepping or eating food. When I checked out the multiple HBO channels I found just shows that have been repeating for months, which I had no interest in even as filler for a few minutes, and decided to cancel and replace it with Netflix. (It took an hour or two to get the Netflix working and now I’m asking for suggestions from anyone who has favorites they want to share.)

I did it, had a glass of wine with lunch, and now I feel like a new man, oh yeah. I know, I quit drinking nearly two years ago, had six or seven drinks since then, learned that alcohol was actually not good for you, but as I’ve been off the oxycodone for nearly a week, and as the “coach” just brought me this delicious turkey pot pie, I figured why not, why not a glass of cheap red from Frey?

It was good, can you tell, I’m trying to channel this sweet little high to you right now, this high celebrating two weeks since my hip replacement, two weeks of ice and leg squeezers and exercises twice a day, oops, not gonna be twice today! (Yes I have been in party mode, smoked weed three out of the last four nights and am riding high.)

Before my coach, helper, care-giver left today, she bought me a load of all the boring healthy food I usually eat, hmm, might just eat some soup from the freezer first, before I launch myself back into my usual routine.

These days I’m supposed to move very slowly with little steps, no quick turns, no twisting, and always with the walker, the idea being always keep the new hip nestled peacefully in it’s bed of flesh, which will grow gradually into the metal (plastic?) ball joint until merged to totality.

The coach has been rather a killjoy trying repeatedly to get me to do everything correctly and a few days ago when she wasn’t looking I wandered away from my walker repeatedly. My walking started feeling lumpy and lopsided so I’m scared straight now, convinced it’s not just for safety but part of the healing process.

They have all these rules at the orthopedic department at the hospital, like don’t cross your legs at the ankle, or anywhere. I try it anyway and it feels so good, but I quickly uncross them. Even the steps have rules: going down it’s bad leg first, going back up it’s good leg first. (I call the hospital nurses desk every few days to get advice.)

I’m on my own now, first time in two weeks, not supposed to drive for two months, but if there was an emergency I could probably do it, shovel myself in there, it is an automatic.