The Hip Replacement - 5

The whirlwind sequence continued unabated. Arriving at the hospital reception I was invited to take a seat.  Seconds later a nurse invited me to accompany him to the ward.  Then began the slick admissions procedure including the application of the ghastly anti-embolism socks. The surgeon breezed in, explained that he had just completed a session in the gym and he was all pumped up to go.  He drew a long arrow on my left thigh with a magic marker, smiled and promised to speak to me when he had finished, a couple of hours later.  The anaesthetist, a private pilot in his spare time explained what he was going to do and I felt the colour drain from my cheeks.  “Its not that I don’t hold your professional skill in the highest regard and neither am I technically disinterested,” I said, “It’s just that I’d rather not know about what is going on whilst it is going on!”  He had hardly left me before a couple of theatre nurses escorted me downstairs.  Sitting on the edge of a table we began a conversation about dog-fighting in aeroplanes and I explained, desperately trying to disguise my nervousness, the techniques we had been taught to withstand increasing g forces.  Then someone said,” hello, how are you feeling?” My surgeon appeared and assured me that everything had gone very well and that I would be back on the ward shortly – he would come and see me the following day.

Thereafter, everything appeared to be geared to getting me back on my feet, moving around, looking after myself and going home.  I eagerly complied with this regime and, just 3 days after arriving, I left the ward on crutches for the car park and the short drive home.  I had been royally treated meantime!

My recovery continues apace, thanks to some excellent in-house nursing care.  I am keeping up with my exercises and walking further each day.  Mobility is improving all the time and, apart from the anti-embolism socks, I can do everything for myself.  I abandoned the pain-killers when I found they made me nauseous and that, because the surgeon had done such an excellent job, I wasn’t in very much discomfort anyway.

After the Lord Mayor’s show hitherto, I visited my GP practice today, to have the wound dressing checked.  A twenty-minute wait in a hot and stuffy waiting room with Radio 2 blaring, preceded a four-minute consultation with a nurse during which a new dressing was applied.  I had some questions about the blood thinning medication, a little swelling round my left ankle and, of course, the socks which I attempted to address.  No answers but, fortunately, I was assured, "if I should be at all worried about anything, I should make an appointment to see my GP."  Sound advice, no doubt, but it certainly awakened me from my recent fairy-tale experience!