You Should Be Dancing

Hip's been such a trooper, I wanted to surprise her with a fun night out, so without telling her in advance where we were going, I took her salsa dancing.

Plucky little hip totally stood up to the one hour lesson, followed by the dance club infested with slick-haired men, Latin and other, all waiting to pounce on unsuspecting newbies and wrap themselves around us. Mine was named Dante. He liked to put his hand on my waist, among other places. There was so little room on the dance floor that I pretty much just hopped in place, counting 1 2 3, 5 6 7 in my head. (That's my insider nod to all you salsafies out there).

The best was the place afterwards, which was like an underground salsa version of the scene in Dirty Dancing where Jennifer Grey goes to the staff dance party and tries to dirty dance with Patrick Swayze (and I can quote you that scene - indeed, the entire film - word-for-word. The screenwriter used to be my boss). Everyone was just there to dance, and dance incredibly well. I definitely couldn't do what they were doing, and I definitely wanted to. The great thing was I couldn't do it because I didn't know what I was doing, not because of any physical impairments.

And I was definitely limping this morning, and my feet had some serious blisters, but it rocked. I'm totally going again.

Save the Date

Party time, people.

Extraction surgery: April 24th, 2008. A year to the day.

Apparently only one night in the hospital. Although I am semi-skeptical, since last time I was told 2-3 days, and was there for 5. Details, details.

Better Days

I told Gym Teacher that I had stopped using the cane. It felt like telling my mom I wasn't a virgin anymore. However unlike my mom in that moment, Gym Teacher pumped her fist in the air several times. And I thought I was going to get in trouble. She said sometimes people find it's too much and they go back to using it.

There have definitely been days when I felt like I needed to pick up the cane again, days when I'm strolling around the park with my friend and her new baby and I'm the one that needs to stop and rest every 10 minutes. Then there are the other days, when nothing hurts, walking's a breeze, one leg doesn't feel shorter and weaker than the other. In other words, not that different from my pre-surgery, what-will-today-bring life. I'm hoping the better days will begin to dramatically outnumber the crap days. Mostly, I'm trying not to get depressed about having to go through this whole thing again in April when the hardware is removed. I try to console myself with the truth that it will be much less of a production, both because I've done it once already, and because it's literally less of a production to take it out than to put it in (4 weeks on crutches/50% weight bearing, as opposed to 6 weeks/no weight bearing).

People say, "You're so strong/ You're so disciplined/ You're so motivated, you'll do fine" when I start talking about the second surgery. But there's really nothing uplifting to say about it. The best response came from my friend who looked at me silently for a few seconds, and then started laughing really, really hard. As a fellow inhabitant of a body that's breaking down far too young, she gets it. I don't mean to sound ungrateful for all the concern and support that I'm getting - quite the opposite, I'm sure I wouldn't have made it this far without all of you, and please don't go anywhere. It's just nice to have someone to revel with in the delightful ass-kicking we're both receiving.

How Soon They Forget

I hope you're not feeling rejected, Gentle Reader, simply because I haven't posted in over 2 weeks. (ahem)

After trying to figure out if I was remembering to remember the cane or forgetting to forget it, I finally said screw it and stopped using it completely 3 days ago. And honestly, I don't even think about it. Hip is a little stiff when I first get up in the morning or when I've been sitting for a while, but after a step or two everything starts moving as it should. I was feeling that using the cane was preventing me from using my leg enough to finally get that last 7% strength and mobility that I needed and that if I just stopped relying on it, the hip would have to man up. And man up it has.

[For legal reasons I must state here that I am not a doctor and as such cannot condone or prescribe my cane choice to any other post-operative recuperee.]

[Actually that's not true there's no legal anything I can write whatever I want. But everyone's responsible for themselves here.]

So even though it gets tired occasionally, overall I feel good about my choice. I realized I was waiting for my physical therapist to tell me when I could stop using it, as if she's the boss of me or something. Although she kind of is the boss of me... and if I'm totally honest, when I go in next, I'll probably take the cane because I don't want her to be mad... I'm going to have to work with her again after the next surgery so no reason to piss her off yet... she might make me do jumping jacks again.

The Big Question

It's practically October, and I saw my first leaves falling from trees today, so I bit the bullet and asked Gym Teacher if she had an idea of when I would be able to get rid of the cane. She stared at me silently, which used to make me nervous, but which I now know is just her way of thinking out loud. "When you consistently forget it places," she said finally. But I'm consistently making myself remember to take it places, so I'm not sure how that works. Given a choice I would consistently forget it on purpose, all the time, at home. After a bit of discussion she said that the outer hip is not yet strong enough, and the hip extension in the front isn't great enough to allow me not to lurch. It's not a big lurch, but she wants me as close to perfect as possible.

Sometimes I just get tired of being in a body that doesn't work as well as it could/should/would. I know it's all a sliding scale, and I should be grateful that it's not worse, but when I see people bounding around, I come up against what my teacher calls "The Unanswerable Why". And every time I come up against it and really see that there is no answer, if I'm lucky, I find solace in the silence. If not, I just end up whiny and irritable. Working my way out of whiny and irritable as we speak.

Phony Cane

(Which could easily be the name of one of Prince's all-girl bands from the 80s)

I was on a crowded rush hour subway train a few days ago and a man who saw I had a cane got up and offered me his seat. I tried to refuse, telling him I was fine, but he insisted until I accepted. I felt like a big old phony. I can stand up no problem, really. But I'm still finding myself both looking for the person who's going to give me their seat, or mentally justifying why I'm sitting down while the other person, equally deserving of a seat, is standing ("but I have a cane!"). The occasional times when I don't have the cane with me on the train and I sit down, I try to make a facial expression that reads "ordinarily I have a cane which is why I am sitting down and you are still standing" but I'm not sure it comes across.

Meanwhile the jumping Jacks et al really kicked the crap out of my ass. Did I just write that sentence? I guess so. I was pretty sore for a significant amount of time afterwards. Gym teacher is extraordinarily cautious, so I suppose it wasn't beyond my capabilities, but still...

Leapin' Lizards

I was jumping around like a maniac in gym class yesterday. It was the gymmiest gym class I've had in a while - there were jumping Jacks, and side steppy jumps down the line and back, and jump straight up and down which was the hardest, strangely, and the 'pony prance' which I will not demonstrate you just have to use your imagination.

It was not discussed, but I get the feeling that while jumping may be a small step for the hip, it is in fact a giant leap from the cane.

Uh

Recognizing that I haven't posted in over a week, and feeling a little guilty about it, and yet scraping the bottom of the barrel to come up with something relevant.

How about: I can now sleep on my surgery side again! I told Gym Teacher that today and she raised her eyebrow, which is her way of getting excited, and said "That's a huge milestone." Hooray! Huge milestone! Haven't had a huge milestone since the reappearance of my knee after surgery!

Actually, it is truly a gift not to be one-sided anymore. It really sucked, especially since it's the side I like to sleep on.

And: I keep forgetting my cane places, which apparently is also a sign that it's getting ditchable. I left it in the bank last weekend and was well down the street before I had to turn back. One time I walked out after teaching and left it in the gym.

So, good news. I am chugging along. Also apparently I am in the middle of my second 8 week cycle at the end of which great things will happen, as with the first 8 week cycle. Perhaps my life has now been tuned to cycle through 8 weeks at a time?

Old Paradigm, New Hip

My brother was in town visiting this weekend and we were walking around the city after brunch Saturday when he said he had to go back to his old apartment. "It's too far for me to walk," I replied without thinking, and then realized, actually, no it's not. Not any more. It used to be, when the cartilage wasn't lined up and my socket was wearing itself down with each step, but now, pain-free, I can walk miles at a time. It's so liberating and at the same time I have to consciously remind myself that I've been liberated. I'm actually considering going snowboarding in March (don't freak out mom) although I will be calling Dr. Buly for his opinion on whether the metal/bone combo would hold up or if I should actually wait until this whole process is done.

And my skinniest pants fit. Triumph!

Look Ma, No Hands

Yesterday I went caneless to the grocery store and carried two bags of groceries 6 blocks home.

A man said as I passed, "That's a good workout."

"You have no idea," I replied in my head.

Then on the way to gym class running late and charging down the street I had a moment where I felt like I could break into a run.

I haven't wanted to break into a run since 2002.

At gym class as I was waiting for gym teacher I remembered how on my first day there I couldn't walk without lurching violently.

I remembered how a few weeks later when she asked, "How are you doing?" I burst into frustrated, angry tears.

Yes, it's been tough at times.

Equally yes, it's entirely worth it.

Close Encounters of the Insurance Kind, Part 17,083

All of my interactions with my insurance company have involved the following steps:

1. Ask them to pay something.
2. Hold breath.
3. Let breath go because 2 months have passed.
4. Procrastinate and avoid calling to hear potential bad news.
5. Finally suck it up and call to find out that something just got approved yesterday.
6. Repeat with next item (wheelchair, physical therapy, X-rays etc)

I was on step 4 of two items simultaneously (PT and anaesthesia) when I received an updated bill from Dr. Buly's office. Insurance had already paid for 70% of his bill and I was sort of hoping we could all look the other way about the rest... right? What's a few thousand dollars between friends... except a few thousand dollars...

The good news is that he has reduced the rest of his fee, the medium news is there's still a bit to pay.

Somehow this motivated me to find out exactly how much of everything else I still need to pay for, dammit... and got all ready to battle with whomever picked up the phone at the insurance company as to why they were only covering 1/3 of the anaesthesia when the plan clearly states 100%, etc... and got the nicest man on the phone who said the full anaesthesia was paid for, and extra PT was approved, and hooray!

Sometimes, occasionally, the system works. I know I'm supposed to rant and rave about how shitty health insurance is in this country, and believe me I'm not a fan, but I think I got lulled into happy-land by the words "It's all been approved."

Drop It Like It's Hot

In an ongoing attempt to remain too big for my (rain) boots, I decided yesterday that I was just going to walk around without my cane. Earlier that day I walked the 7 blocks to the bank (no problem), and 7 blocks back home, caneless. Child's play. What was I goofing around with a cane for? I clearly didn't need it anymore. All my Tuesday travel was within walking distance of my house, I reasoned, and since I'd been taking short neighborhood trips without the cane, surely I could just extend the perimeter of what I called 'neighborhood'. Of course, using that logic, I could walk to my brother's house in L.A. without my cane.

So around the beginning of rush hour time I started walking to the office where I teach a class, and suddenly remembered why I needed the cane. There was jostling, and bumping, and tourists looking up, and people trying to get home, and no-one knew that I wasn't just a regular walking person. "Careful!" I wanted to yell, "I'm new at this!" I saw a man with a cane coming the other way and watched with envy as the sea of people parted around him.

But the real indication came when I started limping. I tried to turn it into a cool gangsta walk, but since I am neither cool nor a gangsta it just looked like a white girl lurching down the street.

So it is with a sigh of resignation that I pick up the cane again. Not ready yet.

Something to Consider

Maybe it's not entirely necessary to pull down your pants in the locker room of the fancy gym where you just taught yoga class to show a student who may need labral repair the arthroscopy scar. Just maybe. Maybe her expression/repetition of the phrase "really it's ok I don't need to see it" should give cause for pause.

Separately, new exciting mini-project in the works for all you Dysplastics out there who like I was are tearing your hair out trying to find any information online about HD that doesn't refer to German Shepherds. Brilliant Lauren's idea. Semi-jealous I didn't think of it first, but excited to tag along and help where I can. All will be revealed soonish.

Cane 3: In 3-D

4 weeks to the day of my last attempted outing on a Saturday night sans cane, I tried it again last night. Pleased to report that this time, I was fine. No pain, no cane (that's not even funny but I can't erase it). I'm not ditching it completely yet, but it felt really good not to be the girl at the party whose geriatric grey cane doesn't match her cute outfit. So if you're keeping score, that's 18 weeks post-op. Not too shabby.

Also this is my 100th post, which is pretty wild. From a humble birth as an attempt to record what surgery and recovery was like, Paper or Dysplastic has blossomed through a difficult adolescence into graceful young womanhood. Thank you for all your comments and feedback and support. Since I have another surgery looming (oh yes, we get to take the metal out next year) I'm going to keep going. I'm sure there will be many more surprises in store.

America's Next Top Dysplastic

Today for the first time since surgery, I am wearing jeans.
My legs look the same as each other.
I think that's enough.

Direct Quote

from Gym Teacher:

"You may have had a funny bone, but your muscles are fantastic."

Aw, yeah.

Clickstep

Feeling strong, feeling good, teaching, not in pain, no muscles spasming (although I have a new physical therapist working with Gym Teacher whose sole job is to stretch me; I enjoy the effort-free aspect of it, but not so much the crap-that-hurts aspect. I think he's Dutch). But a new/old development - I'm clicking again. It started Saturday, I'm not sure why, and it's not all the time, but it's audible. I used to click like this, as well as the infamous "clunk" that dysplastics are all too familiar with - but it doesn't hurt or feel like anything. Mostly it just makes me self conscious, like I'm some kind of bionic robot lady with metal parts who clicks when she walks. (Wait a minute...)

In other news, insurance finally paid the surgery bill. There are still some bits and pieces unresolved (for some reason, they only want to cover 1/3 of the anaesthesia bill from surgery. Does that mean I should have been 2/3 awake? Although apparently I was) but this was the biggest chunk, and a large sigh of relief was released by all. Meaning me and probably my mom.

Wheelchair vs. Crutches vs. Cane

Pre-experience, if you had asked me which of the three would elicit the greatest sympathy from passers by, the most compassion, the strongest urge to get out of the way/give you my seat/help you with that from my fellow New Yorkers, I would have thought wheelchair, then crutches, then cane, in descending order. Turns out I was completely ass-backwards wrong.

The wheelchair, I think, falls in the 'I don't want to even think about how much is wrong with this person and I need to avert my eyes' category: our mortality has its limits, and a person in a wheelchair brings that a little too sharply into relief.

Crutches endeared me even less to those I shared the street with. They suggest skiing accident, or spelunking misadventure, which in turn implicates me as a spoiled rich girl with enough money/time to fritter away on such impracticalities that I probably deserved to get hurt. (I'm just saying.)

The cane, however. The cane has brought out the Florence Nightingale in more people than I ever would have expected. It says I'm clearly not dying, at least not yet, and I'm no longer spoiled rich girl, but somehow now plucky survivor, likely with some degenerative disease (not wrong there) but still getting along on all that pluck (such a good word I wanted to use it again) which is a quality New Yorkers adore, so let me give you my subway seat/carry your groceries/seat you for your dinner reservation before your entire party is here, and so on.

It's proven invaluable in many situations, and even more so if I protest that I'm really fine to stand up, etc (so plucky in the face of such obvious tragedy!) which I usually am anyway... as much as the cane's lingering presence in my life irritated me at first, I'm now starting to wonder if I should keep it around and perhaps pull it out for special occasions that could use a little help, like dinner reservations on a Friday night. (I'm just saying.)

Full Circle and Around Again

I just realized that I walked the 2 1/2 (long avenue) blocks from the subway to my apartment in full on New York City dweller take-no-prisoners double-time speed walk. Which I may have done pre-surgery, except that by the time I got to my building I would have been limping. I didn't even realize how fast I was walking until the woman walking behind me passed as I stopped at my building and I saw how fast she was going. And she didn't lap me or anything.

And nothing hurts. At all. I feel totally fine. It's a serious miracle.

Please Use Caution Opening Overhead Bins

As some contents may have shifted during flight. Namely, the fat cells in my right leg, behind the scar. There is a mildly disturbing new formation that has caused a visible (at least to me) cellulite dimple that I now like to absentmindedly put my finger in as I walk down the street. Is it solely the fault of the metal and hence will be gone when contents are reshifted next year? Possibly, although it is also not out of the question that this is the permanent new configuration of my thigh.

Oh vanity, thou art a cruel mistress. Looks like my fashion future is squarely set in to-the-knee-or-below styles. Either that or I go commando Spencer Tunick style and let it all hang out... who's with me? Anyone? Hello?