Running Update

I'm still crap at it.

End of an Era

Been meaning to write that Gym Class ended. Not because Gym Teacher wanted to or thought I was ready - I think in her perfect world I would go to PT for the rest of my life - but because Insurance was ready to stop paying for it when 2007 became 2008. "PT feels so - I don't know - last year," yawned Insurance. "We're kinda over it. Aren't you?"

Kinda...? I feel really good, although I discovered that I still need to go to the gym and work the one-legged hamstring curl et al. Leg is unable to maintain a regular level of strength without it. It's a funny thing, because if I don't go, it kind of atrophies a little (maybe not visibly, but I can feel that it's weaker) and even just walking around I can feel the difference between them.

So I'll keep working the leg like a good little gym rat. If I get any parting words of advice from Gym Teacher that are particularly postworthy, you'll be the first to know.

Upped and Outed

Just got a call from Elaine, the greatest physician's assistant on the planet, to let me know that my surgery is going to be moved up a week to April 17th, as Dr. Buly's out of town the following week.

No problem. And then:

"So I hear you've written a blog!"

SO BUSTED!!!

Actually I don't know why I feel like the kid with their hand in the candy jar. She was delighted that I was sharing my experiences, and said that it was so helpful for other patients, and even went so far as to say that she heard it was "very good"!

Well then. I thank you. I've been emailing with a pre-op patient of Dr. Buly's and I'm reminded of myself this time last year, when it seemed like every question I got answers to only led to five more. Preparing obsessively so that I didn't have to think about anything else, like what the hell was it going to be like afterwards? From the other side now, I feel great sympathy and compassion, and can say only this to everyone, regardless of surgery, pain, fear, confusion, insurance:

You are going to be fine, and after an unspecified period of time, your life will return better than before.

This Time Last Year

I was scrabbling around trying to find someone who knew what to do with me.

I could take about 25-50 steps, depending on the day, and then would be in pain any time I tried to walk after that.

I was sick of hearing the phrase 'pain management' from well-meaning nurses and doctors who were not themselves experiencing any pain (I don't want to MANAGE my pain, I want to be in a body that is not IN pain. Do you see the difference, smiley nurse lady?)

To my fellow hip women, wherever you may be on this mad journey: there is a light, I promise, and there are so many of us out there now to support you getting there. Kick-ass Lauren and I are almost done with our secret project that we hope will make things even better.

Growing Pains

Add ice skating to my list of recovered skills.

And - my leg is getting bigger! It's now only 1/2" smaller in diameter than my regular leg. (Which may have more to do with Christmas cookies than anything else, but still.) As much as my yogic perspective makes every step on the elliptical machine another notch of binding in the front of my hip that I'll have to undo later, every one-legged hamstring curl another millimeter of forward bending that I have to refind, it seems to be working. Although my butt still spasms on a daily basis. I have magnesium oil which I am supposed to rub on the area, which is supposed to take care of the situation. I have my doubts, as you can probably tell.

In any event, walking without joint pain and not having to plan my day based on how much I can handle before I have to throw in the towel and just go home is the best holiday gift I can imagine. The rest is small potatoes.

Secret Jog

Halfway through my jumping routine yesterday, Gym Teacher pulled me in close, lowered her chin, and glancing around furtively, whispered, "I want you to jog."

"You want me to WHAT?" I exclaimed, blowing her cover.

"Just, try. Slowly. Walk a few steps and then build it up."

Gentle Reader, it weren't pretty, and it weren't for more than 5 steps, but I jogged. When I tried it again later that evening, it was very gimpy. Baby steps, but I'm getting somewhere.

Fitter Happier

I'm getting really good at jumping. I can jump up and down, I can jump side to side. Jumping with one foot forward and one foot backward though has proved to be my greatest challenge (the aforementioned 'pony prance') and thus the one I have to work on the most. I also get to gallop, right foot forward, in whatever setting I deem fit. Galloping, for those that were not childhood practitioners, is the same action as skipping, except without alternating legs - you just go bonkers on the one side. It's pretty fun and yesterday when I had dragged myself, worn out from several days of city-wide mad dashing featuring multiple costume changes (yoga teacher! young mom for audition! yoga teacher again! hip urban woman for audition!) to gym class and explained to Gym Teacher that I was very tired, she would have no part of it and made me start the mad jumping routine. There's not much bouncing in adult life, and it's a shame, because I definitely felt better afterwards. Perhaps I shall begin to gallop down the street to get places.

I still run like a gimp though. Did a little dash through the turnstile to the waiting subway train this morning and could immediately sense that had I galloped, I may have retained a little more dignity.

Insurance Irony

I get my insurance by doing things like this:

http://www.chocolatecomestolife.com/productnews/

As it says at the end, life is full of chocolate surprises.

Since commercials generally like people to look the same on both sides, and also successfully walk into the room to audition unaided, I was on hiatus all summer post-surgery and only recently started auditioning again. Because of this, I have not earned enough money to remain in the top tier of insurance and have been unceremoniously dropped to the second tier. Grrr. I have another employer from whom I could receive insurance, but then I run the "pre-existing condition" risk.

Further investigation required to see what this will mean for next year's surgery. There is an option to pay more with my current insurer (of course) to remain in the top tier, but (of course) it's an enormous amount per month - over $800 more (of course). Essentially, just more pain in an area that's already in spasm half the time. Also, if I work enough between now and surgery, there's a chance I would return to my former heights of insured glory.

The more laissez-faire you can be going into an audition, the greater chance you have of booking the job. Usually people are driven to get all hyped up and over-perform due to an intense desire to succeed as an actor. I just want to get the metal out of my leg. Maybe I should bring in a "Will Work For Surgery" sign.

Measurements

As a yoga teacher, one of my constant joys is watching students develop and grow - a triumphant first headstand, the click of comprehension about alignment, even the simple glow of contentment that regular yoga practice inevitably brings.

Measuring my own progress has also proved invaluable on days when I still feel gimpy, spasmy and the like. At gym class yesterday I was remembering how my wobbly initial attempt at transition from crutch to cane had to be postponed a month until I grew stronger. Now I stride through the door like someone who's there with a shoulder injury.

After several rounds of hopping and jumping (and discovering that I can now jump up and down on the spot, which hurt the first time I tried it a few weeks ago) I mentioned to Gym Teacher that my legs were, as far as I could tell, still different sizes. Out came the tape measure as she made little pen marks on my legs and wrote down circumferences. "Your right thigh is an inch smaller than your left," she confirmed, and discussion of various weight machines at the gym followed, which is a source of great pleasure to me, as I've really had it with the 5 lb ankle weights. And then of course, the inevitable:

"What if we measured your buttocks, from your coccyx to your greater trochanter, ha ha ha!" she laughed. "Ha ha ha," I agreed, which set her off even more. In the six months I have known this woman, I have never seen her let out more than a mild titter. The butt joke had her literally doubled over. I guess when it comes to anatomy humor, you take it where you can get it when it.

Giving Thanks

In honor of the season, I'm so grateful that I live in a world where I can access the kind of surgery that makes it possible for me to walk around Central Park all afternoon on Thanksgiving, taking pictures with friends, admiring the changing leaves and only spasming a little towards the end. (Couldn't resist. At least I didn't say the other part.) Thanksgiving last year, this would not have been possible.

And not that I'm complaining, just a situational update, that running is still not in the cards. I was crossing the street today a little after the light had changed and did that little hopalong pretend run where mostly you just move your arms but it sort of looks like you're putting some effort into moving faster, which made me wonder what would happen if I did break into a little jog, so I tried it, and then after a few steps realized that was a bad idea and quickly went back to just waving my arms. Takeoff is fine, but joint still doesn't like the impact of landing. That's ok. I'm fine with not running for now. Everything else is working pretty well, and that's enough.

Spasm

I toyed with the idea of keeping this next nugget to myself. "Self," I said, "There's no need to subject people to this. Haven't you made them read enough? Didn't you show them an awful lot of upper thigh in those scar pictures? And the special toilet? Come, now. Have a little compassion."

And yet I find myself compelled to tell you, Gentle Reader, that as of late, I have ass spasms.

Walk too much, leg gets tired, butt seizes up. If you see me around town stopping short, hands on hips, admiring the ground through clenched jaw, that's what's happening. Gym Teacher threw some Latin name at me and said it's called the pain in the ass muscle.

Her solution: my latest PT advancement, which is walking backwards on the treadmill. I even have a note from her stating that I have been trained to walk backwards on the treadmill and that it is an essential part of my physical therapy, in case someone at the gym gets shirty. Evidently gyms don't like it when you do stuff on their equipment that you're not supposed to. I've yet to unveil my trained backwards walking spasming ass at the gym, but if you're lucky, it will be a non-postworthy event and you'll never see the words ass and spasm together again.

Walk It Off

The latest in my physical therapy advances: I've been upgraded from the stairclimber to the treadmill at the gym.

However, since my running skills are, shall we say, less than terrific, my job on the treadmill is to walk as fast as I can, right at that edge where you almost need to break into a run, but rather than lengthening the stride, I have to take faster steps. Supposedly this will build the hip flexor response for when I am ready to run again. All I know is, I'm the goofball going walkwalkwalkwalkwalk while other people run beside me. It feels slightly out of control like I might trip and land on my chin. Just when I was regaining a little dignity...

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?