Behind Closed Doors: To Knee or Not to Knee?

A patient’s journey: Part 2

The date was set for Knee Replacement No. 1, aka “Laverne.” But first I needed to undergo a battery of tests to ensure I could withstand the surgery — and presumably to make sure I didn’t have any recording devices implanted in my body.

I sat through a two-hour joint class where my fellow classmates and I were regaled with tales of what to expect when you’re expecting ... a new joint. Of course, one lady was just a little too into it and asked 45 questions, which added 20 minutes to the snooze fest. Also, one man made it a point to LOUDLY let us all know he’d already been through this. Calm down, big fella. It won’t kill you to go through it again.

At last, the Big Day arrived. The pre-surgery prep went according to plan. I was wheeled into the OR and I remember being happy that my doctor had good taste in music. When I’m nervous I either get chatty or I sing, and the last thing I remember was wailing, “Ain’t no mountain hiiiigh enough….” They couldn’t put that mask on me fast enough.

Fast-forward to post-surgery. I was mostly awake, but when I’m high on anesthesia and whatever else they pump into me, I tend to fixate. I asked them over and over how long I was in surgery. I also kept wondering what happened to my old knee and if I would get it back.

I passed the PT test and was able to go home a few hours later. Or maybe they were just tired of my fixations.

Over the next few days, Laverne and I began to get acquainted. We spent our days resting, icing, elevating and doing the prescribed exercises. Laverne went along with the program, but not without pushback and sass. She could be bossy at times. “Don’t move me that way; move me this way,” she sighed and complained that I’m not the boss of her.

“Well, sorry Laverne, but I kind of am,” I told her. “Plus, I’m bigger and stronger than you.”

At my two-week follow-up appointment, the surgeon looked at my leg — covered in bruises from stem to stern — and explained that there were saws and tourniquets involved. TMI, Doc. Thankfully, I knew the bruises would clear up in time for bikini season (oh wait ... it hasn’t been bikini season for me since around 1987).

They took X-rays of both knees to make sure everything was in place and that Laverne hadn’t migrated to my arm or something. Then I saw the report indicating my other knee — you guessed it, “Shirley” — still had moderate to severe issues. Well, she was just going to need to wait her turn. I wasn’t in a hurry to go through this again anytime soon.

But go through it again I did, as I’ll outline in Part 3 of this series.

See you next month! OSM