Terrible Twos

Oh my. I love my baby. To the moon and back. And for the last few days, bedtime could not have come soon enough. I thought we had seen tantrums before. And demanding. But this IS IT. Oh gosh, or, at least I hope it is. If it gets worse, I may just end up in the state hospital.

It seems that it happened over-night. We tucked in our sweet baby and awakened to a terror. Not that every minute is terrible. But you never know when she may decide that your answer wasn't good enough, or that it is too frustrating to repeat what she said because you didn't understand it the first time. I advised some friends last night that they should avoid having a two-year-old. You know, just have a kid that skips from 18 months to 3 years.

I guess the challenging moments teach us to cherish the easy-going ones. And moments like these are still precious...

The light of my life

I'm up late. Real late for me. Especially these days. I've been in bed for two hours, unable to sleep. I'm not sure why, other than a lot of excitement. And, perhaps a lack of proper hydration, considering my recent activity level. I've been on my feet more in the last seven days than I had all of the previous 6 weeks. So, I'm sitting here with a large glass of water, and thought it an opportune time to reflect upon being the mother of a two-year-old.

We hosted the second of Kinnie's birthday parties at our home this afternoon. We celebrated with Brian's family one week ago. She is a delight. Turns out, she is one party girl. She loves presents. Once one has been opened, and briefly enjoyed, she turns to me and says "I wan anoder present." She took it pretty well when I told her that, in fact, they had all been opened. And thank goodness, for the sake of our modest home, which has been over-run by brightly colored games, and dolls, and toys of all kinds. Kinnie also really likes cake. Or at least frosting. At her birthday celebration with Brian's family, there were cupcakes piled with the stuff, in an amazingly un-natural blue-purple color. She proceeded to eat all the frosting off two of those. Then, she ran around like a maniac.

I am getting closer and closer to healed. I walk primarily with my hot-pink cane, saving the crutches only for longer walks with the dogs. I can get on the floor, and pick Kinnie up. I can do some cleaning around the house, get to the grocery store, and change diapers again. Normalcy seems to be returning, slowly but surely.

Kinnie has continued to be a champion through this experience. My worries prior to surgery and recovery have not become realities. She has, in many ways, remained a Mommy's girl. And, all the time that I was not able to be right there with her taught her that Daddy is pretty incredible, too. She has become more self sufficient. She plays quietly, every once in a while, on her own. When she accompanied my mom and me to my post-op appointment this week, I asked her what she wanted to tell the doctor. She said, "make Mommy's owie all better." She kisses my leg on a daily basis to achieve that end.

Pride, I have heard, can be sinful. But certainly not this kind. My heart swells when she says "thank you Mama" after I hand her juice, when she remembers that markers only go on paper, when she does something to make us laugh, when she gives her loved ones "big squeezes." So many people have remarked that the time goes so fast. But I think as I make the effort to be present every day, to attend to all the joys and beautiful moments, time almost slows down. I am grateful, grateful, grateful, down to the core of my soul. I never knew I could love this much.

I just want to go on a real walk...

I recognize that I have a tendency to write when I am struggling, and not so much when things are relatively easy. I preface this entry in this way because I am inpatient and frustrated today, but I want it to be clear that this has not been my day-to-day experience. But with that said...

I am SO ready to be back to "normal." I was thinking that this feels as though it has been the longest three weeks of my life- then remembered that it has actually been 5 weeks of being laid up. If things had gone as planned the end of my recovery would be near. As it is, I'm halfway. And, today, I'm not in the "glass half full" frame of mind.

I am tired of taking pain medication, which either makes my head fuzzy or upsets my stomach. I am not in terrible pain, but in order to be up and moving, some level of pain management is necessary. I am tired of being tired. I want to have the endurance I did before, able to walk for miles, adventure, without feeling the exhaustion that follows me right now. I want to go to the dog park. I want to grocery shop. I want to vacuum. I want to wear something other than sweatpants. I want to sleep through the night. I want to be able to help Brian. I'm almost to the point of saying I want to go to work. Almost.

I know I'm whining. And I have so much more for which to be grateful. I finished p/t last week, and my therapist said I can use just one crutch or a cane. So, Kinnie, my mom and I went to buy a cane. I let Kinnie choose one, and I should have known I would end up with hot pink. But I have learned that the transition to a lesser walking aid is slow. I use one crutch and the cane around the house. But my leg is weak. And going out without both crutches is too risky. Four days ago, I attempted a full step on my leg without any assistance, and it almost gave out. Today, I am able to take short steps on it. So progress is happening. It's just slow.

Kinnie and I have invented many games which only require my sitting and dancing with the top half of my body. She cuddles me, and asks for me. When I'm resting in bed upstairs, I'll hear her stomp up the stairs and say "I'm goin' to see Mommy." We sing songs. She has many favorites, though I think Mr. Roger's neighborhood is the current most favorite. She does not listen to me as well as she used to. This evening, while eating dinner, she put her hand in her spinach and starting playing. When I asked her to stop, she refused. I think she knows I can't quite chase her down. She's not listening to anybody all that well now. She is, after all, two years old. We have, occasionally, been taking naps together in my bed. That might be the best part of this whole thing. I don't really sleep. I just lie there and watch her.

I have been running some errands and even made it to a dinner party last weekend. We are going out of town this coming weekend for a family reunion. I will be glad for the break from day-to-day monotony at home right now. But also disappointed that I'll still be limited. I want to go for a hike, so bad.

I remind myself that all this is temporary. And, that really, I am blessed. Because there is an end to this challenge in sight. Sometimes it just feels so far away. I am connected to other hip replacement patients through a forum, and there are a few who have suffered so many more complications than me. This, too, shall pass. Patience, patience, patience...

More lessons

Bri and Kinnie just left for the day. Brian has to work, and Kinnie is going to daycare. She could stay home with my mom and me, but we think it's probably good for her to maintain some kind of routine. Brian came up to our room to wish me a good day, and I heard Kin heading up the stairs, too. I said, "Kinnie, come give Mommy a kiss," to which she responded "I don wanna give Mommy kiss." Bri then said, "Can you say 'I love you Mommy'?" Kinnie's reply? "I don wanna say I wuv you Mommy." Think I have a two-year-old???

Had I only required one surgery, today would mark the halfway mark in my recovery. Instead, I'm one week in. I try not to focus on that, but there are definitely moments in which I feel the frustration. I miss "normal life." Yesterday, my brother asked what I want to do the most. And the answer consists of the little things. I hate not being able to go out for walks. I miss giving Kinnie her bath. I would like to clean my house (okay, maybe "like" is a little strong on that one). I want to be able to help Brian with all the tasks that he has taken over. He is working so hard, and I know he is tired. I can't wait to go to the zoo, and experience the new things that Kinnie is doing everyday. Since my first surgery, 3 weeks ago, she has been to the pool, her first Rockies game, the aquarium. I am so glad she is doing these things and is not held back by my recovery- I just want to be a part of it.

It's funny how life's experiences often bring lessons in gratitude. You can bet that when I am healed, and am able to participate, it will mean that much more to me.

Questions and answers

I am 10 days post hip replacement.

I have a lot more understanding now, more knowledge about all the things I feared.

The pain has not been too bad. Since I awakened from surgery, it has been well managed. The precautions, dictating how I move, have been manageable. I daresay that I am now an expert at getting just about anywhere, and doing almost anything, without bending at the waist, crossing my legs, or twisting. The worst parts have probably been my inability to sleep in my favorite positions, and being sick from the medications. Oh yeah, that, and waking in the middle of surgery to hear the surgeon hammering the implant into my femur. Overall, it is not as bad as I feared.

My baby girl is a champion. She is overjoyed to spend so much time with her grandparents, and we are finding ways to interact, despite my limitations. Several times every day, she approaches me, points to my right leg, and says "Mommy's okay leg," and subsequently points to my left leg and says "Mommy's owie leg." She has shown compassion and sweetness, rubbing lotion on my leg and fixing the toes on the stockings I have to wear every day to prevent blood clots.

It is good to have all these answers as I face another surgery in 3 days.

I think my surgeon knew, as soon as he closed 10 days ago, that the discrepancy in the length of my legs was significant. He expressed concern, but said he wanted to see how I felt about it. I have definitely noticed. It is difficult to stand on both legs without bending my left knee. When I sit, it seems apparent that my left femur is longer. After a series of X-rays yesterday, we learned that there is nearly an inch difference.

I had a long talk with my surgeon about what happened, and about my options. He said that because of the surgeries I underwent as a child, the normal "landmarks" that he uses to determine leg length were missing. He said that I could live with the discrepancy, and potentially put lifts into my shoe that would help make my legs even. But there could be problems down the road. The tilt in my pelvis could cause pain and arthritis in my back. And possibly cause problems with my other hip.

My other option is more surgery to make adjustments to my hip implant. My surgeon said he feels confident that he can make my legs much more even by changing the angle of the femoral head, and changing the insert in the cup of the joint. Overall, it should be an easier surgery than the first. But it will add two more weeks to my recovery.

Last night, I was upset. I feel scared of more complications. I feel discouraged. It is difficult to feel as though I have taken so many steps forward to then go back. It sucks to potentially miss two more weeks of my summer. I hate that the time I can't play with Kinnie, fully, is extended.

Today, I am reminding myself and in the grand scheme of things, this is a tiny speck of time, that my coming recovery will be even better, because I have such a clear picture of how it is going to look. I have incredible support from all over the place. I am reminding myself that it will be okay.

Early

It is too early to be up. Especially when the baby is still sleeping. But eyes popped open, and my thought process went something like this: "What time is it? Oh, 5:00. One week from right now I could be in surgery." And that was it. I certainly was not going back to sleep.

The slew of emotions I experience in anticipating one week from today is overwhelming. A lot of those, perhaps, can be summed up in one word: anxious. I am anxious about how surgery will go, how it will feel to wake up and have a new hip, how bad the pain will be. I am anxious about all the restrictions in my movement, and how hard it will be to remember to keep my legs at shoulder's width apart, to not bend at the waist more than eighty degrees, and to not twist my new hip in any fashion. All of that, for six weeks. I am anxious about my baby girl, and how she will be, how much she will understand, and whether this will change our relationship (ah, this is where a lot of it lies- the waterworks have commenced). I am anxious about how this will weigh on Brian, trying to take care of all of us- granted, with a lot of help.

I am also grateful. I am grateful for the outpouring of support, and all the family members and friends signed up to help us out with the baby, the house, the dogs. I am grateful that after I recover, I will no longer be in pain. I am grateful that this is something that can be fixed, from which I know I will recover. I am grateful that my leave from work means a break, and fresh start in 7 weeks- the kind of opportunity which is rare in my line of work.

I am humbled. I am humbled by having to ask for so much help, and receiving more than we could need. 

One of the lessons for me in this experience is that I will only recover if I ask others for help. Though I like to be super-woman, I cannot in this situation. And  this is a lesson I need to learn. I am a caretaker. I like to do for others. I don't like to ask of others anything that I may accomplish on my own. Even when it would make more sense to ask for help. I still remember when I had my appendix out, many years ago, and a friend called and asked if she could could walk the dogs for me. I told her no. Even though everything in me wanted to say yes. I didn't want to inconvenience.

I realize now how much it means to me to be able to help others. And that, when I deprive others of the same opportunity, it isn't fair. And that I am deserving of help. I hope this is a lesson I can learn with grace.

So, the countdown is on, in earnest. I'm not sure if my next post will be before new hip, or after new hip. And, yes Mama, I am saying the serenity prayer....

An open letter

Dear Left Hip,

I am lying in bed, on a heating pad, after taking as much Ibuprofen as I could stomach, to try to calm you. I am counting down the days until a new, less damaged, more stable hip takes your place. I have purchased the necessary medical equipment (including the LOVELY bedside commode) and am losing sleep over what it will be like. I am eager to be free of pain. But losing you is bitter sweet.

I am not sure whether it is your fault, or mine, that you ended up dislocated with a tendon knotted in you, making you malformed. Maybe it was because I was trying to enter the world butt-first. Or, maybe, I was butt first because you were a mess. I guess that we'll never know for sure. I am lucky, I think, that I don't remember the first surgery to try and correct our problem. At two months old, it was probably traumatic for us both. And then living life in a body cast for months... well, that couldn't have been pleasant, particularly with diapers involved.

I also don't remember why, when we were 9, it was decided that more surgery needed to be performed. I don't remember having pain, or being limited. But, clearly there was some major work to be done. To try and help us, they cut bones in half, screwed bone together, and left us with some cool metal gear in there. Do you remember all the work we had to do to get well? Two weeks in the hospital, three months on crutches. Now that I'm a parent, I can't imagine going through that with my child. We were lucky we had so much support. Mom stayed every night in the hospital, and do you remember that Papa came by every day with a gift? Dad took care of everything at home, and aunts and uncles came to read to us. I also remember that I missed the last 6 weeks of fourth grade, but my teacher came to visit, and brought a Garfield balloon. I drew a lot of pictures. And we had to do a lot of practice on those crutches to manage stairs. It was terrifying, but I daresay we became experts. And we recovered.

After that, we were a little more limited. The metal plate would be dangerous to fall on, so I had to protect you with a lot of padding when I went ice skating, and I wasn't allowed to ski. I didn't like to sleep on my left side anymore (my former favorite sleeping position) because somehow I could feel the pressure of the plate in there.

When the time came to remove all your hardware, we spent a few more nights in the hospital after a much easier surgery. And after that, we were essentially free. My family was told I would likely need a replacement one day, but that always seemed so far away.

For years, I didn't think about you much. From time to time, I'd be asked about the scars, and would be briefly reminded of what we had been through. I finally tried skiing (and found it was not my forte). You did your job, despite it all. I remember the first time that I was aware that you were not "just a normal hip" was in college, when I went through a two week period of pain. It scared me, but as quickly as the pain came, it left.

In the ten years since, we have seen a lot of life together. We've traveled, walked miles and miles along beaches and forest paths. We tried snowboarding (also not my forte), and climbed mountains. We've carried a child, in my womb and out, so many places.

I appreciate that you have carried me. It is not with spite that I have decided to replace you. But, rather, with gratitude. Though we struggled, I learned a lot along the way. Thank you for all you have given.