The two-week update, and life at home

My surgery was two weeks ago yesterday, and it would be impossible to overstate how much things have improved since then.
 
Each day, I gain a little bit more mobility and flexibility, and with that, a small measure of independence. Why is that important? The initial surgery comes with a significant amount of restrictions on how you move and what you do, designed to prevent the fragile joint from slipping out of place. Imagine that you can't bend past about 30 degrees, you can't carry anything because you have two hands on a walker, and you can't so much as get yourself into bed because you've got to strap a pillow between your legs and, thanks to the aforementioned bending restrictions, you can't reach the straps. But I've started physical therapy (more on that later), and although it hurts, I can already tell the benefits.

Everything is a little easier than it has been, from standing to walking to showering to getting in and out of the car to climbing the stairs. All of these are things that have required a tremendous amount of planning and thought. Now, as I get more comfortable with putting weight on the surgically repaired hip socket, each comes a bit more naturally.

There are little things, too: the staples are out, and the incision is healing perfectly. I haven't needed to take pain medication since Monday. And as soon as I gain a bit more lateral movement with the right leg, I can try to drive.

And naturally, there are downsides. My sleeping situation sucks. To avoid too much crossing of the legs, and thus risk of dislocation, I have to sleep on my back, which I hate. And that makes me stiff and sore, and after about six hours, that's about all I can stand. That, combined with the intensity of the physical therapy this week, has meant that I tire pretty easily. For all the improvement, the fact that I still need a walker, and thus have no free hands, makes it impossible to get even as much as a cup of coffee for myself.

But the hardest part, of course, is the feeling that my life is on hold and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't get bored, per se. I've got too much reading material and saved-up TV shows for that. And the days move quickly, believe it or not. My mother and I have a pretty good routine going, and by the time we get through coffee and breakfast and she watches her soaps and goes for a walk and I take a little nap -- and, this week, throw PT in there, too -- the day is wrapping up before we know it. It's more that there are things I wish I could be doing: concerts and sporting events I would go to, friends I would see, drinks I would make, and even the State Fair. I even miss work, at least a little.

I try to remember, though, that this is the path I have to take now to be able to do all those things, and more, without pain and limitations. And to keep it in perspective, I think about how much harder it would have been in the days before text messaging, emails and Facebook. Even though I'm stuck at home, I don't feel isolated or even completely disconnected. Plus, even though I'm missing a ridiculously good spate of weather, I can't imagine a better time, sports-wise, to be cooped up. Between college football, the NFL, playoff baseball, and the start of hockey (this is the year I finally get into it, I swear), there's plenty of distraction out there.

And there are bursts of normalcy. Last night, I finally had my first couple of drinks: A Shiner Bock and a Fat Tire (thanks, Jeremy!) while I ate pizza and watched "Iron Man." That's like a regular guy kind of Friday night. You know, except for the walker.

The glazed look is a combination of Vicodin and gratitude.

And all of this is tolerable only because of the constant wave of encouragement and love I've gotten from so many people. But I'd be remiss if I didn't point out the person who is doing the most, my dear mother. I can't measure the sacrifice she has made, voluntarily, willingly, happily, to be my full-time caretaker. She left her home in Oklahoma (OK, that part isn't really all that hard), and her husband of 41 years, and is doing all of the shopping, cooking, cleaning, and driving that there is to be done. She refills my water jug and coffee cup without me asking, and she tolerates all the sports-watching. She makes herself scarce when friends come over. And without going into too much detail, she's had to help me with some personal chores, too, and always without complaining. All she's asked is to be able to DVR a few of her favorite shows and for a little shelf space in the guest bedroom.

I don't know how anyone could go through this recovery without a lot of help. And I don't know what I did to deserve the gold-standard care that I'm getting. But I'm very grateful for it.