DOCTOR, PATIENT, NURSE...OH MY!

Well, it's been a helluva month.  My writing took a backseat as it so often does when I'm overwhelmed and distracted.  I am a most undisciplined writer!  I know the half dozen of you who read this must grow frustrated with me.  LOL

Earlier this month we retuned from our Southeast trip (see last post) and I did another Weekend Intensive for my Yoga teacher training.  Then, on May 15 I drove Hub to a 5:30 a.m. check in at the hospital 30 minutes from where we live to have his total knee replacement surgery, which has been on the horizon for many months.  He was eager to get on with it, anticipating a great outcome and a return to snowboarding by December.

I was a jangle of nerves, full of anxiety about the logistics of getting him there and back, medical anxiety about just having to be in the hospital environment for the day, performance anxiety about whether I could adequately perform the nursing duties I was expected to do post-operatively, and all the attendant "OMG what if he dies on the operating table?" anxiety as outlined in the release forms he signed.

I so admire people who handle these things with ease.  I was mostly short of breath, (fearing my own heart attack), a little light-headed and befuddled (I was momentarily overwhelmed navigating the hospital's vast cafeteria), and made several trips to the restroom to relieve my GI distress.  Classic anxiety attack territory.   I soothed myself by eating the absolutely biggest apple fritter I've ever seen in my life, thus blowing a hole in my Weight Watcher points for the week, but it was an emergency.

Turns out, Hub came through surgery without incident and all went "perfectly" according to the surgeon.  When I got the word, he said I'd be able to see him in about 45 minutes.  I waited, waited, waited...nearly 2 hours passed during which time I imagined all sorts of unexpected post-operative emergencies -- heart attack (he does have that little teeny blockage thing they discovered last summer), blood clot (ample warnings on that one!), stroke.  You name it, I imagined it.  But when I was finally ushered into Recovery, I found him fully dressed, sitting up, sipping a Starbucks.  I was almost mad at him.  The long wait wasn't his fault of course and he was frustrated too, just wanting to go home; it was a "short-staffed" snafu of moving patients through the various post-operative stages.

His surgery began at 7:30 a.m. and by noon we were on our way home.  Son One met us at the house, ready to usher his dad up the stairs of our completely stair-laden home and into bed.  Hub was not having it.  He felt great!  Wanted to navigate the initial stairway from the garage on his own.  He didn't want to continue up the next flight of stairs to the bedroom, which we'd set up as a Long Term Recovery Space with all kinds of pillows, tables, chairs, computer, books, etc etc for him to access during his initial recovery time.  He propped his leg up in the living room and spent the day saying how great he felt.  I think there was residual anesthesia on board which would have made me drowsy and puke-y, but seemed to make him talkative and upbeat.  Weird.

Since that day his recovery has been steady and successful.  We've had visiting nurses here, home physical therapy appointments, adjustments to the realities of recovery vs the anticipation in our imaginations of what it would be like, based on the information the doctor gave us.  Hub is way ahead of schedule in regaining his range of motion and strength, but he works like a fiend on his PT exercises, being highly motivated to be at full strength as soon as possible.

As for my nursing anxiety?  All for naught.  I forgot along the way, that my husband is an "I'll do it" man who prizes self-sufficiency and who, in this case, felt anything he could do for himself would only make him stronger in the long run.  My attempts to "help" were rebuffed for the most part, with my role relegated to fetching ice packs and food.  He even navigated our stairways alone.

This created within me a feeling of being unnecessary and rejected, having mentally prepared and studied the manual sent home with us about post-op care.  I really wasn't needed very much at all and I was sad...and angry to be shut out.  But how can you argue with a man who, as a doctor himself, is dead set on managing his own care and recovery and didn't need my hovering around?  I'm still trying to find the answer to why I grew so resentful of a situation many would envy...I hear tales of caregivers run ragged by the constant demands of their patients!  As with all disagreements, we've talked and talked with neither giving ground, but better to talk than to seethe, so we are pushing on.

Yesterday was his two week post-op appointment and the Medical Assistant we saw (I guess the surgeon will never appear to us again) was most pleased with Hub's progress.  Next on the horizon will be to continue PT, increase walking distances, and regain driving privileges.  None of this was as onerous as I'd imagined it would be.  When will I learn that my anxiety creates scenarios so far from the reality of a situation that it becomes a fiction of the mind?

Turns out that, thankfully, all is well.

At least, that's the view from here...

P.S.  The surgeon texted me photos of the inside of Hub's knee with before and after shots.  Just let me know if you want to see them.  Gross! And fascinating!