Pity party

Carl had his total knee replacement 3 weeks ago. He walked into the physical therapy clinic accompanied by his wife, and with his cane in hand. Carl told his therapist that he was working on the backhoe over the weekend and helped out a bit with building fence. His wife wanted to know if it was really okay for Carl to be riding the stationary bike. No one had questions about Carl using the backhoe while on drugs ( I assume he's still on drugs if his wife is driving him to the therapy clinic).

I decide that as cute as Carl is with his wife and their matching outfits, that I don't like him.

Carl's outcome is what I expected from my own surgery. I'm young and driven. I planned on being released for work four weeks after my surgery. Instead I am still fighting to maintain the 70 degrees flexion that I've managed to gain. Carl had 90 degrees before he left the hospital. I had none. Somehow I failed before I even came home from the hospital.

It's looking more and more like I will have to go back for the manipulation under anesthesia. At this point I am both resigned and terrified. I don't want more pain. The pain I'm already in is more than I can handle with much grace or dignity some days. The idea of inflicting more pain is defeating. Worse, the idea of dealing with the nurses in the St. Luke's system is frightening. I simply don't want to do it. I would stomp my foot in defiance but I can't lift my leg to do so.

I don't know what to do. I do the exercises to the best of my abilities, but I know I'm failing. I work on the physical therapy exercises throughout the day and I work on the stationary bike two or more times a day to try and force my knee to bend. I go to physical therapy three times a week. And I'm still not progressing.

More and more often I want to accept that I've ruined my life and then go back to work where at least I am capable of doing something. I sit at home with my ice machine, needy and incapable of running my home. Maybe at work I could focus on something other than the fact that no matter how much I sweat, no matter how much I cry and no matter how much I bleed I am able to do something.

Blood, sweat and tears. That reminds me on Friday I split open a small part of my incision while at physical therapy. At nearly six weeks post-op, I shouldn't have that to worry about. I've been careful to follow all of the directions in caring for my knee replacement and the incision, but that didn't stop it from splitting.

Also on Friday, my leg stopped working altogether. It wouldn't bear weight. I was on my first outing with a friend and my leg simply stopped supporting me and stopped moving properly. Over the weekend, it remained swollen and difficult to move. Even now, four days later, my leg is swollen clear from above my knee to my foot.

So here I am, defeated by a knee replacement that was supposed to make my life better.