Brain surgery anyone?

There are two types of surgery I said I never wanted to need in my life: eye surgery and brain surgery. Eye surgery took place early in 2016 and brain surgery … well, spoiler alert for this post: early 2019.

Yep! It turns out that my brain is too big for my skull, or my head is too small… either way, 2019 looks to be the year of neurosurgery for me.

In May of this year we discovered that I have Chiari Malformation. Essentially, part of my brain is herniating down my spinal column through what is called the foramen magnum: the hole in the back of the head. I spent a good 4 hours laughing about it and then a few days singing ‘Brainstem’ from Pinky and the Brain (see: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snO68aJTOpM).

see http://www.chiariaustralia.com.au

My foramen magnum is half the size of that of a grown woman and therefore already struggles to allow room for the brain stem and spinal cord to pass through. Add in the crowding of the cerebral tonsils and we have some issues.

You know the saying “I need this like I need a hole in my head”? Turns out I need a bigger hole!

The other complication is that the anterior part of my spine at the top of C1/2 (dens/odontoid) is deformed and pushing on the brain stem and further crowding the space of the foramen magnum. I certainly don’t do anything by halves.

There is a very crowded space where the brain stem should ‘float’ freely in cerebral spinal fluid (CSF). What I’m left with then, is compression of the brain stem and spinal cord as well as a reduced flow or blockage of CSF at that point. Welcome constant and persistent headaches that when at their ‘best’ must be straight from the pit of hell (read: severe neck pain, high pressure in the head, tinnitus,…); as well as dizziness, blurry vision, peripheral neuropathy, balance/coordination issues, breathing regulation and swallowing issues… just to name a few.  Oh yeah, and the beginnings of memory recall issues … one of my worst nightmares. Fun stuff.

Admittedly, the diagnosis came as a massive relief. Whilst completely left of field as it was an incidental finding, it explains the nightmarish headaches of the last 30 years. Too often have I asked to drill a hole in my head to relieve pressure, or simply cried that I would rather die than endure the pain. It is somewhat satisfying to know why I get them and why certain activities exacerbate them.

In late October, decompression surgery or neck to skull fusion were put on the table as options to prevent further damage and reduce the persistent headaches. The fusion is by far the scariest option and threw me for six for a short time. I had never considered that fusion might be needed. I can’t imagine not being able to move my neck, even with my current limitation.

Long story very short, I found an amazing neurosurgeon who sought advice from others in her field to ensure we take the best step forward. She recently told me to go and enjoy a good holiday for Christmas with the kids and plans to conduct decompression surgery early in 2019. This will mean removing part of my skull, possibly part of my spine (C1/2), resecting or shrinking part of the brain and then putting a patch in to close everything up. We’ll then need to monitor and pray that there is no further deforming of the spine so that I can avoid a neck to skull fusion.

I am, however, excited at the prospect of getting rid of these headaches that I’m convinced only those with CM will understand. I’m also extremely thankful to have found a neurosurgeon that I trust and with whom I had an instant rapport. She is amazing and has even agreed to operate in the public system at the RAH. Praise God for these mercies!

So, to my local friends: I’m sorry if I have forgotten anything this year. It has been and I’m sure will continue to be a bit of a ride. I’ve still tried to be present but there have been some distractions.

As for life at the moment: I’m trying to take one day at a time. Some are much better than others. I’m no stranger to pain and complications, but this is a bit more than I am used to!

I don’t have a date yet, but when I do I’ll be sure to let friends and family know. I am thinking we might need a bit of help along the way. Those that know me well are aware that there is a bit of control freak in me … maybe I’ll finally learn to let go. I suspect this will bring a whole new level of vulnerability.

Peace and health to you all

– Ang xx
Psalm 73:26

PS.   For those who are game to watch, this is the basic procedure : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3l2YMUuwfs&feature=youtu.be&fbclid=IwAR2CtRj6V1E-IGagaPvmvnwwKoN73XX4InaE5egCuF6yMsjGU15sfwf38M0

 

 

Uncomfortably familiar: another day in the operating theatre

“You must be used to it by now!” .. or “Does it get easier each time?”, are common quips I hear in the lead up to surgery.

For the record, it doesn’t get easier.

Today I had the big toe on my right foot fused. I’ve had bigger ops, but it still hurts and there were still nerves!

The familiarity of pre operative processes, and sometimes familiar faces provide a small sense of security and placate some nerves. The reality though, is that each operation is different and has its own complications; each anaesthetic set to ring alarm bells and attempt to fill even the best anesthetic doctor with fear. The challenges I throw at them each time only getting bigger as I get older.

I would have preferred not to endure today’s surgical assault, but if not now then it would be set for another day. In the lead up to surgery the nerves are far outweighed by the pain and discomfort of 2 weeks of bring denied normal meds for the arthritis. It’s always hard to bear.

I declared this week that I would just have to face it. Try not to worry about it each day but take it as it comes. It was a “suck it up and deal with it” kind of talk, but without minimising the fact that the pain would come. The main difference being that I can only face the pain when I’m in the midst of it. Today’s pain was never going to be alleviated by Tuesday’s meltdown. Not that I had a big one, but I hope you get my point. It enabled me to spend a bit more quality time with the kids.

Orthopaedic surgery is very familiar to me. The pain varies and there’s little preparation for the pain that comes. It really is best taken one moment at a time, so it’s often an uncomfortable ride. Hence the “uncomfortably familiar” title.

Now for the recovery road, which we trust will be quicker than the last op 🙂

One day at a time my friends. It’ll be ok in the end.

If you find yourself in the throws of another “thing”, get the info you need, sit with the pain and trust it to tomorrow. You’re needed here, living in the today.

Don’t worry about tomorrow, today has enough worries of its own. (See Matt 6:34)

– Ang 😊

Don’t forget about today. ..

I jumped out of bed,  ready to undertake the usual bathroom visit and face the day.  For around the last 4 months that has involved placing my right knee on a scooter and whizzing off down the hall. It has become quite second nature.  That is,  until today. 

For some reason this morning, I completely forgot that, as much as I want to,  I can’t just “get up and walk”. 

I’m not sure what inspired this rogue behaviour.  Perhaps it’s the two steps I took unaided the other day.  Perhaps it’s my brain wanting the recovery phase to be over.  Perhaps it’s indivative of something that’s common in humanity…. 

How often do we find ourselves wanting to be farther along the track than we are: older,  wiser, stronger, fitter…   Sometimes we want to skip the hard work and get straight to the destination,  albeit an ever changing one.  

We seldom celebrate where we are today, rather glorifying what could be out could have been. There is something beautiful about who you are and where your life is at today. You’re alive, for one.   Take a moment to remember and celebrate life itself.   

Acknowledge your weaknesses.   Let’s just say, forgetting you can’t walk, or denying there’s a struggle isn’t necessarily a good thing. It could cause more pain than it’s worth! 

Aim for more,  but be realistic about where you are.  Sometimes a bit more hard work is needed before you reach your goal.  

What steps do you need to take to reach your goals?  Don’t forget to celebrate where you are today before looking to the future.

You’ve got this!  We’ve got this! 

Run your race well.

Ang xx

One step at a time

I met a guy today  who had an ankle reconstruction 3 or 4 months ago.  He was walking and seemed to be doing well.  He spoke of the struggles of being in the boot and how it was difficult to get started walking again,  particularly with the rearranging of the tendons.

I’m happy for him. He’s been through his journey and come through the other side. It gives me a glimpse of hope that it is possible.  Although the surgery was different to mine,  it presented similar struggles.

But then,  there’s a part of me that grieves.  It’s now been over 16 weeks since I last walked and I’m struggling to keep my head together. I want to be better.  I want to “move on”. I want my independence back!

I think the biggest battle is in my head,  not in my foot.  The foot hurts, for sure,  but the head can take me much farther than my feet ever will. It has the power to make or break each moment.

I took a walk with crutches around 10 days ago and it set me back.  I was crippled in bed for 4 days.  Too much, too soon.  It seems I can’t just “get back into it”: not that I was completely naive.

Facing rehab is hard, especially with little guidance.  The “go at your own pace” usually works for me,  but this time finds me anguishing for more.  The pain in the foot is piercing; the tendons and muscles ache and cramp as though I’ve hiked for hours.  All this for just standing up.

Baby steps, I tell myself.  Get stronger every day.  One day at a time.  One attempt at a time.  It’s slow.  So very slow.

It will get easier.  It will get better.  I will walk again. I know that. But for now,  I’m keeping it real and letting you know that it’s bloody hard. My patience is only a strength to a point! My “bad” day has stretched into a few … and these four walls are driving me nuts.

Ever felt that way?

I’ll try to keep dancing in my head.  We’ll have a “walk again” party soon enough. Until next time … walk on!

 

Ang xx

12 weeks on… still going…

Just a quick one to say that it’s now been 12 weeks since I had a triple foot fusion of my right hindfoot. 

12 weeks of no weight bearing. 2 more to go,  then rehab.  No weight bearing is hard.  Very hard. 

The first 6 weeks were made more difficult by a restriction on normal arthritis meds.  Prevent clots, but increase pain and stiffness.  Fun times… 

Mobility has been difficult,  but a knee walker has been a saving grace.  

The wounds are healing well and I’m scared but looking forward to learning to walk and regaining strength.  It too will take a lot of time and effort. It’ll be “good” pain!  I trust it will be worth it.

When fear comes I remind myself that we’ve been through so much before and always found a way to manage. 

We cope and fine ways to cope.  Sometimes in the solitude,  sometimes through others.  

May there be blessings in the journey.  

His grace is sufficient for me… and you! 

Talk soon xx

These small hands …

“These hands are beautiful and precious. With them you will do much good. You will do many great things that honour God.  God will use them to bring healing.” 

 – a dear friend xx

As my friend spoke these words I was simultaneously brought to tears and gripped with scorn. Yeah, right. Have you seen them. They’re pretty useless.

I hated them. I hated everything about them. I’d do anything to hide them.

My hands are a source of great pain and a visual reminder of a crippling disease. Small. Deformed. Crippled. Weak. Gumby…. you name it. Though surgical intervention has reduced the pain and allowed some function, they still remind me that not all is well in my body.

I look back at photos of myself at the age of 7 or 8 and tears roll down my face. I’m drawn to the small, swollen hands, on the brink of falling apart. Joints weakened by arthritis and bones so small they almost disappear. I see the beginning of the deformities. The memories are perhaps worse than the reality was at the time. I knew no different then. I didn’t know what was coming, nor the impact it would have.

I remember the joints dislocating (subluxing) and each time it becoming more crippling. They crippled quickly as a child and attempts were made to save the joints through ongoing splinting, occupational and physio therapy. But dislocations took time; most of the finger joints dislocating completely while I was in high school.

Sometimes I would sit on the bus in silent tears rubbing my joints, begging them to stay in alignment, knowing that they were mere days away from ‘falling off’. The synovial fluid would cause swelling, the tendons would slip and the bones would slip past the joint. Occasionally I could pull them back into alignment, but never for long. Splints were useless at this point. All I could do was wait to come of age for surgical intervention, and watch the rest of the joints ‘go’, one by one over the following decade until there was hardly a bone in its ‘rightful’ place.

The wrists did the same thing – the left one was particularly spectacular. The meta carpal bones essentially disintegrated and my hand all but fell off my wrist – the ulna was on top of my hand. The result is 2 fused wrists: one at 19 and the other at 23 (because in my pride I chose pain because I refused to be a 21  year old with 2 fused wrists).

After all the operations – Palm down, 2014

Palm up, 2014

My hands held me back. Grip failed frequently, resulting in embarrassments as drinks fell into my lap without any recognition from my brain as to what had happened. Piano keys now tapped one at a time, fingers mashing keyboards and clapping something representative of a monkey wearing mittens.

My 7 year old has bigger hands than me. My 4 year old is catching up!

My friend held my hands and spoke: “These hands are beautiful and precious. With them you will do much good. You will do many great things that honour God.  God will use them to bring healing.”   As she drew attention to my hands there were tears of doubt and pain. Deep hurts reflective of years of splinting, stiffness, stretching,  physical therapy, torture … Could they really be useful or of value. Could I be useful or of value? Ouch!

Interesting, isn’t it?! Somehow these words unlocked a world of pain that revealed something that was holding me back. Something I never thought to be ‘true’. I try not to let my body dictate who I am – I have known for a long time that I am far more than this vessel. I rebel against the system and make every effort to prove people wrong (more on that later). But perhaps there’s more; something so deep it went undetected…  perhaps there’s a sense of shame?

Could there be healing from these hands?  Could they hold the keys to freedom? What if these hands can reflect the heart – the heart that screams for grace and mercy. The heart that screams for peace and healing in this broken world.

On reflection, these are hands that:

• rub my children’s backs to connect and comfort
• holds their hands across the street to keep them safe
• prepares food to nourish
• bakes to bless
• gently rest on a friend’s shoulder to comfort
• write to bring hope

Somehow  these hands continue to function despite the pain, smallness, stiffness and deformity.

Will I ever be unashamed of the hands that have not seen healing? I don’t know, but perhaps in realising that though broken they are of value, there is hope.

My hands are small I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
– Jewel, “Hands”

 

27 April … Maxillofacial surgery: 20 Year Anniversary of total jaw reconstruction!

Dates stick in my brain, particularly when there are events connected to them. Tomorrow marks the 19th anniversary of the Port Arthur Massacre… but, I digress…

Today marks the 20 year anniversary of a complete jaw reconstruction (mandibular something or other within the cranio/maxillofacial surgery unit). I don’t have photos of the occasion, as for some reason my parents believed that noone would want to see the gruesome aftermath of surgery. If only they knew then the interest of social media networks. But, that aside, the event happened without the now mandatory before, during, and after ‘selfies’. (Though the surgeon did take before and after shots for his medical students).

My lower jaw was pushed quite far back – with some of the bones pushing against my trachea. Surgical intervention was proposed when I was 13 and preparation began.

On the 27th April 1995, at 15 years of age, I spent just under a whole work day on the operating theatre. The surgeon and staff at the Royal Adelaide Hospital were fantastic on the day of admission. I was welcomed with warmed blankets and a sheepskin rug to lay on for the duration of the procedure. Staff were quick to tell me that they had heard all about me and put me at ease before being anaethetised.

The story goes that the surgeon spent almost 7 hours close to laying on the ground to perform the operation, knowing that my neck would not handle any movement. Approximately 0.5cm was removed from my top palate and the lower jaw moved down and forward 2.5cm. The surgeon informs me that it was one of the biggest reconstructions he had done. Approximately 43 screws and a hunk of bone from my hip later, I was put back together and sent to intensive care!

From arriving at the hospital at 7am, I remember briefly seeing a clock and my parents at 530pm, thinking that I must have been mistaken: that much time could not have passed since I last saw them, surely. I woke more around 730pm to my surgeon peering over my bed. I remember smiling at him and seeing my family around. (Mum says she could actually see the smile!).

The rest is a case of countless boring details, with some interesting stories mixed throughout.

The ward wasn’t pleasant.It was dark and dreary. Staff were generally unaccustomed to having a teenage girl with an interesting medical history on the ward. I single-handedly brought the average age of the ward from 86 down to 62. Or something like that. The ward was filled with very ill ladies and gentlemen, many of whom did not return home to their loved ones. At 15, this was a little traumatic. It did, however, act as a catalyst for recovery. I was scheduled to spend 3 days in ICU then a week in the ward. Suffice it to say that within 5 days of surgery I was homeward bound!

I love and appreciate nurses, but one of the most vivid memories of this time was the first time I got out of bed. I’d had drains removed from my hip and from my neck (I really must have looked like some kind of monster out of the deep) – I refer to the neck drains as over-sized earrings that looked like hand grenades. Probably not appropriate given that Anzac day was 2 days ago, but …

Anyway, back to the story. I hadn’t been out of bed. I wasn’t sure what damage having bone taken from my hip would have done and I certainly wasn’t sure that walking to the loo and seeing my face in the mirror was the best idea either 😀 Mum asked a nurse for help as I needed to pee (I couldn’t talk – and I was going to save you the details, but hey, when you gotta go … ). Mum was bluntly told: “She can walk, get her out of bed!” … fair call. Maybe. So, we looked at each other and tentatively sat on the side of the bed. For those of you who’ve had general anaesthetics, you’ll know that the first time ‘up’ can be a little unstable. We managed the journey quite tentatively; I cried tears of joy as my face didn’t resemble that of the sea monster I’d envisaged and headed back to bed. (I must say, I am thankful for my dad who, I know, spent a lot of time with a damp cloth cleaning my face post op).

A few hours later, after the doctor had been through, the same nurse was totally different with me – doting and doing her best to see that I was abundantly cared for… Me thinks she finally read my notes 😉

I had visits from some dear friends. Others chose to stay away. I don’t blame them.

I spent an entire term of Grade 11 at home, completing work that was sent home for me to do to help keep me up to date. It was a long process. I couldn’t say “Bucky Beaver” or anything with a “B” for some time.

I grew weary of soup and straws. I think it took around 10 years before I regained an appreciation for soup! My hip healed, and I returned to school to finish school with everyone else.

Of course, the surgeon suggested we wait another year and do it again to complete the job as he couldn’t ‘fix’ my jaw completely in one operation. I politely declined. I think I’ll be ok.

It’s hard to think that 20 years ago life stood still for a bit. I remember being well supported and loved. I remember seeing my face in the mirror that day that I first moved from the bed. Ever surprised by what I saw. Swollen, large and changed. I cried tears of relief and remember saying to mum : “It’s beautiful” … tears well in my eyes even now as I think of how I felt. Years of anxiety over this operation culminated and brought to a head by one view in the mirror. It’s beautiful. It’s all going to be ok …

And it still is … going to be ok, that is. I often forget that we’ve been through a lot and come through. I’m currently facing more again, and I need to remember that it’s going to be ok.

PS – I’ll try to find out my school photo’s from 1995 & 1996 to show the difference!

(Image credit: 20th anniversary picture stolen from dreamstime.com via Google images- sorry)

13 days and counting: blessings in the delay!

I’m sitting in the pre admission clinic yet again. Surgery was postponed from mid March to 29 April. The joys of a weak immune system! Providing I stay healthy, I’ll be under the knife in 13 days. They have said I can watch if I like. Sounds like an opportunity for a memorable experience. Or ongoing income for a counsellor. Either way, it’s something to consider.

It’s amazing how emotions and psychological thoughts change over time. I was rebelling against the thought of surgery a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to go through with it. Everything felt hard and overwhelming. I’ve been here before. It’s a scary place. The truth is that I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t organised my life and my brain hadn’t caught up with reality. I wanted a way out. Anything to avoid the pain of the recovery. I was loving my life as it was and didn’t want the interruption. Self preservation kicked in… As did a fear that I thought I’d kicked.

Death.

Several years ago, before another major operation, I wrestled with my frailty and mortality. I could not see beyond the surgery and it scared me. Over the course of a few weeks I grappled with thoughts and fears that led me to a place of surrender. A place of peace. I became more content with who I am. I trusted that when the time comes to sleep, that everything would be ok. I’d be going home. Eternally at peace, pain free and rejoicing. I had, at that stage, been living life as well as I could. I’d done my best and hoped that somehow, somewhere, I’d helped at least one person.

This story ended with surgery being postponed. I’d developed a sore throat the night before surgery and gone in for admission to be told by the nurse that “We don’t want you dying on the table today!”. Of course, horror crossed her face as she realised what she had said. It’s generally not something you’d hear! Be at rest, my soul. Today is not your day. I can’t help but think I was saved from death that day.

So, as I approached the March date this year, fears crept in again. I felt like I couldn’t handle it. The journey, the pain, the change. What if something goes wrong? I had a dream that I died at the hands of an inexperienced doctor and I generally didn’t want to go ahead. I wanted to keep enjoying going out with my family. I wanted to continue my study and step more into the things that I see happening. I wanted to make a difference again (thinking that I hadn’t been of use to anyone). Good things lay ahead.

I don’t like being held back. I grieve when I’m physically set back. Independence lost, journeys of pain, learning to walk, write, eat … Whatever it is.

Sometimes I just want it to stop.

It will one day.

Until then I want to press on. Move forward. Maybe even make a difference somewhere. Those good things still lay ahead.

While having the surgery postponed due to illness wasn’t necessarily desirable, it has given me an opportunity to do further soul searching, to prepare my house and reconsider my focus. And who knows, I may have been saved from death (again)?!

Surgery is not the most desirable option. Being healed would be much more fun. But, failing a miracle, this is a journey I must walk through. Or hobble through… Either way, it looks like the next chapter is almost upon us.

I’m not sure that anyone enters surgery without some trepidation. But, what was consuming me is now sitting in my pocket. It’s there. It falls out from time to time, but I can put it in its place. I’m now looking to the future…

Time to rise and conquer yet again.

13 days and counting.

TKR: 18 March 2014 (here we go again!)

When I was very young, my knees were bent at close to 45 degrees,  requiring extensive physiotherapy and splinting to get them to straighten. Whilst I look back and am thankful for what it achieved, it was a horrible experience!

I remember my legs being strapped overnight into large heavy splints with a bar in between each leg to prevent movement. Each night was filled with frustration or tears; not to mention the outright defiance as I got older! I’d be sure to rip the splints off in the middle of the night in order to gain such ‘restful’ sleep.  

Each time an adjustment was needed, a new splint was made – much like plaster casting a broken leg, but putting increased pressure on the joint in an attempt to straighten the joint.  This went on for years, and, the reality is that it was a huge success.  My legs became the strongest part of my body. Bike riding became a passion and my knees were my strength. Most other joints let me down; but not my knees! At least not until I was around 20 years old. Things changed dramatically. Walking became difficult and I got weaker. Bike riding became a novelty experienced reserved for flat terrain and the elusive ‘good days’. I missed it. I still miss it.

I was given a new lease on life after a total knee replacement of my left knee in September 2012. I slowly rebuilt strength and found a new desire to walk… That lasted around 3 months: just long enough to give me a taste of independence and excitement that this physical body can do more!  And then it happened: the right knee decided that it had done enough, that it had been compensating for the left for too long and couldn’t keep up.

If all goes to plan, I will be undergoing a second total knee replacement in just under 3 weeks time.  There is a significant bow in my leg, putting pressure on the knee and causing uneven erosion of the bones. To make matters slightly more complicated, my right ankle turns inward and is almost on the ground.  I know that we’re venturing again into the world of the unknown and sometimes, I’ll be honest, the fear overwhelms me.  We know the road ahead is hard. It’s long and arduous. There will be triumphs and set backs. Every time I face surgery I’m never completely sure that I’ll have the strength to get through it.  But, get through it, I do, and get through this, we will.  

I was reminded tonight that one of the benefits of going through such a journey is the strength that results. It was a timely reminder that though the path set before us unknown, there is hope in the journey.  There are triumphs and joys amongst the hard times. There are people to share the journey with, and a changed life ahead to enjoy .  

I hope to look back in 18 months time and see that it was well worth it; that the strength will far outweigh the pain of the journey.  In the meantime, I’ll take one day at a time, possibly even one minute at a time.  I’ll celebrate the successes and look forward to seeing progress; and among the tears and pain, I hope to have those near and dear to make bring much joy and laughter 😉 

Peace for the journey
Strength be near
Love overflow
Joy be complete
Grace abound
Life be lived

xx

One year on: life after a total knee replacement!

The 25th September 2013 marks the one year anniversary of an operation that sparked physical hope and freedom. A total knee replacement was both incredibly daunting and incredibly exciting! The daunting feelings probably speak for themselves. It is major surgery!
I’ve been through more surgical procedures than I can remember, but each presents unique challenges.  The total knee replacement was ‘exciting’ as I had reached the point where anything had to be better than the pain and quality of life that I was facing.

As most know, having an active 3-4 year old and a newborn is physically demanding at the best of times. I’d reached a point where I could barely walk around the house; some days barely able to walk from the bed to the chair.  I was no longer going to the shops or parks unless we took the wheelchair. Any outing took its toll one way or the other. The backyard was out of the question and I was getting concerned that my boys would miss out on having their mum go out and about with them (even just a bit!).  Nights were difficult and pain sometimes felt like more than I could bare. Although it was still a big decision, when the time came to have my left knee replaced, it was welcomed and tackled with gusto.  We planned ahead: my husband stopped work, my parents came to stay with us and we gathered a group of friends for support.

On the morning of the surgery, I said good bye to my family to take up a hospital bed again. Having many complications, and being a bit of a risk I received the ‘honour’ of being first on the list. Getting all the anesthetic needles for a spinal took a painstaking 45 minutes. I had just told them that I had had enough of being prodded and to knock me out when the line in my back finally went in.  I was very relieved, though I still had significant bruising weeks later!  After that, all I could do (and needed to do) was lay there and let the surgeons do their thing. I was awake through the procedure and was quite intrigued by the noises and amount of prodding that takes place. It is certainly a brutal operation!

Once I was back in the ward and the anesthetic wore off, the pain was intense! I tried to avoid major pain killers, but failed. I soon learned that I wasn’t going to manage a good recovery without some analgesia!  That said, I knew that it had been a success as soon as the physio’s got me to stand on my feet.  Whilst incredibly difficult to move, I could tell that my knee was far stronger than I’ve ever remembered; it was just a matter of time and effort to get to the point where I could use it!

The first 2 weeks were the hardest, with the next few months being a slog of rehabilitation. One of the hardest parts of the recovery was having my 4 month old crying in the cot. I could get to him and pick him up, but not be able to walk anywhere with him. I think my first steps while holding him after the surgery was closer to Christmas. As I look back on it I can see that there were some significant emotional challenges to the journey, not just physical.

Good days came, bad days went. My 4 month old provided me with some much needed inspiration and I was determined to recover as strongly and as quickly as I possibly could! There were challenges along the way, but by the grace of God I became stronger each day.

Just a few months after the surgery I started to walk a little further than I had for years. My mobility has drastically improved, though let down by the other knee and several joints. I can do things that I haven’t done for years and will welcome a replacement of the right knee if or when the time comes.  I think I waited too long for the left!  If I had the time again, I would do have it done sooner! Don’t get me wrong – the surgery was brutal and the recovery process was full of challenges, painful and grueling; but the benefit has far outweighed the cost.

A big thank you to my friends and family who helped me through this last year. It would have been much harder without you!