Was called in for a Pre Op Assessment, despite telling them that I didn't want it doing for another 12 months. It needs doing, oh boy does it need doing but work, life and circumstances mean that I have to delay it ... as long as possible. This is a fight between me and the OA.
Arrived at the hospital at 8.30 and was met by a lovely nurse who sat me down and offered me a cup of tea. Bless.
I explained that I didn't want it done yet and why and she immediately understood. Of course, the actual surgeon wasn't there (just his understudy, a PT and an OT).
The PT came over to see me and I asked what kind of physiotherapy I could expect afterwards. 'Oh we give you a leaflet, with exercises on' she trilled 'and the surgeon will see you after six weeks'
Hmm.
I explained to her as softly as I could that I only have one leg, the THR will be on the other leg and I may need a little support / advice to learn to walk again. She looked slightly abashed and replied that she 'didn't have a leaflet for that'.
She wandered off, to see someone less challenging and more suited to 'leaflet mode'.
The lovely nurse came back after a while and went through the paperwork with me. She also said that she thought I would be a good candidate for an injection directly into the hip (something my GP refused to do on the grounds of 'cost') of cortiocosteroids and local anastheisa. She would write it up in my note and discuss with the surgeon.
What a lovely lady.
Still, blood, heart and other tests done, I am fit for surgery whenever it happens and possibly I will finally get my injection. Yippee!
Tuesday 26 March 2013
Thursday 21 March 2013
I can still remember when that music used to make me smile
At 16, I fell in love with a boy. Ballet, which since I was two had been my main love alongside my pony - yes, I was a spoiled brat :), fell to second place. A first love is a powerful thing, no one ever really matches up and when they are no longer alive to be realistically compared to (age, habits etc), they take on an almost iconic status.
So, one night in the hottest summer England has ever had, we went out on his motor bike. We saw friends, had a coffee, drove around just enjoying being together and the warm summer evening. We stopped for a soft drink, talked and then about 10pm decided to go home.
I climbed onto the bike behind him, arms tight around him for what would be the last time. How much tighter would I have squeezed him if I'd known?
Two miles down the road my memory goes ... bits of it are engraved forever on my soul, some bits will thankfully never, ever come back.
I remember lights, noise, a sense of slow motion chaos; a large and vomiting man stood over me, swearing and saying sorry. There was no pain, just confusion.
Then moments of clarity; blue lights, someone trying to get my jacket off (and me cursing at them as they were using scissors on my new leather jacket), being suspended upside down.
The ambulance team who picked me up off the road, removed what was left of my leg from the engine of the bike and then suspended me upside down saved my life. That man, who I do not know, turned me upside down to keep what little blood there was in my brain on the journey to the hospital and held me tight against him on the short journey whilst my blood pumped all over him.
He was an angel.
Things were hazy for a while; white, sharp, blinding, confusing. Then one day I woke up and found myself in a hospital bed, and I was 17. I'd missed my birthday. I'd been taken to a military hospital (nearest one) and was dead when I got there, but thanks to the ambulance man, my brain was still ok and I was revived and filled with blood. Transfusion was a constant process and they said afterwards I had upwards of 40 pints of blood. A neg too, nothing common :)
The doctor told me that I had lost my leg, which I refused to believe. Phantom limb is a common thing and I could and still can 'wriggle my toes' and 'circle my ankle', I can feel every movement. Phantom limb also brings Phantom Pain, which is beyond pain; if you can imagine being tortured by fire whilst having long needles shoved through the flesh, I think it would be about 1/100th of what it is like. Thankfully it diminishes over the years, but never really goes away.
Back to the leg: it had gone and was replaced by a huge, puffy blood soaked bandage. It was the most surreal moment of my life.
The Doctor explained that I had to look at, to accept it now and then as I was doing so, told me that my love had died of brain injuries.
I also had a broken pelvis, fractured skull, had bitten the end of my tongue off (which they stitched back together), two broken arms, one broken wrist, 6 broken fingers, a broken hand, a broken hip, several smashed ribs, internal injuries and bruising that would make me glow in the dark.
This was caused by a drunk driver. Somone who thought he could drink 5 pints and drive home; safely.
He left the scene of the accident but was traced a few days later. No action was taken as most of us involved were dead or incapable of describing what happened.
They took photographs of my leg and put them in a text book (I had to sign and give permission) as they'd never seen a knee so smashed.
I spent 4 months in hospital, 8 months learning to walk again with a prosthetic leg. The physiotherapy is tough but necessary and often hurt more than than the injuries. But it was necessary and made me tough.
For someone who had danced and spun her way through life, I was now a sack of potatoes. That hurt the most, the loss of grace, elegance and high heels.
My love died, my friend (who was on the other motorbike he hit, died too and another was as injured as me. Sadly, he was unable to accept what happened to him and his life is sad).
The physical injuries I received healed but left their mark. I have severe osteoarthritis in many joints, the broken bits ache or don't work well. Internal complications mean that my health is poor and I have to take extra care of how I live, eat, cook.
I take strong painkillers all day and at night, the pain wakes me every hour or so. There is no cure, now or ever for that. I live with it and the knowledge that physically, I am diminished. Walking on a prosthetic is painful, ugly and can never, no matter how good it is, replace the warm flesh that once existed.
Still, I used the brain, so carefully preserved by my 'angel'. I have two wonderful children, a good career and love in my life.
Nothing will ever replace my losses. Life is exhausting sometimes but there are advantages. My metabolic rate, as with all amputees increased as I use twice as much energy as 'normals' to move. My arms, from using a crutch to walk and extra effort to swim, means that I have fab arms (no 'bingo wings', and my remaining leg has muscles an athlete would be proud of. I look great (until I move) :)
I learned to appreciate other things; to admire beauty and health in others, to be glad for them, not envious. To see the joy in movement and appreciate dance again.
Would I change this? No.
I would rather be me, with so many broken bits, so many imperfections than be the drunk driver who did this. I would be unable to live with myself knowing I had taken two lives, ruined the dreams and ambitions of two others and caused such hurt to family and friends.
Drink driving should be a zero limit. No alcohol, and those who do it should be made to serve their time, not in a prison but in a Casualty ward, clearing up and witnessing the injury, the pain and the God awful mess that it causes.
Drinking and Driving .... just don't.
Saturday 9 March 2013
Black eyes and progress
Has been an eventful few days!
Hit in the face by a door, cracked cheekbone, mild concussion. Full on Tom and Jerry 'seeing stars' moment. William Hanna and Joseph Barbera would be proud, every detail was superb, right down to the comedic door in face, pulsating lump on side of face and colourful black eye.
Armed with a full on, Zombie inspired black eye, I rocked up for my interview for new job. Job requires Excellence (LK Bennett frock) and Innovation (Zebra striped Chelsea boots). I'm slightly unsure where the Black Eye sits but hoped it was more channeling 'Dusty Springfield' than carelessness :)
Fab day, terrible presentation (mainly due to composing while concussed) note to self: do not produce a PowerPoint whilst concussed again, lunch with Principal, rallied for interview and job got. Yeah!
However, if I take the job, the THR has to be postponed for a year. This is not a job to allow a six month absence; so appointment with Dr booked to explore drug options, large amount of crutches ordered to be customised to match each outfit / shoe combination (must ask Vogue to run an editorial on this - they are missing a trick here), and hope that this will be the experience I am banking on.
Also received letter from surgeon asking me to go into hospital for pre-op assessment. Will have to break news to him that he will not be making his reputation just yet. No one has done a THR on opposite leg to full on amputation, and I am sure that he was hoping for at least a Lancet article, possibly a Channel 4 Documentary ... c'est la vie. Next year.
Maybe though, someone else will come forward with same issues and I can learn from their experiences. That's a positive (for me anyway).
Life is good.
Hit in the face by a door, cracked cheekbone, mild concussion. Full on Tom and Jerry 'seeing stars' moment. William Hanna and Joseph Barbera would be proud, every detail was superb, right down to the comedic door in face, pulsating lump on side of face and colourful black eye.
Armed with a full on, Zombie inspired black eye, I rocked up for my interview for new job. Job requires Excellence (LK Bennett frock) and Innovation (Zebra striped Chelsea boots). I'm slightly unsure where the Black Eye sits but hoped it was more channeling 'Dusty Springfield' than carelessness :)
Fab day, terrible presentation (mainly due to composing while concussed) note to self: do not produce a PowerPoint whilst concussed again, lunch with Principal, rallied for interview and job got. Yeah!
However, if I take the job, the THR has to be postponed for a year. This is not a job to allow a six month absence; so appointment with Dr booked to explore drug options, large amount of crutches ordered to be customised to match each outfit / shoe combination (must ask Vogue to run an editorial on this - they are missing a trick here), and hope that this will be the experience I am banking on.
Also received letter from surgeon asking me to go into hospital for pre-op assessment. Will have to break news to him that he will not be making his reputation just yet. No one has done a THR on opposite leg to full on amputation, and I am sure that he was hoping for at least a Lancet article, possibly a Channel 4 Documentary ... c'est la vie. Next year.
Maybe though, someone else will come forward with same issues and I can learn from their experiences. That's a positive (for me anyway).
Life is good.
Tuesday 5 March 2013
Spinal or General
So many questions to ask!
Am indebted to my friend Niki, who has already undergone this procedure. Her knowledge and generosity are boundless. Willingly sharing every aspect of her THR (good, bad and ugly) to benefit others. What a fab person she is.
Anaesthesia can be Spinal or General. Honestly, I prefer the idea of a Spinal. Less grogginess after the op, a chance to listen uninterupted to my favourite music and a stimulating chat with the anaesthesiologist. Sounds fab.
Other choices are the type of implant (some do not get a choice - the wretched Post Code lottery), so you get what your local PCT will fund. There are a range of implants: ceramic, Metal on Polyethylene and Metal on Metal. MoM is now out of favour, given the rate of deterioration and leaking of metals into the flesh - ugh. Many people now suffer awful problems resulting from this.
Other choices are surgeon dependent. Anterior or Posterior approach. There is also a Lateral and Minimally Invasive Approach.
The choice is generally down to the surgeon and how they were trained. Some approaches require more expensive equipment or training and have different outcomes. If you want something specific, you generally have to go a la Carte.
Story of my life: I never, ever wanted to eat off the 'house' menu or dress from the a la mode rail. I always wanted the expensive dish, the designer frock, the red soled shoe.
And why not?
Am indebted to my friend Niki, who has already undergone this procedure. Her knowledge and generosity are boundless. Willingly sharing every aspect of her THR (good, bad and ugly) to benefit others. What a fab person she is.
Anaesthesia can be Spinal or General. Honestly, I prefer the idea of a Spinal. Less grogginess after the op, a chance to listen uninterupted to my favourite music and a stimulating chat with the anaesthesiologist. Sounds fab.
Other choices are the type of implant (some do not get a choice - the wretched Post Code lottery), so you get what your local PCT will fund. There are a range of implants: ceramic, Metal on Polyethylene and Metal on Metal. MoM is now out of favour, given the rate of deterioration and leaking of metals into the flesh - ugh. Many people now suffer awful problems resulting from this.
Other choices are surgeon dependent. Anterior or Posterior approach. There is also a Lateral and Minimally Invasive Approach.
The choice is generally down to the surgeon and how they were trained. Some approaches require more expensive equipment or training and have different outcomes. If you want something specific, you generally have to go a la Carte.
Story of my life: I never, ever wanted to eat off the 'house' menu or dress from the a la mode rail. I always wanted the expensive dish, the designer frock, the red soled shoe.
And why not?
Monday 4 March 2013
Zero G
Not generally achieveable on Earth and unable to afford the fee for the 'Vomit Comet' (oh, how I would love to do that) I settle for a deep, perfumed bath.
At the end of the day (and boy, do the ends come sooner now), I run the bath. My saviour, my soul mate, my haven; deep, hot water, bubbles, salt and candles.
Laying in the water, deep enough to float is heaven. I've always liked a bath more than a shower. Showers are too quick and you have to hop over the edge of the shower, which with one leg can have hilarious consequences (for those watching, if not me).
A bath soothes, supports, floats my boat (and my bones). It sucks the strain and stress of the day from your muscles and restores health.
Swimming is another good method. The water is not as warm and the curious looks of people as you hop on crutches to the edge of the pool can be amusing. Teenage boys, who can never resist a comment ask what happend to my leg. I always tell them that 'it was bitten off by a Great White Shark' and then died.
That generally silences them.
Many years ago, when my daughter was small, we used to swim in a friends pool at Playgroup. One day a new boy wouldn't get out of the pool. He had seen me get out and my leg was missing. Logic (alway strong in a 3 year old) indicated that if you got in the pool with 2 legs, getting out meant that one would fall off.
Every mother in the group had to jump in and out of the pool for several minutes to prove to him that legs did not fall off and he just hadn't noticed my leg was artificial.
Bless.
Learning to swim took ages. Without a right leg, I had no opposite kick and for a long time, hit the pool wall every time. Eventually, after a number of black eyes and much embarrassment, I learned to balance my muscles and swim in a straight line.
Swimming helps the Arthritis too. Strengthens the muscles, improves fitness and reduces the gravitational pull of our lovely Planet.
At the end of the day (and boy, do the ends come sooner now), I run the bath. My saviour, my soul mate, my haven; deep, hot water, bubbles, salt and candles.
Laying in the water, deep enough to float is heaven. I've always liked a bath more than a shower. Showers are too quick and you have to hop over the edge of the shower, which with one leg can have hilarious consequences (for those watching, if not me).
A bath soothes, supports, floats my boat (and my bones). It sucks the strain and stress of the day from your muscles and restores health.
Swimming is another good method. The water is not as warm and the curious looks of people as you hop on crutches to the edge of the pool can be amusing. Teenage boys, who can never resist a comment ask what happend to my leg. I always tell them that 'it was bitten off by a Great White Shark' and then died.
That generally silences them.
Many years ago, when my daughter was small, we used to swim in a friends pool at Playgroup. One day a new boy wouldn't get out of the pool. He had seen me get out and my leg was missing. Logic (alway strong in a 3 year old) indicated that if you got in the pool with 2 legs, getting out meant that one would fall off.
Every mother in the group had to jump in and out of the pool for several minutes to prove to him that legs did not fall off and he just hadn't noticed my leg was artificial.
Bless.
Learning to swim took ages. Without a right leg, I had no opposite kick and for a long time, hit the pool wall every time. Eventually, after a number of black eyes and much embarrassment, I learned to balance my muscles and swim in a straight line.
Swimming helps the Arthritis too. Strengthens the muscles, improves fitness and reduces the gravitational pull of our lovely Planet.
Going out.
Going out or staying in; either way entertaining requires considerable planning.
If it is someone you want to impress, there can be no weakness. The true performance begins long before you get to the hair, make-up and which frock section. Imagine meeting someone and finding that they don't 'do illness'. It happens.
Very careful preparations. Bridget Jones and her choice of pants had it easy. Tiny or 'suck it all in', a simple choice that would be bliss for women with Arthritis and no doubt a number of men too.
For us, the choice begins early in the day. How much to do (movement, work, walking) without wearing ourselves to a single mille-feuille leaf , transparent, brittle and likely to end up with sauce on our faces?
The second is to time and balance the medication so as to appear as pain free and normal as possible but not high, asleep or lunatic, to be able to dance or move with some ease (and much grace) but not collapse within a few minutes.
Thirdly, if you're going for dinner, will the consumption of food slow down the rate at which the painkillers are absorbed, will sitting for too long leave you bent and mis-shaped, like a rejected Cadbury chocolate when you finally stand up, will you be able to have a glass of wine with all those meds, will refusing wine make you look like a prude?
Oh for the days when I simply wondered if my bum truly was big in that frock.
Will confessing put the mockers on?
Will a confession of 'Arthritis' put me in the 'too old' section? Whereas a nicely judged outfit, a good hair cut, false lashes will subtract years - does 'Arthritis' add them?
If so, we're screwed. We're aged before our time.
If it is someone you want to impress, there can be no weakness. The true performance begins long before you get to the hair, make-up and which frock section. Imagine meeting someone and finding that they don't 'do illness'. It happens.
Very careful preparations. Bridget Jones and her choice of pants had it easy. Tiny or 'suck it all in', a simple choice that would be bliss for women with Arthritis and no doubt a number of men too.
For us, the choice begins early in the day. How much to do (movement, work, walking) without wearing ourselves to a single mille-feuille leaf , transparent, brittle and likely to end up with sauce on our faces?
The second is to time and balance the medication so as to appear as pain free and normal as possible but not high, asleep or lunatic, to be able to dance or move with some ease (and much grace) but not collapse within a few minutes.
Thirdly, if you're going for dinner, will the consumption of food slow down the rate at which the painkillers are absorbed, will sitting for too long leave you bent and mis-shaped, like a rejected Cadbury chocolate when you finally stand up, will you be able to have a glass of wine with all those meds, will refusing wine make you look like a prude?
Oh for the days when I simply wondered if my bum truly was big in that frock.
Will confessing put the mockers on?
Will a confession of 'Arthritis' put me in the 'too old' section? Whereas a nicely judged outfit, a good hair cut, false lashes will subtract years - does 'Arthritis' add them?
If so, we're screwed. We're aged before our time.
Job Interview: how much to reveal?
Have been offered dream job interview at local college. Dream type job, much nearer home and great salary.
Staring down the barrel of a THR, I wonder if I am a 'good bet'? Would a company, if I chose to disclose it, feel I would be a 'bad risk', if I don't disclose it, am I breaking a law?
Who employs someone who could be on sick leave for several months?
Or do I accept the role (if offered) and postpone the THR for a year? Could I even last another year? My surgeon says no and that a wheelchair becons in six months if it is not done soon. Hmm.
Choices, choices.
Walking in with a cane or crutch, it's going to be obvious that something is amiss but how far is it legal and how far is it 'ethical' to go with disclosure?
Unfair to have to even consider this but consider it I must.
Life with Arthritis and a disability is a series of compromises; how far to go, can I get back again, can I park nearby, is it far to walk, how many times I day can I sneak out of the meeting to take medication without being seen, which dress can I wear with pockets or access to able the TENS unit cable to be secreted, if I do this today, will it interfere with tomorrows plans? The list is endless.
But if I can do the job (and I can), then is it wrong to reject me out of hand because I might get tired sometimes and need to sit down? Legally, yes, it is wrong; in practise, I'm not so sure. People have been 'not employed' for less.
According to the 'Human rights' legislation, they can't ask me anything until a job offer is made, so I think this is a suck it and see situation and definitely an occasion for a really good frock!
Let's hope they are employing me for my brains and not for my stamina.
People all over the world face this on a daily basis. They can't get a job because they are sick, they can't pay for treatment because they have no money. They have no money because they can't get a job, they can't get a job because they are sick ....
I have a job and it's a great one but this new one would be better. I want it.
New frock, extra painkillers on the day, TENS turned up to Latin Fever Rumba speed and a big smile plastered on the face.
Worry about the future, when it gets here.
Staring down the barrel of a THR, I wonder if I am a 'good bet'? Would a company, if I chose to disclose it, feel I would be a 'bad risk', if I don't disclose it, am I breaking a law?
Who employs someone who could be on sick leave for several months?
Or do I accept the role (if offered) and postpone the THR for a year? Could I even last another year? My surgeon says no and that a wheelchair becons in six months if it is not done soon. Hmm.
Choices, choices.
Walking in with a cane or crutch, it's going to be obvious that something is amiss but how far is it legal and how far is it 'ethical' to go with disclosure?
Unfair to have to even consider this but consider it I must.
Life with Arthritis and a disability is a series of compromises; how far to go, can I get back again, can I park nearby, is it far to walk, how many times I day can I sneak out of the meeting to take medication without being seen, which dress can I wear with pockets or access to able the TENS unit cable to be secreted, if I do this today, will it interfere with tomorrows plans? The list is endless.
But if I can do the job (and I can), then is it wrong to reject me out of hand because I might get tired sometimes and need to sit down? Legally, yes, it is wrong; in practise, I'm not so sure. People have been 'not employed' for less.
According to the 'Human rights' legislation, they can't ask me anything until a job offer is made, so I think this is a suck it and see situation and definitely an occasion for a really good frock!
Let's hope they are employing me for my brains and not for my stamina.
People all over the world face this on a daily basis. They can't get a job because they are sick, they can't pay for treatment because they have no money. They have no money because they can't get a job, they can't get a job because they are sick ....
I have a job and it's a great one but this new one would be better. I want it.
New frock, extra painkillers on the day, TENS turned up to Latin Fever Rumba speed and a big smile plastered on the face.
Worry about the future, when it gets here.
Ankles and the liver
Ooo, new sensation today. The Ankles. Not had this before and am curious.
Everytime I stand up, my ankle gives way - I haven't been skiing, boarding or cross country running for a while, even Fencing (take that you rotter, not enclosing sheep) has passed into history of late, so it can't be that. I wonder if it is 'referred pain'?
Referred pain has self-referred on many an occasion to the groin and my knee and occasionally has crept down the shin but never actually made 'ankle contact'.
It is a most peculiar sensation and reminds me of my ballet days when hours and hours on points would leave me with numb feet, no feeling below the ankles and a curious sensation of walking on painful clouds.
This is a good article on referred pain and it is interesting to see how many medical trainees don't believe in it. Hmm. Explains a lot.
Also had telephone call from the GP. Apparently, being on 50mg Diclofenac 3 times a day means I should have a Liver Function test every 6 months. Well, four years later, they've decided I need one. Obviously, they are about to have a drugs audit and have noticed I'm missing some data. Deep Joy. Score one for the slapdash.
Diclofenac is an NSAID and has a number of issues if you take it long term. Liver damage being one of them.
Others include rotting away of the stomach lining, for which I take Omniprazole a proton pump inhibitor, which has its own issues in turn.
Medicine is a little like the introduction of the Cane Toad. Cane toads were imported by the Australian Bureau of Sugar Experimental Stations to eat cane beetles which were costing farmers money in terms of lost crops. Now, the Cane Toads are a bigger problem than the beetles ever were and the whole thing is a cycle of ever increasing disaster.
Hmm. Reminds me of something :)
So off to the surgery, fortunately I work from home on a Monday, proffer the arm and blood is extracted to a test tube. Results by the end of the week I am informed. Given that I am not yellow, my alcohol consumption is generally average and I don't glow in the dark, things are probably ok but we'll wait and see.
Whilst there, I ask for a referral for an X ray on my ankle. Having only one leg has turned me into one of those 'helicopter mums' who shadow their precious object to ensure no harm can befall it.
The receptionist gives me the look that clearly implies I am using the NHS resouces at far too great a rate and taking more than my fair share. She indicates with the angle of her chin that when she loses her job in the next round of pay cuts, it will be entirely my fault. Thank goodness she doesn't know that my latest artificial leg cost £42,000 and will only last 5 years. Even thinking about it in her presence makes me feel guilty (mostly) but sometimes (pleased) when she is slow to answer the phone or a query :)
Secret knowledge. As a patient, there is little that is secret: blood, gases, health, habits, behaviours, even having your bottom looked at when they inspect your hip and don't even get me started on the indignities of child birth! It's good to have a secret - she'll never admit me to the surgery when the PCT accounts are published later this year :)
Everytime I stand up, my ankle gives way - I haven't been skiing, boarding or cross country running for a while, even Fencing (take that you rotter, not enclosing sheep) has passed into history of late, so it can't be that. I wonder if it is 'referred pain'?
Referred pain has self-referred on many an occasion to the groin and my knee and occasionally has crept down the shin but never actually made 'ankle contact'.
It is a most peculiar sensation and reminds me of my ballet days when hours and hours on points would leave me with numb feet, no feeling below the ankles and a curious sensation of walking on painful clouds.
This is a good article on referred pain and it is interesting to see how many medical trainees don't believe in it. Hmm. Explains a lot.
Also had telephone call from the GP. Apparently, being on 50mg Diclofenac 3 times a day means I should have a Liver Function test every 6 months. Well, four years later, they've decided I need one. Obviously, they are about to have a drugs audit and have noticed I'm missing some data. Deep Joy. Score one for the slapdash.
Diclofenac is an NSAID and has a number of issues if you take it long term. Liver damage being one of them.
Others include rotting away of the stomach lining, for which I take Omniprazole a proton pump inhibitor, which has its own issues in turn.
Medicine is a little like the introduction of the Cane Toad. Cane toads were imported by the Australian Bureau of Sugar Experimental Stations to eat cane beetles which were costing farmers money in terms of lost crops. Now, the Cane Toads are a bigger problem than the beetles ever were and the whole thing is a cycle of ever increasing disaster.
Hmm. Reminds me of something :)
So off to the surgery, fortunately I work from home on a Monday, proffer the arm and blood is extracted to a test tube. Results by the end of the week I am informed. Given that I am not yellow, my alcohol consumption is generally average and I don't glow in the dark, things are probably ok but we'll wait and see.
Whilst there, I ask for a referral for an X ray on my ankle. Having only one leg has turned me into one of those 'helicopter mums' who shadow their precious object to ensure no harm can befall it.
The receptionist gives me the look that clearly implies I am using the NHS resouces at far too great a rate and taking more than my fair share. She indicates with the angle of her chin that when she loses her job in the next round of pay cuts, it will be entirely my fault. Thank goodness she doesn't know that my latest artificial leg cost £42,000 and will only last 5 years. Even thinking about it in her presence makes me feel guilty (mostly) but sometimes (pleased) when she is slow to answer the phone or a query :)
Secret knowledge. As a patient, there is little that is secret: blood, gases, health, habits, behaviours, even having your bottom looked at when they inspect your hip and don't even get me started on the indignities of child birth! It's good to have a secret - she'll never admit me to the surgery when the PCT accounts are published later this year :)
Sunday 3 March 2013
Quantum Entanglements
So what is Arthritis and a THR?
There are many different forms of Arthritis, some dreadful in their manifestation and I have no idea how people cope with them. Fortunately, I have the simplest form, Osteoarthritis. Degeneration of joint cartilage and the underlying bone, most common from middle age onward but not always. Many get it at a very early age and there is no real answer why. Simplest guess would be 'genetics' and 'lifestyle' but mostly 'luck'.
Degeneration means, the cartilage (the duvet, spring or sponge that absorbs shock) wears away and leaves the bone exposed to damage.
A THR is a total hip replacement; a mechanical artifact, inserted into your body to replace the worn out parts. A partial Terminator, a partial 'I Robot', Heinlein fantasies mixed with current science. They also come in a multitude of guises, forms and methods. Some have been found to be dangerous, poisoning us with their leaking, seeping, insidious metallic fragments, some clunk, some work.
Already so many parts of me are buried in seperate graves that when I finally shuffle off, there will be multiple ceremonies across the country. I like that. Wakes Galore :) Present count is 4. How many more will I be able to celebrate; will there be enough of 'me' to bury, to still count as 'me'? A 'Nietzscheian' Question?
Is it wrong to celebrate the loss of a body part? To party; drink and dance on it's grave?
Doctors need to be more aware of the impact of Osteoarthritis. It is not a 'life threatening' illness but it is 'life limiting'. Prompt treatmeant and support should be standard but sadly isn't.
There are so many people affected by this; so cruel is the impact. Not in big ways; more like the Chinese Curse 'Death of 1000 cuts'. Each cut is paper thin but together, they build, interact like a Venn Diagram of Pain to limit life, limit freedom, limit our potential.
When you get home from work and your choices are; sit, sit or sit (if you're lucky) or no dinner as you're too exhausted to eat, or cook, clean and help family (my hats doffs to you) then life loses its gloss.
Women in particular with Arthritis apply more lip gloss, not just to their mouths, but to their lives as well. They are brave.
We perform; we act. Our life is a matinee. We deserve our Oscar.
There are many different forms of Arthritis, some dreadful in their manifestation and I have no idea how people cope with them. Fortunately, I have the simplest form, Osteoarthritis. Degeneration of joint cartilage and the underlying bone, most common from middle age onward but not always. Many get it at a very early age and there is no real answer why. Simplest guess would be 'genetics' and 'lifestyle' but mostly 'luck'.
Degeneration means, the cartilage (the duvet, spring or sponge that absorbs shock) wears away and leaves the bone exposed to damage.
A THR is a total hip replacement; a mechanical artifact, inserted into your body to replace the worn out parts. A partial Terminator, a partial 'I Robot', Heinlein fantasies mixed with current science. They also come in a multitude of guises, forms and methods. Some have been found to be dangerous, poisoning us with their leaking, seeping, insidious metallic fragments, some clunk, some work.
Already so many parts of me are buried in seperate graves that when I finally shuffle off, there will be multiple ceremonies across the country. I like that. Wakes Galore :) Present count is 4. How many more will I be able to celebrate; will there be enough of 'me' to bury, to still count as 'me'? A 'Nietzscheian' Question?
Is it wrong to celebrate the loss of a body part? To party; drink and dance on it's grave?
Doctors need to be more aware of the impact of Osteoarthritis. It is not a 'life threatening' illness but it is 'life limiting'. Prompt treatmeant and support should be standard but sadly isn't.
There are so many people affected by this; so cruel is the impact. Not in big ways; more like the Chinese Curse 'Death of 1000 cuts'. Each cut is paper thin but together, they build, interact like a Venn Diagram of Pain to limit life, limit freedom, limit our potential.
When you get home from work and your choices are; sit, sit or sit (if you're lucky) or no dinner as you're too exhausted to eat, or cook, clean and help family (my hats doffs to you) then life loses its gloss.
Women in particular with Arthritis apply more lip gloss, not just to their mouths, but to their lives as well. They are brave.
We perform; we act. Our life is a matinee. We deserve our Oscar.
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