Hitch In My Giddy Up

Today marks three-months since my hip-replacement surgery.  As my husband watched me stand up from my chair, he reflected that the wincing expression I had on my face was nowhere as severe as it once was.  Nearly everyone I have spoken with who got a hip replacement (and who was usually twenty years older), said they wished they had gotten theirs replaced sooner.  These same folks warned it could take a full year to experience a complete recovery.  

I am not quite there yet.  Although, I look forward to the day when this temporary discomfort will be worth the wait and end result.  This healing journey has been a humbling experience.  For weeks, I have been walking with a "hitch in my giddy up” and have been acutely aware of the new replacement parts.  This artificial joint, called a prosthesis, is usually made of metal, ceramic and hard plastic and is expected to help reduce pain and improve function.  These foreign parts in my hip do not quite burn, pinch, or throb.  It's more like a constant new ache, in a spot that now has more stuff crammed inside of it.  In fact, my physical therapist measured my legs and found that my right leg was now about an inch longer than my left.   

I have always been an avid runner, but I promised my doctor that those days are behind me now.  One of my favorite exercises prior to the surgery used to be jogging with my niece’s dog Cillian.  As an incentive to continue moving, I borrowed her dog for a week and he was a great rehabilitative tool, mainly because he requires daily walks.  Back when I could run, I used to clip a handsfree runner's leash around my waist and he would enjoy running alongside me.  I did not clip on that leash this time, but rather his regular walking leash.  At first, he playfully tugged with enthusiastic bounces, but I quickly and sternly let Cillian know we would be walking slowly.  I made our usual left out of the driveway, and we both enjoyed the sunny cool mountain morning.  As we continued down the hill and my heartrate increased, I glanced back over my shoulder and wondered would I be able to make it back up? 

Since ditching the walker, I have been clutching a pink walking cane tightly in my hands.  This time I held it with a death grip as I hobbled behind the dog.  It was the same cane I brought to Washington D.C. for National Brain Injury Awareness Day, so it was now covered in fabulous brain stickers, logos like Wounded Warrior Project, Warrior Canine Connection, and other brain injury flare. 

Cillian and I made our usual righthand turn at the bottom of the hill, so we could pass by his friend's home, a goldendoodle appropriately named Curly.  About that time, I became aware of how winded I was.  It had been a very long time since I travelled any distance beyond a short walk to the mailbox, and I may have pushed myself too far.  I called my husband, who thought I was still inside the house because when he answered his phone, he asked if I could turn on the lounge lights.   

"Um, I'm not there right now."  I suddenly became aware that I should have told him where I was going.  "Actually, I was wondering if you could drive down the hill and come pick up Cillian and I?"  I heard the surprised worry in his tone before he hung up the phone and came to retrieve us moments later from the neighborhood park that was only a few hundred yards away.  Cillian wagged his tail madly when he saw my husband's Envoy round the corner because he loves riding in the back. 

I limped to the passenger side door and agreed to never leave the house without telling him first.  He also shared the practical observation that if I took a right out of our driveway, the terrain would be much more level.  Indeed, it was.  So, this became Cillian's reprogrammed walking path.  We discovered a long wooded private driveway that wove through a tall pine forest.  

More recently, I travelled to Disney’s Animal Kingdom in Orlando, FL to celebrate my husband’s birthday.  I was not sure if I’d pass through the metal detector without setting off alarms, but I sailed through with my new hip.  I had not taken as many steps before as I had while traveling there (12,000 steps each day!) and this is where I discovered the extraordinary healing balm of extended movement.   

It has been four-months since my fellow Unity congregants watched my healing journey unfold.  It began as I entered unsteadily using a walker and my husband would place a pillow in my seat to raise and soften the landing.  Many Sundays later, I limped into the sanctuary using the pink walking cane.  Now I have retired this cane and congregants congratulated me on the Sunday when I walked into the sanctuary unassisted and on my own two feet. 

As fate would have it, my trusty cane was laid down just in time, because my father scheduled his knee replacement procedure that will happen at the end of this month.  Dad asked if he could borrow some of my retired medical supplies, including the walker, toilet seat extender, and my cane.  I am happy to pass these important tools along, and I smile at the thought of my Dad using a pink brain-sticker covered cane.