5 Weeks Post-op

Last post I told a little fib, or rather that I intentionally left a couple of details out… Guess who has had their check-up and flown home to Abu Dhabi already…?
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MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
That’s right! My check-up was brought forward a week and I hopped on the next available flight after getting the green light. I planned to surprise a few friends in Abu Dhabi, hence the big secret, and I love it when a plan comes together…
While I was staying in Reading I received my appointment letter and I literally squealed when I realised it was Friday 17th April and not the 24th. I was Skyping Andrew at the time and we both screamed with excitement at the thought of seeing each other a week earlier than anticipated. It was immediately after this that we sneakily hatched our plan, and my focus shifted from keeping busy, to preparing to go home. I now had only eleven days so arrangements that I had made for what I thought was going to be my last week in the UK had to be brought forward where possible, and I was trying to squeeze in seeing as many family and friends one last time.
It may sound rather rushed, but obviously my main reason for coming home was to see Andrew, and secondly, I knew I could continue my hydrotherapy in our pool daily and therefore, (hopefully) I’d progress quicker. With my check-up now at five-and-a-half weeks post-op, I knew there was still a chance that it was too early to fly and so I made sure everything was in place, should I receive good news. According to Google, blood thinners and a flight upgrade decrease the risk of deep vein thrombosis (DVT) in post-op hip patients. Therefore, I logically saved a few of my heparin-filled needles and my British Airways Cabin Manager mother-in-law looked into flight loads and available upgrades for me. Now I just needed to ensure my hip was in a fit state and prove my progress to Bankesy.
After my week off hydro and having experienced new severe pain intermittently since Saturday, I was looking forward to getting back in the pool on Monday. I practiced my usual exercises with ease and even managed to walk multiple lengths of the pool completely unassisted. Throughout the session I had typical minor pains and aches until right at the end, when this sharp ‘nervy’ pain engulfed my thigh and it was verging on unbearable. It didn’t last too long, by which point it was time to be cranked out of the pool.
I was experiencing this same intolerable pain one or two times a day and I couldn’t quite work out the pattern of what could be causing it. Occasionally it would occur when walking, standing, or sitting so not only was it unavoidable but each time left me questioning whether there was any serious internal damage. I tried to reassure myself that it was to be expected, soft tissue pain, but I couldn’t recall being in this much pain during the previous recovery. Pain is easily forgotten, so I scoured through previous blog posts and came to the same conclusion; this was definitely a whole new type of pain and something could be wrong. Every time I regained positivity and shrugged it off as recovery pains, it would hit me again. I desperately hoped I would be getting on that aeroplane on Saturday, but I started to think it may not be possible.
In preparation for good news, I spent Thursday packing my belongings and finalising arrangements for every eventuality on Friday. After rush hour, Eli and I ventured up to London Bridge via train and headed straight for the X-ray department. After an hour, it was onto the Orthopaedics waiting area for Bankesy.
As you know, I snap a picture of every X-ray taken for personal tracking purposes. From memory I would estimate that of the fifteen X-rays I’ve had of my hips, only three radiographers have objected to pictures as it’s against hospital policy. However, thanks to a combination of emotional blackmail, puppy dog eyes and mentioning the blog, they cave in ;).
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Whilst sitting in the waiting room, I begin to analyse my X-ray and I’m really worried by what I can see. It looks like a thin piece of floating vertical bone just inside the pelvis, level with the screws, and immediately I diagnose my recent pains as a hip fracture. “Bye bye flight home, hello more surgery” I feared.
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Another hour passes and finally my name is called and I’m lead into Bankesy’s office. After a short while there’s a knock on the door and in walks Jonathon. No Bankesy today, but at least it was one of his minions that I knew. I first met Jonathon on surgery day, and he came by the ward every day so I wasn’t too disappointed to see him.
First things first, I drew his attention to the ‘floaty’ bone on the X-ray and eagerly awaited his response. He confirmed that it was a floaty bone fragment and that it has somehow gotten dislodged inside my pelvis. “Nothing to worry about as it’ll disintegrate in due course,” he said confidently. Okay, good to know I thought, now let’s discuss the pain. Jonathon asked me a number of questions, and examined my hip’s range of movement and strength and in his professional opinion; “the pain is most likely soft tissue (muscles, nerves, ligaments, tendons) repairing itself.” He then asked if I was seeing a physiotherapist, to which I hesitatingly told him no and that I was rehabbing myself. Jonathon replied that it was obviously working and to continue as he’d never seen someone progress this quickly post-PAO surgery and that my range of movement was incredible. Obviously this was music to my ears, as well as an ego boost, and next on the agenda was my scar. As you know I’m petrified of another wound infection and I figured the best way to ensure this was to keep it covered by reapplying dressings. I was down to my final waterproof dressing and thought I could replenish stock at my appointment; however Jonathon politely declined to give me any. He commented that the wound had completely healed and very nicely too, and that dressings were unnecessary. I begged for a few dressings, just to be on the safe side as I required them for hydro and to protect the wound from waistbands on clothes. He explained that the wound had completely healed so how could an infection arise. I agreed it seemed improbable, although I mentioned that my scar looked identical to this last time and I still caught an infection at five weeks post-op. In the end, puppy dog eyes had no bearing on the outcome and I had no option but to trust Jonathon.
Finally, all that remained me to ask was whether I could fly. Obviously you know the end result, but Jonathon was a little sceptical of the flight duration. It wasn’t until I revealed that I’d kept some blood-thinning injections that he thought it was tremendously clever of me and that he couldn’t see a reason why I shouldn’t fly. YIPPEE!
Within the hour: my flight was booked; Eli and I were on the train back to Reigate; and my dad was also en route to Reigate, to collect me and my clobber for a final night in Reading before heading to Heathrow early doors. I could not wipe the smile off my face and couldn’t believe I would see Andy in approximately 30-hours’ time.
Eli and Kevin did a fabulous job of looking after/putting up with me for so many weeks and I’ll always be grateful. Having been in the UK for two months it had felt like home again and as much as I was looking forward to seeing Andy, I was sad to be leaving everyone behind again.
It wouldn’t be me without a little bit of drama and a potential set-back before the flight and so last minute anxiety and general flapping ensued…
Between the hours of midday and 18:30 I no longer had a dressing covering the wound, but for the entire time I could feel these superficial sharp twinges. I ignored them to begin with and thought it was probably nothing. Then, after a few hours and whilst in the car from Reigate to Reading, I began checking the wound every time it hurt. I couldn’t see anything but did start to worry. Once home, I continued to check every few minutes and I noticed a small red patch near the bottom of the scar which appeared to have a large lump beneath. Despite family and friends visiting to say goodbye, my mum quickly arranged an emergency Doctor’s appointment in an attempt to secure some antibiotics and put my mind at ease.
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The Doc prescribed me antibiotics and luckily I think we caught it early enough. Phew!
The airport staff were great in Heathrow and Abu Dhabi as they wheeled me to and from the aircraft.
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The BA crew were equally as great during the flight and I made sure to stretch my legs with regular aisle walks, as well as stretch out my legs in my comfy bed :).
I couldn't take my morphine into the UAE, so Champers helps with the pain.
Champers all the way!
I didn’t quite manage to walk into Andrew’s arms in Abu Dhabi airport as predicted. More like I flooded the place with happy tears as I was wheeled into his arms in front of hordes of people. Very emosh times.
On Sunday morning, Andy helped me into our pool and I had a great hydro session.
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Then made me breakfast, prepared my lunch, and got me set up on the sofa before going off to work.
Sunday evening was part one of the surprise celebrations as Andy arranged for the girls to come over for dinner. Each time the doorbell rang; I hid behind the arm of our sofa and popped up like meerkat. I literally got rugby tackled and almost strangled with hugs.
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It didn’t take long to feel like home again
Surprise two is on Tuesday evening and other plans for the week include hydro every morning, organising our honeymoon album, continuing with House of Cards, 'katching' up with the Kardashians, seeing friends, and of course, spending quality time with my gorgeous man.
A&S

4 Weeks Post-Op

Easter Monday we had a girl’s day out. My mum, sister and niece collected me from Reigate and we enjoyed a leisurely drive back through Windsor en route to Reading, stopping for some Italian grub and an Appletiser.
This week I was having a break from hydrotherapy as I had a very special occasion to get back to Reading for… my little brother’s 18th Birthday. My mum had organised a surprise dinner with all the family so I was thankful that luck or fate brought me to the UK so I could share this special day. He was thoroughly surprised when he walked into the restaurant and saw his brother, sisters, aunts, uncles, nan and granddad and we had a lovely evening reminiscing, catching up and attempting food challenges, not to mention admiring this amazing rugby cake:
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Tuesday was the first day that I’ve been left to fend for myself as everyone was at work. On request, my dad left two pints of water in the lounge for me and I was confident I could eat breakfast and lunch whilst standing in the kitchen. The day was a success, and for the rest of the week, my sister took the role of chief carer in her stride and was amazing. This past week I’ve enjoyed spending quality time with my gorgeous niece, Phoebe, seeing my beautiful nephews, Jacob and Joseph, and finally getting around to our wedding album.
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Getting married and moving abroad occurred in quick succession, so we always planned for me to complete our album when I had my next hip op. We wanted a traditional, long-lasting, aesthetic album filled with large prints of our special day. We needed to showcase the talents of our award-winning wedding photographer and I think our finished album does her work justice. Andrew and I stringently narrowed 700 stunning photos down to our favourite 175 over Skype, and I spent my entire Sunday carefully arranging and sticking them into our beautiful leather album.
Here's a sneak peak for you
Here's a sneak peak for you
Also this week I’ve spent a couple of evenings in the pub with friends, and on Saturday I reconvened with Kevin and Eli for a day in Winchester at my brother-in-law’s with some of the Stass family. David and Rachel cooked and served a scrumptious meal, which was followed by a long walk around Winchester... Cue the wheelchair.
Without Andrew to wheel me around, David kindly nominated himself and thankfully he was a suitable replacement. It requires a lot of trust to be pushed around as you’re entirely in their hands as they navigate around obstacles and people. The one thing that I still dread is kerbs. When there is no dropped kerb and you have no choice but to be wheeled backwards off the kerb, with all your trust in the person behind you, it’s petrifying. Granted, it gets easier and/or you get used to it the more times you experience it, but I always prepare myself for the worst.
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My six week check-up is fast approaching and with that in mind I decided to increase the weight-bearing further. My pain has been low and more than manageable, and although I’ve progressed my exercises on land and in the pool, I needed to test my hip to see where I’m at. All being well at the check-up, Banksey will request that I attempt to walk without the crutches, or at least reduce to one. With that in mind, I wanted to assess my hip on one crutch…
It was Saturday and therefore almost five weeks to the day post-up. I held one crutch in my right hand and attempted to take a step with my left leg. It felt incredibly weak but no surge of intense pain, nor did my hip give way. I took another step onto my right foot and there were no immediate “after-pains” in my operated hip. After a little wait, I took another step on my left and it still felt bearable. I repeated this a couple more times as after all this was for experimental purposes. After the final step on my left side I did experience a rush of “after-pain” and knew it was time to stop.
That evening, I could feel I’d worked my hip and so I gently massaged my thigh and outer hip region. It almost felt more aggravated afterwards and the following morning, however I think and hope it’s just a sign of necessary soft tissue progress. This PAO recovery definitely feels like an easier ride compared to the previous one so maybe it was about time I upped the ante. Given the new pains though, I will take it easy for the next few days; reverting to over-the-counter painkillers before upping my weight-bearing again. I’m really looking forward to getting back into the hydro pool this week and I’m interested to see if I can make more progress with walking in water.
Fingers crossed I haven’t done any damage :)

3 Weeks Post-Op

Without sounding like I’m showing off, this past week has flown by due to the amount of visitors and outings I’ve had. On Sunday, Kevin and Eli had their other daughter-in-law, Rachel, to stay, so we roped her into our dinner, board game, and House of Cards regime. Monday I enjoyed afternoon tea with Andrew’s mum. Wednesday I was shipped off to bother Derek and Tina for the afternoon. Thursday morning I spent with the lovely Lucy and her handsome baby boy. Friday I ventured over to Andy’s friends’ house to see their gorgeous baby girl. I’d forgotten it was a bank holiday and most people were off work, so I accidentally found myself in the pub with all of Andrew’s school friends. Saturday I went for dinner with my beautiful bridesmaids and my brother from another mother, Bobbie. Then finally, Easter Sunday was fabulous with all of Eli’s family over for some yummy food, Easter egg hunts, football in the park, and charades. And yes, yes I did play football on my crutches and I even scored a penalty; a good one at that. We took the wheelchair to the park just in case, but it turned out everyone had a go in it except me.
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This week marked the half-way point between the op and the six week check-up. At six weeks I’ll have another X-ray to determine the success of the op (i.e. has my bone grown enough and is my pelvis reconnected). If Banksey is satisfied, then I have to work towards walking unaided again. I’m anticipating an initial need to remain on one crutch, until I have the ability to walk without limping. With all this in mind, and being self-appointed chief physio, I figured that if at six weeks I can fully weight-bear, then at three weeks I could attempt 50% weight-bearing. As the hydrotherapy pool is waist high and therefore the equivalent of 50% WB, I thought I’d give it a go this week and monitor the pain.
During Monday afternoon’s session, I did my usual exercises and stretches, and for my grand finale I attempted to walk along the length of the pool with my right arm holding the edge. I took my first step and there was no pain. Then a second step:  still no pain.
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I'm walking in waterrrr, woaahhh
After four short steps on each leg I’d reached the end of the pool, and I’d done so without any severe pain in the joint. What a success! I was focusing on walking properly with good posture and fully extending my hip, and those four steps felt great.
I turned around and held the edge with my left hand and attempted to walk… I couldn’t. It was a little painful and my leg buckled under the weight. I could not walk without my right arm supporting me. It’s the same as when I eventually go down to one crutch. I will need to hold it in my right hand so I don’t over exert my left hip. It’s just a weird feeling when I can walk around the inside of the pool when I hold the railing with my right hand, yet I can’t take a single step when I hold it with my left. I’m not complaining; it’s just the oddest feeling. I’m incredibly happy with my hydro progress this week though and I’ll be patient and keep practicing my water walking during every remaining session.
With success in the hydro department, I’ve also had success with the medication, or lack of. I think the last time I took some morphine was Sunday morning so you know what that means? I’ve enjoyed a couple of glasses of vino this week :). Morphine and alcohol is a no go, so at least I could join in with the Easter festivities.
This week I also upped the resistance on the stationary bike and although I could feel the difference in my hip (like it was working harder), it wasn’t painful so that’s more progress.
My scar looks incredible. Having looked back through the blog after my right PAO surgery, it appears my wound was neat and thin until the week 4 mark and then I got the infection which ballooned the scar. For this reason, I'm going to wear the waterproof dressings for as long as possible and hopefully history won't repeat itself.
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I’m still waiting to hear from the hospital as to when my check-up is, but I’m anticipating the last Friday in April so I’ll continue with my daily rehab and progressing it weekly whilst working towards that date.
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After craving coffee cake for two weeks, Eli whipped this beauty up

2 Weeks Post-Op

When I woke on Saturday morning, the realisation of Andy’s absence struck me. Six weeks is a long time and that will only feel quick if I keep busy. Once again there were many visitors throughout the week to keep me occupied, and then there were Eli’s visitors, who inadvertently kept me occupied. Time flies whilst you’re talking and I can talk for England, so I’ll never say no to visitors.
Andy’s step-brother arrived for the weekend and we all enjoyed a pub lunch. I’d lost my appetite again which was most upsetting having ventured out of the house for the first time in while. This was due to the morphine or the multiple glasses of Appletiser that I guzzled. Either way it was nice to get some fresh air.
Andrew’s father, Kevin, had very kindly offered to drive us to Reading on Sunday to see my family. My aunt and uncle were detouring via my dad’s house on their back up North to Durham so the house filled as my family assembled for a chinwag and everyone relished playing pass-the-parcel with my nephew Baby Joseph. It was a lovely morning and after everyone had departed, we even squeezed in a quick catch-up with our neighbours and family friends, Bill and Michele. Everyone has experienced one of those “small World” moments, and had it not bizarrely come to light during conversation a few years prior, Kevin, and my ‘second-mother’, Michele, would have been suspiciously familiar of each other at our wedding. Would you believe that Kevin, his brothers and Michele grew up together playing in the street of their shared residential close. Naturally when this was discovered, we arranged a reunion between the two families and my own, and we enjoyed a delightful day of reminiscing and story sharing.
It was also my mum’s Birthday on Sunday, so the whistle-stop tour continued to Reading Rugby Club to watch my younger brother’s match and see the Birthday girl herself. It was a lovely sunny Spring day so we all congregated around the picnic benches adjacent to the pitch. We armed ourselves with a few pints, bags of chips, hotdogs, and of course an Appletiser for me. I’d taken morphine to combat the impending pain brought on from the day’s events, but the more medication I take, the more ill I usually feel. The half-eaten bag of fries proved it as I reluctantly had to offer them around. Obviously it was still a great day, but now my aim for the week was to reduce the meds to pursue a consistent appetite and state of wellness.
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Andy’s uncle and aunt, Derek and Tina, kept me company on Monday after hydrotherapy. They kindly brought some yummy chocolate biscuits which should have been rationed to last two weeks, but I could only just make them stretch until Friday. Tina had remembered that after the last PAO I’d enjoyed drawing and sketching to pass some time, so she very kindly bought me some pastel supplies to produce some masterpieces.
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I spent Tuesday drawing these beautiful flowers from friends in Abu Dhabi
Eli’s mum kept me company on Wednesday afternoon and then in the evening, Kevin Eli and I continued to watch the series House of Cards. We’ve fallen into a routine each evening of dinner, a board game, House of Cards, and a Horlicks. I say ‘fallen into’ but maybe the creature of habit that I am has forced them. Either way, I look forward to the evenings :)
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The Stass family love a game of Rummikub!
That evening was my first cold turkey attempt regarding the modified-release morphine. I had successfully reduced my day meds and could bear the pain so I figured I needed to test the night time routine... It was my roughest night to date post-op and I was wide awake from between 3:00am and 5:00am. I could not get comfortable on my back, so I endeavoured to try on my side. There was no initial discomfort, but gradually I could feel a stretching pain and deep ache in the joint. As it wasn’t horrendously uncomfortable, and just nice not to be lying on my back, I stuck it out. Eventually though, I caved in and resorted to knocking back some morphine, just so I could get some shuteye. This crappy night’s sleep could well have psychologically manifested by not taking my usual meds, hence why I was determined to persevere the following evening. I know that I would sleep better taking the medication, but I can’t do that forever and need to wean myself off sooner than later.
Possibly due to the dodgy evening, and the limited meds, Thursday was one of my most painful days. I decided to take some fast-relief morphine, especially with hydro in the afternoon. The first 20-minutes in the pool and I was struggling pain-wise with every attempted exercise. After varying it up, and persevering, the pain disappeared completely and I accomplished heaps regarding strength and range of movement.
Thursday evening was a better night’s kip, but I did wake for a couple of ten minute stints. I drifted off easily enough and experienced less pain when lying on my side in comparison to the previous night. Since then I’ve been fine too and have slept right through. Two disrupted nights but eventually, mission accomplished.
Friday evening I had a long Skype with Andrew, who was fulfilling his babysitting duties for friends in Abu. Little Sheridan was wiped out following an evening of cuddles and Peppa Pig, so we were able to have a long catch-up.  Then Jenny arrived for the night with sushi supplies and Gone Girl for us to watch. Despite the House of Cards episodes in the evening, and the ITV playings of TOWIE that I watch on my phone in bed, and the remaining five episodes of the Pretty Little Liars series, I haven’t actually watched much TV since the op. So in my typical addictive ways, I treated myself to the whole two series of Sherlock between Thursday and Saturday. I’m overdosing on Netflix and I don’t care.
Back to the hip, seeing as that is what this blog is about. Most days the pain is bearable and I’m only taking medication when it’s not. There are different types of pain to contend with too: Wound pain; Inner thigh pain, which I feel when I attempt to sit down or stand up and believe to be tendon pain; Deep joint achey pain; Deep joint sharp pain; and a nervous sharp pain along my thigh when the nerves are knitting together.
Hydrotherapy is amazing and I’m progressing every session. In Thursday’s session I even discovered that I can achieve minimal weight-bearing ‘walking’ if I go onto my knees in the pool. The water comes up to my neck and it’s as close to walking as I can get for now which is good for motor skill development.
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My appetite is back and I’m scoffing my face with chocolate and cake (it’s Easter after all…).
My dressing changes occur every five days and the last time I checked, my wound was looking ace:
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From this
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To this
In terms of progress, I would say I’m currently ahead of schedule and this week I did a few miles on the stationary bike: even managing 40-minutes on Saturday; which was sort of by accident as I’d got carried away whilst on the phone.
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Lastly, and I’m not sure if other PAO patients would agree, but once you’re over the first couple of weeks and everything else is generally getting better or easier, the one thing that irritates me most, and it will last the longest in the recovery is the numbness of the thigh. I can’t really explain why but it’s the most uncomfortable feeling when the entire front of your thigh is numb. When objects brush passed it and you can see it yet not feel it touching your skin; or sitting with something on your lap and you can feel it on one leg and not the other; or when you’re shaving or moisturising the area. It’s so unpleasant. To touch it feels disgustingly weird as you can’t feel the superficial layers of skin, but I’d still feel a prod or a stab deep into the thigh. It took two years for my right thigh to improve to where it is now, which is slight numbness on the top, outer side of my thigh, about the size of a rounded beer mat. It’s obviously a slow process for the nerves to reunite and I should see a steady improvement on a monthly basis. There’s no guarantee the feeling will come back but I’m remaining optimistic that my left will recover as good as my right.
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I thought I'd leave you with a comparison of my screwed up hips and my floaty pubis ;)

1 Week Post-Op

Thursday evening was tough. I’d forgotten how difficult it is when you wake in the middle of the night with a full bladder and an extremely sore hip, and you know you need to make it to the loo without making things worse. Have you ever tried to clamber out of bed without moving your hip joint? Give it a go if you don’t believe me but it’s a pretty delicate task. Combine that with morphine that is wearing off so the pain is intense, yet the side effects are still in full effect and include severe drowsiness and nausea. Therefore I have a limited time once I sit up, to meticulously swivel out of bed, grab my crutches, and hobble to the loo. I had remembered that last time this happened, I was at my dad’s house and I’d made it to the bathroom in the middle of the night before bellowing to Andrew that I was about to spew. He brought the bucket just in time. So on this occasion, I hadn't reached for my crutches before Andrew was awake and out of bed to assist me to the toilet, before producing the bucket in anticipation. Luckily it wasn't required this time, and I popped some fast-relief morphine and anti-sickness pills before returning to bed.
Andy leapt into action once again when I woke around 9am and required the toilet. It was also about time I had a proper wash, which I knew would prove to be one of the most difficult tasks outside of hospital. It’s a big step up into the shower and then I need to carefully sit on my shower stool and balance my crutches outside. I can’t sit on the stool and lean forward to pick up any shower gel or shampoo, or wash my legs for instance, as my hip cannot bend more than 90⁰. Needless to say, Andrew couldn't have been more helpful and eventually, I was as fresh as a daisy. I still had the mammoth mission of stepping out of the shower though, which was a lot harder than getting in, and then arguably the most difficult task to execute independently; getting dressed. Have you ever attempted to dress yourself without the use of one leg and without leaning forward? It is actually impossible. Unless you have some fancy gadgets. But its daily tasks like this, which is easily taken for granted, that millions of people around the World have to cope and deal with. For some, like me, it’s temporary. For others, it’s permanent. However temporary your situation may be, it’ll never compare to those in the permanent category, so you shouldn't feel sorry for yourself. There will always be someone much worse off and even then, are they feeling sorry for themselves? Every case is different; however in my experience, those who make the most of life have a few things in common: positivity; humility; and determination. Initially after an accident or a diagnosis, it’s fairly common and understandable to ask yourself the question, “Why me?” Then its fight or flight time. Before the operations I may say things like “My situation isn't ideal,” or “It’s a bit of an inconvenience,” but I refuse to feel downtrodden and will never feel sorry for myself.
For these difficult tasks, Andrew could assist for the next week, but then he’d be returning to Abu Dhabi. By which time, if I couldn't wash and dress myself, Eli would have the delightful role as my glamourous assistant… If needs must then fair enough, although this was additional motivation for me to be independent before next Saturday.
Having showered and dressed, Andy followed me downstairs for breakfast and meds. The modified-release morphine must be taken twelve hours apart with 10am and 10pm as the suggested time slots. Along with the morphine, I must take laxatives, over-the-counter pain-relief meds, and inject a blood thinner into my tummy.
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Injecting still doesn't get easier and I have a very bruised tummy
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After breakfast, I had a lovely visit from Andy’s best man, Matt, and Andy’s uncle and aunt, Trevor and Suzanne. Friday was a lovey day, but after about 4pm I wasn’t feeling 100% and spent the rest of the day lying flat on the sofa. There is a bodily imprint on this sofa now as I could barely move off it until Sunday, except for the bathroom and bedroom trips. Andy’s brother and sister-in-law, David and Rachel, visited on Saturday for the weekend and I can barely remember much of their visit. I was taking so much medication for the pain but the side-effects wiped me out and although I wasn’t physically sick, I felt incredibly ill with no appetite. This was especially horrendous considering the boys had cooked the most amazing steak dinner on Saturday evening and I couldn’t finish half of it.
My dad made the hour journey to visit on Sunday afternoon for a couple of hours and just as he was leaving, I began to feel well. Sunday evening was the first full meal I’d eaten since Friday morning and as a girl who loves her food, this made me extremely happy. We were even joined by a friend all the way from Abu Dhabi, Alan, although I'm sure he came for the roast dinner and not to see me.
The first week out of hospital wasn’t easy, but the cards, flowers, chocolate and helium-filled balloons that arrived through the post from Gibraltar (Natalia), Abu Dhabi and the UK were incredibly sweet and uplifting. As I mentioned in the last post, my friends and family are amazing and not a day goes by that I don’t hear from them. It makes for an easier road to recovery when you’re surrounded by such caring people and I’ll always be grateful.
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Tuesday was my first hydrotherapy session and I was excited to get in the water and move my stiff hip joint. The closest hydrotherapy pool to Reigate is a twenty-minute drive away and it’s a pretty small, heated pool without descending railings into it.  Having seen the picture online I had wondered how I would enter and exit the pool. Not to mention the cost. At £52 for a half-hour session with a physiotherapist, with no chance of group sessions due to the size of the pool, I researched a second option. This was a 30 minute drive one-way, but did offer group rates at £14 per session. With Andrew flying home, and Eli as chief carer, a closer venue was obviously a priority however we’re talking a £400+ difference in cost. With this in mind, Eli suggested I email the closer venue and explain my experience and see if they’ll let me rent the pool and do my own rehab. Never did I expect them to agree to it but they did. It just goes to show, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. Their only requirement stipulates that I must be accompanied. In actual fact I couldn’t go solo as I need someone to crank the chair up and down to get me in the pool.
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In my first session I had a sweet physio named Sarah, and subsequent sessions would be orchestrated by moi. I understood from the owner that Sarah had very recently had a PAO patient so I knew I’d be in good hands. With two and half years between my PAO surgeries, it was useful for a recap of exercises, and to know what feels right from wrong under the supervision of a professional. The only downside to this hydro pool was the depth of the water. It is only as high as my waist, which in terms of weight bearing would be 50%. I’m only permitted to bear 20% weight through my left leg and therefore I am unable to walk in water that doesn’t come up to my chest. It’s not a huge issue as there are plenty of exercises I can do, but the consequence is I cannot walk for about four weeks.
The exercises I have to practice are exactly the same as my standing exercises: raising my knee; extending my leg backwards; and outwards. I also have to practice cycling of my legs whilst lying on my back and front of a float.
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Ultimately I have to strengthen my hip flexor, which has been cut through, and my glutes, core, abductors and adductors. I will have two hydro sessions per week, alongside my daily land-based exercises, and I will monitor my own progress until I feel I need a physio. It’s so much easier this time around as I know what it should typically feel like. I have an exact comparison so when I feel lots of pain when resting or during movement, I don’t worry that I’ve damaged my hip or bent the screws. If I feel sharp pains in my wound I don’t automatically think I have an infection. I’m not overly cautious this time around and I think that’s beneficial to my recovery.
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On Tuesday afternoon, we returned from hydro and needed to clean and  change my dressing. The hospital had written a referral letter for me to  attend a GP surgery to have a nurse change it. Having experienced that  last time, and felt it was a waste of time, I decided I was capable of  changing it myself.
Tuesday evening was my first evening out and we went for a pub dinner with Andrew’s mum, Sue. I was pretty shattered from hydro and still drowsy from the meds so it probably was a little premature, but it was nice to get out all the same. Obviously I cannot drink until I’m off the morphine so I went crazy on Appletiser.
Wednesday and Thursday I lived on the sofa again, with visits from friends and family, and Friday was my last day with Andrew before he set off for Heathrow in the evening. Unfortunately he had to be back to work on Sunday morning (Middle East work Sunday to Thursday), and therefore his two-week ‘holiday’ was over. He handed over the reins of chief carer to his step-mum, Eli, but not before we tested my ability to shower and dress myself. Luckily for Eli, I could just about do it all. It takes twice as long, and I can’t do shoes and socks, but hey, I can preserve my modesty.
It’ll be tough without Andrew for the next six weeks, but that’s what Skype is for. He truly has been amazing and the perfect hubby! The next time he sees me, I’ll be walking into his arms inside the arrivals terminal at Abu Dhabi airport :)

Op Day – 9th March 2015


The weekend before surgery I thought I would be an agitated mess but surprisingly I wasn’t. I kept busy seeing friends and family and it was only when people asked how I was feeling about Monday, would I then feel rather anxious. Last time, all I could think about was the op and could well up at the drop of a hat. This time I think a combination of denial and knowing what to expect helped me keep it together. 

Andrew and I stayed at our friends, Georgie and Gary’s, house the night before the op so we had a shorter commute. They live in a gorgeous house in South East London and we had a lovely evening involving food, films and catching up.

With my alarm set for 5.15am, and crunch time fast approaching, I thought I would struggle to sleep. However, I nodded off around 10.45pm, and despite waking in the middle of the night, I settled quickly again. The hospital supplied some pre-op antibacterial scrub which I was instructed to use thoroughly during my last wash. So when the alarm sounded, I had to remember to use that, I had forty-five minutes left to drink water only, and I had to order an Uber taxi. At 6am, Uber only had Mercedes available, so at least we arrived to the Hospital in style.  

Our driver, Henry, dropped us off next to the Shard, and in we walked to Guy’s Hospital. The surgical admissions lounge, AKA the SAL, was fairly crowded and I just hoped I was first on the surgery list again. Having over indulged the previous night, I figured my slightly stretched stomach wouldn’t cope with nil by mouth for very long. Luckily, I was first again, and I was handed my attire and informed which room to change and wait in.

Once changed into my paper pants, TED stockings, surgical gown and non-slip red socks, I had a quick pre-op check with a nurse to record blood pressure, heart rate, and for blood to be taken. Then waited in my little room for different people to come in and ask me the same questions… When was the last time you ate/drank? Are you allergic to anything? Do you have any jewellery or metal in you? Etc. The anaesthetist was first to quiz me and I remembered him from last time. He commented on my lack of nervousness before such a big op, and I reminded him that I hide it well, and I need that sedation again. To which he didn’t object. Then one of Banksey’s minions, Jonathon, came to say hello. Then another Nurse. Then the big dawg himself, Banksey, made an appearance. Banksey performed a PAO on an old Uni friend of Andy and I’s in November so we discussed how well he’d done and mutually agreed on how much of a nice chap he was. I reminded Banksey of how strong my bones were (to prepare him for some hard hammering), and he commented on how chirpy I was; even asking the nurse whether she’d ever seen someone so smiley before PAO surgery before.



At 8.30am, it was time for Andy and me to say our goodbyes. We hugged. I cried. Andy held it together. And we walked away in opposites directions. The nurse joked “Mr Bankes will wonder what I’ve done to you as he left you in such a happy mood”, as we walked into the anaesthetist’s room. It was the same room as last time; adjacent to Banksey’s O.R. I’d stopped crying as quickly as I’d started and the anaesthetist started prepping my sedative. My memory is a little hazy, but I remember rambling on about my friend and hip twin, Natalia, and how we have this close bond having met in hospital last time… and how we assisted each other through our recovery from the last PAO… and how she came to our wedding… and how she’s been messaging me leading up to the op… and then I was out for the count.

I was woken up by Nurse Agnes in the recovery room around 11am. Agnes hadn’t yet hooked me up to my local anaesthetic machine, nor the morphine pump, so I was rather annoyed at Agnes. I felt she could’ve woken me after doing this as I could feel a fair bit of pain. My mouth was incredibly dry and my teeth were uncontrollably chattering, so lovely Nurse Maureen kept replacing my hot blankets and feeding me water through a straw. Credit to Agnes, she didn’t argue with me when I requested anti-sickness through my cannula as I had explained the morphine makes me very nauseous. I was desperate to get up to the ward to see Andy, mum and dad, but Agnes said until my pain was under control, I wasn’t allowed to leave the recovery room. After a couple of hours, and Agnes telling me how ill she felt, and how cold she was, They called up to Sarah Ward for a couple of nurses to collect me.

At 2.30pm I was wheeled upstairs into Sarah Ward and as soon as the door opened, I saw Andrew step out into the corridor. We smiled at each other like Cheshire cats and he high-fived me as I glided passed. The nurses wheeled me into bay B6 which I initially believed to be Natalia’s bay. It wasn’t until later that I remember we were in the neighbouring ‘C’ ward, but effectively I was in Natalia’s corner of the six-bay room. My mum, dad and Andrew surrounded me and we exchanged stories on the day’s events.



My plan for the evening was to prepare as much as possible for my Tuesday physio, and after last time, I knew exactly what not to do. I knew that I needed to avoid lying flat to restore my upright blood pressure, and I knew I had to try and keep my food down so I had some energy, and I knew I required as much anti-sickness as possible. Therefore, every couple of hours, I pressed the ‘up arrow’ button to raise my bed slightly, and as instructed, kept sipping my water. I know my morphine pump made me very nauseous last time, but Banksey and I thought we’d try it again and see if things would be different a couple of years later. Apparently nothing has altered, and it made me feel very nauseous and itchy once again. The pain was bearable and I would always rather pills than pressing my morphine pump. This was picked up on by the nurses and they kept commenting on how little I’d used it.  When I press the button, it administers morphine into my bloodstream via the cannula in the back of my hand. The machine records every press of the button and it’s impossible to overdose as you can only press it every five minutes. I never felt like it gave me any pain relief, but I pressed it occasionally to keep them quiet.

Mum and dad left before dinner but after Banksey popped by to show his face. He explained that surgery couldn’t have gone better, it was straightforward with no complications, and he must’ve gotten stronger; as it didn’t require as much brute force to break my pelvis. I suggested my bones may have in fact gotten weaker, but Banksey insisted he was definitely stronger, so we went with that. He left with a parting comment: about how nice it was to see me so smiley and happy, considering what I was going through.

At 6pm dinner arrived and Andy fed me a few baby-sized mouthfuls. I couldn’t manage much and vomited roughly six times between 6 and 9.00pm. I was able to keep some food down, and remained fairly hydrated so I thought I would still be ok for the following day. Andrew left at 9pm and planned to return when visiting hours opened again at 2pm on Tuesday.



Thanks to my ear plugs and eye mask I slept incredibly well, and did not mind being woken to take meds and have blood pressure checks, or was I fazed with the lady opposite me snoring like a steam train. I had a wonderful nurse, Anna, who assisted with my catheter issues. It didn’t seem to be draining unaided so I kept waking up with an uncomfortably full bladder. If only I could have Nurse Anna for the rest of my stay.

When I woke Tuesday morning, I witnessed the nurse handover from night to day staff, and was introduced to my new lead nurse, Christina. The chirpy, Caribbean food and drink man, Leonardo, came whistling around the ward and asked for my breakfast order. I wolfed down my jam on toast and dozed in and out of sleep until 12pm. My lunch didn’t go down quite as quick and I was a little bit nauseous again, so Christina gave me a dose of anti-sickness through my cannula. Another nurse finally asked me at 1.30pm whether I wanted my sponge bath. I wondered what had taken so long but explained they may as well wait until my husband arrived at 2pm so he could assist. It was good to get cleaned and change gowns, having partially puked up on myself the night before.

Physio arrived shortly after and I was extremely determined to get out of bed and into the chair. Gemma was my physio and I was so happy that Andy was there to witness the session as he was unable to see my step-by-step progress last time. My four bed exercises were the same as last time and included: squeezing my glutes; squeezing my quad and pushing my knee into the bed; attempting to move my leg outwards (hip abduction); and raising my leg with my knee bent (hip flexion). I could manage the squeezing exercises, but could barely activate my hip flexor to lift my knee, and failed to move my leg outwards even slightly. Gemma assisted with these two tough exercises so I could encourage the muscles to work again, and began questioning how I knew so much about the rehab. All made sense when I explained I’d had PAO on my right hip and then her attention turned to getting me out of bed. I’d explained that when I attempted this last time, I felt very faint and had to be returned to a lying position as quickly but as carefully as possible. With that in mind, Gemma and I took it very steadily and she held my legs as I shifted towards the edge of the bed. We got both feet on the floor and I felt very queasy. I was adamant I wanted to stand up on my right leg, but it took a minute or so and some sips of water until I was ready. Whilst holding the handles of my zimmer frame I gradually stood, and ten seconds on my shaky right foot was enough for me. Happy with my achievement, I returned to bed, as I could feel an imminent need for the sick bucket. With Gemma impressed, and myself and Andy overjoyed, we called it a day and I would see Gemma on Wednesday.

Andy and I nodded off for less than an hour, and both awoke to the sound of my local anaesthetic machine bleeping. Still in a daze, we didn’t think much of it, and never in million years would I suspect the same events to occur as last time. Oh how wrong was I? It was Déjà vu. The bleeps turned to one continuous bleep and very quickly I was in a considerable amount of pain. It seemed my machine had once again run out of battery as someone had unplugged the machine from the mains and removed the power lead. Andrew immediately leapt up and attempted to get the attention of one of the ignorant nurses. There was no sense of urgency and two nurses fumbled around the wards trying to find a spare lead. I was extremely unhappy and dumbfounded that history could repeat itself and the nurses failed to apologise or even seem to realise the severity of what had happened once they plugged it back in. I suspected it would take a short while for the local anaesthetic to kick in again but an hour later, I was still in extreme pain. We called for the nurses, who refuted the issue and insisted the machine was working, and therefore I needed to use my morphine pump more. I explained that I can differentiate between the pain and this was still the type of pain that I believed was caused from a lack of local. The nurses were so dismissive, until three hours of agonising pain ended in tears.  I finally had their attention and they called for a doctor. An anaesthetist arrived from theatre and he explained that once the local machine stops, a restart requires a bolus to kick start the effectiveness again. So he gave me a little boost and seemed confused that the nurses hadn’t realised that and called him sooner. (To be fair, last time this happened, my body went into shock, and I was so confused and not fully conscious, that I hadn’t realised I had received a bolus before. It was only later in the evening when I relayed this to my dad that he explained the exact same thing had happened while he was with me during the last recovery).

Tuesday night was brightened up with visits from friends, Stephanie and Tanisha, and they couldn’t believe how neglectful the nurses had been. It was pretty shocking that I suffered unnecessarily for three hours, and that they failed to respond until I cried because they didn’t believe how much pain I claimed to be in. Anyway, I said goodbye to the girls, and then to Andrew and off I went to sleep. 



At midnight, I was woken up with the same intense pain in my wound and leg, and instantly turned to my local anaesthetic machine. It still said 10ml/hour and the lead was plugged in so I pressed the morphine pump. Five minutes later, I pressed it again, and pushed the call button for a nurse. When she arrived, I explained my dilemma and emphasised how certain I was that there was something wrong with the local machine again. Her response was I needed to use my morphine pump as I’d only used it twice so of course I would be in pain. So then we went through the rigmarole of how I’d been through something similar the previous afternoon and I know what the pain feels like, and that morphine doesn’t really do anything for me and I can bare that pain easily, and that I needed an anaesthetist to come and provide a bolus. All of this went in one ear and out the other, and she insisted that I keep pressing the morphine pump for half an hour before she could believe me. I retorted that I would do as she suggested, but I guaranteed it wouldn’t be the solution to my pain. Funnily enough, it didn’t fix the issue, and I called her back in even more pain after about twenty minutes. I insisted that she call a doctor or anaesthetist this time, which she went and did. However, I have my suspicions that she influenced the anaesthetist’s view as apparently, she exclaimed I would need to use my morphine pump for another hour before she would come upstairs to see me. So there I was in the middle of the night, in tonnes of pain, pushing that damn morphine button every five minutes and it was doing jack all. There was a really sweet student nurse who kept coming into my bay to resolve the catheter draining issues, and perform the blood pressure and temperature checks. She admitted that if it was up to her, she would have demanded the anaesthetist came up ASAP to give me the booster of local anaesthetic; however, her opinion didn’t carry much weight in the matter.

An hour of tears and useless morphine passed, and the nurse realised I wasn’t just exaggerating the pain and going to drift off to sleep, so she caved in and called downstairs again. The anaesthetist was in surgery and claimed she would be up as soon as. A further thirty minutes and the total duration of suffering had now reached two hours. I had to beg her for a bolus just so I could get some sleep, and after a fair bit of dithering, she agreed to do it; despite her doubts that it would work.

I woke up to a singing Leonardo entering the ward asking for breaky orders. Today I fancied some Weetabix and as I started to raise the top end of the bed to sit up, I felt extremely nauseous. That surge of morphine for two hours in the middle of the night had put me back to square one. I lay back down and called for some anti-sickness. The judgemental night nurse explained that she wouldn’t prescribe it into my cannula as I hadn’t actually been sick, so she fetched me some tablets. I tried to warn her…

The nurses were completing their handover and as they opened my bay curtain, I gave the night nurse a disapproving but ‘told you so’ look as I threw up my Weetabix (and the anti-sickness pills) into a cardboard sick bowl. Seconds later I received a dose of anti-sickness into my cannula.

One of Banksey’s minions came to check up on me and I didn’t hold back. I blubbed my way through my version of events and explained how fed up I was of having to try and prove when I was ill or in pain. She empathised and we discussed my preference of pain relief. We agreed that the local anaesthetic machine would remain for another day, and that they may as well disconnect the morphine pump as it wasn’t required. In her opinion, I’m actually allergic to cannula administered morphine due to the vomiting and itching it causes, so she requested I commence the morphine tablets at the earliest opportunity.

By the time Gemma appeared for my morning physio, I had stomached some sweets and managed to sit upright in preparation. Today was the day that I wanted to get out of the bed and into the chair. And that’s exactly what happened. Gemma was thoroughly impressed with my progress, yet mortified to hear about my evening of horror. 

Gemma left me in my chair and I couldn’t wait to surprise Andrew when he arrived at 2pm. I had already messaged him to detail the appalling evening I’d had, but who knew there was even more to come…

At midday, Head Nurse Christina was in the middle of detaching the morphine pump and the corresponding cannula when my local machine started bleeping again. The pouch inside the machine, containing the anaesthetic, was almost empty so she stood up and informed the nurses to arrange a replacement. The lady in bay 3 was summoned for surgery, so instead of finishing her current duty, Christina assisted with wheeling the lady down to theatre. Minutes later, my machine once again bleeped continuously, and of course, I felt this extreme pain rush into my wound and down my leg. I began to panic and pushed the call button for a nurse. In walked a different student nurse who patronisingly told me “There was no need to panic as Christina had requested the replacement pouch already, and they didn’t have the exact one on the ward, so they’ve ordered it from pharmacy and it’ll be twenty minutes.” I blurted that there was a need a panic as I’m currently in pain and it gets worse every minute that I don’t have that anaesthetic pumping into my wound. I could not contain my despair anymore, and combine that with a load of drugs and a long night, and you get a hysterical mess. At least four nurses must have come in to check the commotion and each time they suggested I use my morphine pump. I had to explain everything multiple times and kept asking why they could let this happen and expect me to suffer three times within 24 hours. Apparently Christina noticed in the morning that I would require a replacement pouch and checked their stocks. There was one spare pouch but she hadn’t managed to verify that the contents weren’t identical. By this point, I just could not believe it and was so fed up. There were only three of us on the ward, and the other two ladies felt extremely sorry for me and welled up with sympathy. They were more supportive than all of the nurses combined. From previous occurrences, I’d worked out that I would require another anaesthetist to perform the bolus once the pouch arrived, so I asked the nurses to call down in preparation. Of course they didn’t, so when the correct pouch arrived an hour later, Christina had reappeared by this point and she tried but failed to replace it.  So I waited a little longer while they called for an anaesthetist to provide the booster and Christina completed her earlier task of detaching my morphine pump. This anaesthetist was lovely and within minutes I was pain-free and relieved. She couldn’t have been more apologetic for the inadequate care I’d received over the last 24 hours and gave the nurses a severe dressing-down. She did comment on the fact that many PAO patients rely on their morphine pump more than their local anaesthetic machine, so this could explain the lack of urgency from the nurses. Subsequent to their ear-bashing, I didn’t have to deal with the shoddy nurses again. They avoided me all together and I think they were pretty annoyed I’d gotten them into trouble. I honestly think I would’ve got the necessary care and attention had I just cried at the first sign of pain, and didn’t refer to my previous PAO. But rather than listen to me and my suggestions from experience, which would’ve saved them time and energy, they decided they knew best and caused more issues for themselves in the long run. Apart from the handful of amazing nurses, the majority were shocking this time around and I hope they were just having an ‘off’ week for the sake of others. Correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t think typical qualities of a nurse include being patronising, rude, neglectful, and impatient. As you can imagine, I couldn’t wait to get discharged from hospital, and I made it my goal to be out by Thursday.

Andrew arrived and was equally as shocked to discover what had happened. Unfortunately though, complaining achieves absolutely diddly-squat in a hospital, so we just focussed our attention on my recovery. Andy was very impressed to see me sat in the chair but a little sad he’d missed the milestone. Without a tube attached to the back of my hand and having just had my catheter removed, it meant washing and dressing was considerably easier. Andy assisted with the delightful sponge bath, and I was finally able to change into my own clothes. Just as we finished, Gemma popped in with a zimmer to see if I was ready to walk. Last time I was completely unable to initiate movement in my operated leg until the Thursday evening. My brain was telling my leg to move forward but it just couldn’t budge. Whereas this time, as soon as I stood up and attempted to walk, I was able to engage my muscle. It felt amazing to be out of bed and moving again, and we zimmered the short distance to the toilet, with Gemma manoeuvring the local anaesthetic machine as I went. When I’d finished, Gemma declared that I was advanced enough to progress to crutches.



Once back to my bay, Gemma demonstrated the standing exercises I could add to my current list. They involved just moving my leg in each direction, so I gave them a go before jumping back into bed. It had been a long day and my appetite was back in time for dinner, so I was ready to just eat and chill. Our friends Jenny and Bobbie were coming to visit so unlike Tuesday, Wednesday definitely improved from 1pm onwards.

Wednesday night was peaceful, with the odd call for a commode. Thursday morning, Banksey and his minions dropped in for a catch up. Again he mentioned how bubbly I was, to which I confessed hadn’t been the case the previous day. I summarised what happened and he profusely apologised. I requested that I be discharged that day, to which he said was possible if I had my X-ray, passed my physio stair test, and had successfully managed the pain. They arranged for my X-ray immediately after breakfast so the other two factors were down to me.



The stairs I knew would be a doddle, however I was worried about my pain once the local machine was removed. Gemma brought a physio friend to the stair test, and they both claimed to have never seen someone ‘walk’ so well post-PAO. They offered me a wheelchair ride down the corridor to the stairwell as it was quite far, to which I declined as I was happy to work my legs. They were very impressed with my stair ability and both agreed they’d never felt so useless to a post-op patient. On the way back to the ward, I was discussing my previous job in the rehab clinic in London and my last recovery at Wimbledon’s Parkside clinic. Funnily enough, Gemma had been to a seminar that my previous boss delivered and liked what she heard, and she has just handed in her notice and accepted a job at Parkside. One of those ‘small world’ moments, and we shared our opinions on both experiences. Having listened to my feedback about Parkside, she couldn’t wait to start there and felt less hesitant about the whole move. Gemma reminded me of the legend, Deborah (from Parkside), throughout my stay at Guy’s, so good luck and well done to her.

The only nurse that would come near me that afternoon was actually pretty good, so when I returned from physio, it was time to remove the local. It was reduced to 5ml/hour first, and when she returned 45 minutes later, it was removed all together and it was the first time I’d seen my wound.



We came to the conclusion that stitches hadn’t been used this time and it looked like Banksey had superglued the wound. I was partially sceptical that it would hold, and partially glad that I wouldn’t have any issues with ‘dissolvable’ stitches not dissolving and contributing to infection again.

Soon after, Andrew arrived and we prepared for discharge. The only thing left to do was wait for pharmacy to deliver my bucket load of meds. We knew this would take an age, so just had to play the waiting game. My dad was on his way from Reading to help collect and deliver me to Reigate. Dad arrived at 3pm and I was finally discharged after 7pm armed with needles, morphine and dressings galore. It was an arduous wait but so worth it to not spend another evening incarcerated.

Shortly before 8.30pm we pulled into Andrew’s driveway; my home for the next six weeks with Eli and Kevin. So far, my agenda for the coming month included: going to hydro; watching TV series; and writing my blog. All in all I couldn’t have asked for the surgery to go any better, and although the nurses weren’t very caring and attentive, my friends and family are just awesome. They help me breeze through everything and I could not ask for more. I’ll be back on my feet in no time and who knows; maybe I’ll be ready to run the Desert Warrior Challenge with the rest of the gang later on in the year.