Post-Op

In last week’s blog, I told you about the operation I had to repair a fractured femur.

The 24 hours after the operation were not good.

Even in normal times, I take a lot of strong painkillers, so when I have any trauma, I need still more. The medics, however, see how much I am on and are then reluctant to give me any more. That is what happened this time too.

I didn’t sleep at all the night after the op and spent the next day with an increased heart rate and temperature. They kept doing ECGs and giving me paracetamol. I kept telling them I was in pain and exhausted, not ill, and that if they would just give me more pain relief I would be okay.

Eventually, in the evening, one of the nurses cottoned on that if I normally took such a high dose, the little pain relief they were giving me wasn’t even “touching the sides.” At last, they increased my meds and gave them to me more often.

Finally, blissfully, I fell asleep.

I woke at half-past-four in the morning, not expecting to go back to sleep but not caring as at least I had slept, though in the end I did drift off again.

As my temperature was still raised, they put damp cloths on my forehead and, at some point, someone conceived the idea of inflating a plastic glove, filling it with cold water and placing it on my head. In my drug-fuelled stupor I put my hand up to my head and thought, “Oh, they’ve put an octopus on my head.”

Eventually my brain kicked in and I thought, “Of course they haven’t put an octopus on my head!”

I wasn’t in the least concerned either way, however, which just shows how relaxed I was by this point.

When I was more alert, the doctors came and told me how the operation had gone. The good news was that my hip replacement was still intact so they had just had to fix the femur, which they had done with plates.

I had hoped to be up and walking soon after the op but, no. The physios explained that I couldn’t put any weight on my broken leg for a full six weeks. And when they said no weight, they really meant it. All I am allowed to do is get up on one leg, hang onto my Zimmer frame, sit on a wheeled commode and be taken where I need to go, and then perform the manoeuvre in reverse. I can literally only go from chair to commode, from commode to chair, or from commode to bed.

I had also hoped to be able to haul myself upstairs on my bottom when I got home but the physios let me try this in hospital and I couldn’t manage it. My leg was too painful and stiff and, in any case, I wouldn’t have been able to stand up when I got to the top.

I have now been sent home with what they refer to as a “care package.” My bed has been moved downstairs to the living room and a carer comes in to get me washed and dressed in the morning and to put me to bed in the evening.

Mary, my amazing friend and PA, is living with me for the moment and doing literally everything else. We are working again, as I can be wheeled into my office where I am now writing this blog.

I am due to return to hospital in mid-August so that my leg can be X-rayed. I fervently pray I will be allowed to walk again!

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Judith Furse is planning to take a break from blogging during August but is looking forward to bringing you new posts in September.