Out Of The Pain Cave, Into The Water

Knee replacements are commonplace these days.  Baby Boomers are taking a number and getting in line so they can get back to running, skiing, playing tennis, pick-up games of hoops, touch football, soccer or any other form of Weekend Warrior nonsense that ruined their knee(s) in the first place. Maybe they didn’t do any of the above and just had crappy knees to begin with. Mine was compliments of a bone-head motorcycle wreck when I was 16.

 If it was only turbocharged.

The fact that they’re commonplace doesn’t make recovery a routine experience. There’s a reason why the medical folks pound into your head the pain scale of 1 to 10.  You get to experience the whole spectrum.  Regardless, my knee had to be fixed.  Going up stairs was torture. Riding a bike was nigh impossible.

Dr. Thomas Rosenberg

So April 14, 2016, I put myself into the extremely capable hands of Dr. Thomas Rosenberg, renowned knee specialist and founder of Rosenberg Cooley Metcalf orthopedic clinic at Park City Medical Center.  He assured me that even with neurological issues from my spinal cord injury, I could still benefit and have a full recovery if I work hard.  Key words: “work hard”.

First steps three hours post op.

Surgery went well. Fast forward past the first two weeks of hell on earth, with muscle spasms, an uncooperative bladder, multiple catheterizations and daily doses of hydrocodone.  Fast forward beyond the home health care physical therapist prodding me to walk into the other bedroom one more time.  Keep going past the grueling therapy sessions at the University of Utah Orthopedic Center to the present, 14 weeks post op.

A special day: swimming with Erika.

Still walking with trekking poles on a weakened right leg, I find myself doing laps with my 36 year- old daughter Erika at Cottonwood Heights Rec Center--me with one good leg and her with one good arm.  Her left arm has virtually no range of motion due to an improperly used post-operative pain pump that destroyed the cartilage in her shoulder after a minor shoulder surgery.  Fourteen unsuccessful attempts to implant an artificial shoulder resulted in nothing more than ghastly staph infections and a railroad track scar from elbow to neck.

              

Me with one good leg.

Erika with one good arm.

Thanks to the magical weightlessness of water, we’re swimming side by side, exulting in the joy of physical exertion as we adapt our minds and our bodies to doing things differently rather than sitting on the sidelines. I’m using “speed fins” with small holes in them to provide some extra propulsion with a minimum of strain on my leg.  She’s holding a kick board under her left arm and swimming only with her right arm, with amazing results.

Adapting mind and body is a quest I’ve been on since breaking my neck in 1972.  Erika's journey began in 2004, when shoulder surgery resulted in the loss an arm and the beginning of a lifelong autoimmune disorder known as CIDP (Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy).  The struggles for both of us are enough to fill the book that I'm working on.

A work in progress. Success ahead!

The final chapter of this post is that I have emerged from the pain cave, there is recovery ahead, and I’m cherishing a special time with my only daughter, as we both say “no way” to our potentially devastating physical challenges.