6 Months

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It has been 6 months, exactly, since you showed up as 2 happy, pretty pink lines. It wasn’t that big of a surprise, since I just KNEW I was pregnant with you. I was ecstatic! I ran and woke up your dad and shoved the stick in his face, saying “SEE?! I TOLD YOU!” and we laughed and smooched and snuggled and it felt so normal and so good.

We jumped headfirst into all things revolving around you. Everything I did, I had to think about you first. Can I eat this cold chicken salad? Can I use this heat pack on my back? How many crackers were too many crackers? How early can I leave work to nap without anyone noticing? Maybe I should eat some spinach. Barf. I was constantly nauseous and exhausted and couldn’t wait for 8pm every night, because 8pm was a perfectly reasonable time to go to bed, even though 6pm sounded much better to me. We bought a baby name book and went through it, page by page, name by name, trying out the ones we liked with our last name. Your last name. We planned how we would tell our families about you on Christmas, by wrapping up onesies and giving them to your grandparents as a last gift to open. We went to our first doctor’s appointment and it was confirmed again that yes, you were really coming! I drank water out of beer cans and fake wine poured from a flask to throw off any suspicion. It was the happiest your dad and I have ever been.

I am thankful for every single day I got to carry you, sweet baby. You taught me that this life is not about me at all; there is nothing in this life that is guaranteed, and you need to be grateful for what you are given every day. Everything is out of my control, and I just need to keep praising God for the enormous blessings I have been given and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The week after Christmas – and losing you – felt like a living nightmare, where I would rather be asleep and unconscious than awake and living my reality. Without you. Moving on. The following months were a blur. We would’ve been 30 weeks today, baby, you and me. I’d be feeling you rocking and rolling around my belly and I’d pretend to be annoyed but really love every second of it. Maybe I’d be having some Braxton hicks. Maybe we would know if you were a boy or girl! How I wish I knew what you were. I can’t wait to find out someday.

But now, it feels like I have lived a lifetime since those dark days. So much has happened. Somehow I kept going. I think about you every single day, baby, and I look at your picture often. But I can finally talk about you without a lump in my throat. I don’t cry every day (even though I am definitely crying while writing this). I still miss you so much sometimes it makes my stomach ache. But I finally feel some peace. I am okay.

Love you forever!

The Waffle

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I don’t even know how to start this.

I had a miscarriage. And it sucked. Still does. More than you’d even expect. It’s so horrible, in fact, that the internet won’t even tell you about it. If you googled “experiencing a miscarriage” you would find various websites telling you scientific facts: miscarriage commonly occurs before 12 weeks. More prevalent in “older” women. You will have some cramping and bleeding. You’ll get your next period in 4-8 weeks.

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December 2, 6am.

But what they aren’t telling you, is what I wish I had known, and I would love for every woman that comes after me will know. It’s the truth.

Miscarriage is the messiest and grossest and most physically uncomfortable as well as most emotionally uncomfortable event you’ll ever experience, aside from what I imagine a full-term birth to be like. I said full-term birth, instead of just “giving birth” because that’s exactly what you are doing, in the worst sort of way. You will have horrible cramps. You will bleed for weeks on end, coming and going, and presenting itself in colors you didn’t know could come out of you. Your baby gets flushed down the toilet. It got so gruesome and intolerable for me, I would make Jon come sit with me when I went to the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to experience it alone. And when you aren’t busy sitting on the toilet, you are living your day-to-day life in the weirdest way. Oh, just in the grocery store, but also having a miscarriage. Enjoying a nice dinner out with the in-laws while passing large clots of fetal tissue. I remember thinking to myself “I can’t believe how normal this is, and how normal I am feeling, I can do this. Ain’t no thing. We got pregnant quickly and it’ll happen again in no time.”

And then the bleeding slows, and stops, and then you are left behind. Alone. Where you were once pregnant, just a few days ago, you are now a lone person, empty, missing something so important to you that you can’t get back. It really hurt my heart and stomach to process what had just happened to me. And then it begins. The darkness sinks in. What happens next? After the storm is over? Can you just pick up where you left off? I thought I could.

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Christmas Eve, after we shared the good news.

I don’t even know when or where or how it began, but slowly as the days, weeks, and now months went on, I sunk into a pit of despair that is impossible to climb out of. In January we missed my “fertile cycle” because Jon was in Florida for work. In February I got my “period” 3 days after having just ovulated. March, we will see, but I have a feeling we aren’t in the clear yet as far as my body goes. In the middle of all of this, my right hip has started behaving like a little bitch, making me second-guess my decision to get pregnant and toying with the idea of getting the hip fixed, which breaks my heart every time I think about it.

This wasn’t supposed to be what happened! I had my plan! We got pregnant right away on our Belgium trip, and I felt relieved and like I deserved this, after what a crappy year it had been for me otherwise. We would have a bouncing baby waffle arriving on August 11. It would be the best thing we’d ever done. But the lingering thought of miscarriage was ALWAYS on my mind.

At this point there seem to be more good days than bad, but when they’re bad, they are debilitating. Nothing I do can take the thought out of my mind of what (I believe) SHOULD have been. I should have been X weeks pregnant (I’ve stopped counting). I should be feeling the amazing movements everyone talks about. I should be decorating our nursery. I should be excited about talking to and seeing my best friend who is two weeks less pregnant than me and taking the bump pictures we had always dreamed of. It stings. It burns. I start sobbing out of no where. I can’t function. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can hardly breathe, which how large a lump i always have in my throat. I certainly can’t form words to talk about it. Everything seems so unfair, it feels like my body is against me and the world doesn’t want me to be happy. Everything makes me annoyed and irritable and pissed off. The kids selling lemonade on our street? GTFO my yard. My dog barking to go outside? Who do you think you are, you selfish asshole. My husband who didn’t wipe the counters after he cleaned up the dinner dishes? Oh HELL NO you did NOT. My computer that dares take 3 second to load? I will pound my fists on the keyboard because clearly you’re against me too. I just can’t do it. How am I supposed to go on and just LIVE MY LIFE? And how are other people just going on and living theirs? I feel forgotten and left behind and sad all the time. Those words don’t even seem heavy enough for what I feel. It is physically exhausting to try to survive during a bad day.

My body still doesn’t seem to have recovered, because it just keeps bleeding whenever it wants to. It doesn’t help that my OB doesn’t seem to be much help. In fact, I haven’t seen her at all since before I got pregnant. I only saw and talked to the nurses while I was pregnant and miscarrying. Again, I feel like I got forgotten about and no one cared enough to talk to me.

What do i do next? Where do I go from here? HOW do I go from here? I am just supposed to… wait and see? Doesn’t anyone realize how difficult and disappointing that answer is? I shouldn’t HAVE to wait, I should be pregnant! Or at least, my body should be back to normal so I can get pregnant again! I don’t have a lot of time. My hips don’t have months or years to just… wait.

The longer I wait the harder and worse I feel. Nothing is good right now. I am just so sad.

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December 28. Baby’s first (and only) picture.

It’s been a solid 8 weeks since I last edited this post. That lonely, dark Sunday was a turning point for me, when I decided I couldn’t do this alone anymore. The next day I called a therapist, and met with her a few days later (February 18). I cried while telling her how dark everything felt, how I felt the world was against me, but left relieved knowing there was somebody else on my team. It also helped (in a twisted way) that she experienced her own miscarriage a few years ago and was currently pregnant with her long-awaited rainbow baby.

At her suggestion, I reached out to my OB for more help and to check in. I made a list of all my symptoms: Constant sadness. Tearfulness. Easily agitated. Anxiety about future pregnancies. Feeling numb. Panic attacks. Seeing it written down made it seem so real, so sad, and made me realize that I really had a serious problem. When I handed that list over (because no way I could say those words out loud), she validated all of my concerns and reassured me that everything will be ok. We created a game-plan for future pregnancies to ease my anxiety. She gave me a script for some antidepressants that I was originally hesitant about, and now wish I had gotten them months ago. I almost immediately felt stable, level-headed, and able to make rational decisions.

It is now April 12. I have been on antidepressants for 4 weeks, and have visited a therapist 5 times. Both things combined have made me feel whole again. I feel like I am waking up to life again – I am looking forward to the weekends once again. I seek out the company of my friends. I honestly answer “I’m doing fine, thanks” when asked. I am at a point where I can’t remember the last time I cried (down from crying – sobbing – many times a day). I can see the goodness in tomorrow.

July 13 – now

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July 13 – now

I didn’t meant to not blog for so long, but take it as a good sign that I’ve been so absent. My pain decreased and I was able to resume normal life!

The end of July brought a lot of triumphs for me! I saw Clohisy on July 21 and he cleared me to wean off my crutches as tolerated, as well as to start physical therapy. I also started a round of antibiotics (which eventually turned into 2 rounds) for my infected incision. Seems my body doesn’t particularly like internal stitches, because they kept coming out through the open wound. We went to Arcadia for the daze a few days later and I was able to get around VERY comfortably on one crutch (and the long drive didn’t even kill me, as long as I maintained my pain med schedule). I ordered a cane online and it was at our house when we got home, and from then on, at exactly 5-weeks post-op, I was off crutches and onto my cane! I tried to take a few steps unaided and had a HUGE limp, but it didn’t hurt too much.

I returned to work part-time on July 30! I did half days for 7 workdays and returned fulltime on August 10. Work was HARD, and not just physically. My brain felt like a pile of mush and I couldn’t figure out what had been done on my behalf while I was gone, and couldn’t get in a good rhythm. It took me a solid month to get back into a routine and confident in my abilities to produce quality work.

I started physical therapy on July 27. She had me start by doing basic strength exercises. It was fine and exhausting, but extremely effective. At that stage of recovery, you can see changes very quickly. At 6 weeks and 2 days post-op, I could walk short distances WITHOUT A LIMP! I still brought my cane to work for a few weeks because I got fatigued very easily. At 7 weeks, I could ride a bike (ok, stationary bike) 2 miles with no pain! It was about this time that I was having some nerve pain in my inner thigh down to my knee, so I got a script for muscle relaxers. AMAZING. I’ve never slept better. Just before 8 weeks, we went to a wedding in Chicago. I used my cane but was able to get around the dance floor and drink a good amount and not take pain pills! We even used the cane as a limbo stick. What a hit. Just before the 9 week point, I volunteered at the LFCS auction. I made it through almost 7 hours on my feet and woke up feeling GOOD. Granted I was on pain killers the whole night, but the point is I DID it and I felt GREAT. I even walked a mile the next day (with my cane, and it was hard), and finally traded in my elastic laces for the real deal (honest moment: tying my shoes still isn’t easy. My hip doesn’t want to bend that way). At the 9-week point, my scar had FINALLY healed and I could swim! I went to the Becker’s pool and it was HARD. I jumped in and kicked and oh man, I didn’t have the strength I needed to do that. I did some slow laps. PT kept getting harder! She had me doing balance exercises and the bike and stairs (my poor knee is suffering from weakness as well as from the extreme tight IT band).

In September, we flew to Portland for a wedding. I brought my cane and am proud to say I didn’t really need it at all. In fact, I left it on the plane when we arrived back in St. Louis and the flight attendant had to chase me down! And that was it, my cane was retired. Jon had to pull both of our roller bags because did you know it takes good balance and hip strength to pull a roller bag? It does and it was hard and a surprise. This was also the last weekend I really took pain pills to get through anything.

At 12 weeks post-op, I was able to start JUMPING! Yes, I was THAT excited. You’ve gotta celebrate the little victories as they come. It was hard, but another step up on the recovery ladder. It opens new doors and brings about a more positive attitude. I was also struggling with keeping my pelvis from rotating and was having to correct it several times a day, including at work on the floor (ask me about the time the CEO walked in on that…). At this point, it became my goal to be able to walk as far as possible without a limp or having to stop and rest. I was at about a mile. Once I could do this, I could try running!!!

14 weeks brought out the resistance bands! Talk about killer. It’s SO good for hip strengthening. I also was struggling with endurance so I started taking the stairs more often and trying to walk faster.

15 weeks post-op I went back to Clohisy for my 4-month checkup. MY BONES HAD HEALED. All the way. It was a shock! I thought there would still be some gaps. He cleared me to start walk-runs with strict instructions to TAKE IT SLOW. DEAL! I also made the decision to cancel my second surgery. My right hip has been feeling SO good and I do NOT want to go through this horrific recovery again for a hip that isn’t in dire need of fixing. I will wait and see what happens. Hopefully I’ll never need the second PAO, but chances are I will.

At 15 weeks and 2 days post-op, I took my first short jog. Tears streamed down my face and I sobbed and sobbed and was so proud of myself for how far I’d come. I can’t believe that my hip is fixed and pain-free and I am so happy I can finally move on with my life.

At 16 weeks and 3 days, I started taking barre classes. I’ve been once a weeks since then and I LOVE it. It works all the muscles I need to tone – butt, thighs, core, hips. It is so expensive so I think I’ll stick with only once a week for now.

And that brings me to now. 19 weeks post-op to the day. I have been having some left SI joint pain the last week or so and some hamstring and thigh tightness, but for the most part, I feel great. While walking, both of my hips feel the same. I still struggle with my SI joint rotating out of place and feeling off-balanced, but that’ll resolve as I keep strengthening. I keep having some joint swelling after extreme exercising (by extreme I mean a long walk or barre or a short run) so that sucks. For the most part I feel like a normal person again. I can carry my own laundry, pick up heavy things (though don’t tell my husband because I still like him to do the heavy lifting), stand for long periods of time, and just generally kick ass at life. We are going to Belgium in a few weeks and I can’t WAIT to walk unlimited miles.

Days 12 – 20: July 4-12

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I woke up that Saturday morning confused if I had taken my pills during the night or not. I guess that’s a good sign, since I wasn’t desperate to take them. I took a shower and ended up getting hot and sick in the shower! That hasn’t happened in a while, and hasn’t happened since. Jon and I decided to go to his parents house to grill out since we couldn’t do much other 4th of July celebrating. This was my first trip out – we stopped by the grocery store and the liquor store! I also put real clothes on!

Sunday and Monday were non-eventful. We went to church Sunday morning and I kept nodding off. I blame the dimmed lights and acoustic music. I came home and took a 4 hour nap. Monday, my very pregnant friend Lindsey brought me lunch and we watched Frozen. My wonderful mother-in-law also came over and pulled our horrible weeds. Today was the first day I skipped a nap and didn’t even feel exhausted! I accidentally missed a pain med dose and felt fine. I started weaning down to 1 pill if I can tolerate it, sometimes 1.5.

Tuesday-Thursday my sister was here. We went to the mall and she pushed me in a wheelchair. Went out for brunch. Ran errands at Target and the grocery. Now that my energy is back, I really love going out places and doing things.

Friday might have been my hardest day yet. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was, aside from the fact I had been extremely active the few days prior. It was my first day all alone. I cried immediately as Jon left and on and off the rest of the day. I started having some muscle spasms that would jolt my body and make me cry. Getting around was more difficult because of the pain I was in. Luckily I woke up Saturday and was back to normal. Saturday and Sunday were find pain-wise. I’m trying to take only 1 pain pill, and thinking about trying 1/2 a pill. I’m worried what I’ll feel with nothing to protect me, though I’m ready to move back into my alcohol-drinking lifestyle. Does that sound horrible? Oh well. I also hope to be cleared to drive at my doc appointment on the 21st.

I am flying to Holland tomorrow to hang out with my family while my grandma slowly slips away. I am sad to be losing her, and I am so sad for my mother, losing her mom somewhat unexpectedly, although she has been deteriorating over the past several months. I’m glad to have this time off work that I can go and be with them, though I’m worried to travel alone. Wish me luck.

Day 6 – 11

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Sunday was a good and bad day for me. I woke up feeling great, pain minimal, moving around nicely, more energy than usual! Jon mowed the lawn and did some laundry, I did my usual couch sitting and coloring. Sunday was the last day my brain was in a sort of haze (thank goodness that is gone). My heart was feeling sad that my dog wasn’t around, and since the weather was AMAZING, I suggested we go visit him at Jon’s parents house. This was my first trip out of the house! I got in and out of the car with no problems (I’m finding that I can use my right leg to support and guide my left to swing it around where it needs to go), down to the pool area and onto a lounge chair and got comfy. Schlafly was swimming away, happy as could be, and my mama heart was SO happy and relieved to see him. We stuck around the pool for maybe an hour and a half, I drank one beer (a Bud Select, nothing crazy, but maybe caused my later issues), the temperature was probably 78 degrees. I was fine until we got home, but after having to go down into the basement for a tornado siren, I got super nauseous and ended up throwing up a lot and had a slight fever! I felt better after I got sick and went to bed feeling fine.

Monday (day 7) I felt ZERO pain all day. It was amazing! My home PT, Ellen, paid me a visit. I told her about my Sunday issue and she told me that was my body telling me to STAY HOME for a while. She thinks it was a combo of exhaustion from healing, and the fact I lost so much blood during surgery. Apparently it takes 2 to 3 weeks for your  blood to replenish and feel better on that regard. My sweet mother-in-law hung out with me during the day while Jon returned to work. She tucked me in for my nap and returned to work. I’m so thankful for the way everyone has been taking care of me, my husband, and my goofy dog. I ALSO TOOK A SHOWER! My first since surgery. I was SO thankful I had decided to straighten my hair before surgery, otherwise my curls would’ve looked like a rats nest.

Tuesday was uneventful, except for my MOM finally came down to visit! What is it about having your mom there that makes everything better? She cooked, cleaned, stocked our fridge (she went grocery shopping 3 times in the 3.5 days she was here), and online shopped with me 🙂 I also thought that since my pain had been non-existent the day before, maybe I’d play with weaning off it slowly. I started taking it every 5-5.5 hours instead of 4. It didn’t work out the best. Once you fall behind on taking your pain pills on time, it’s hard to catch up. Dolores, my home nurse, paid me a visit on Wednesday and told me that taking a smaller amount with the same frequency was better, so that’s what I do now. I’m down to 1.5 pills every 4 hours, but 2 pills still during the nighttime. Dolores also told me that I was healing up great and don’t need to wear a bandage anymore! My incision is still covered with steri-strips, but they are slowly falling off. Wednesday night Jon’s parents brought over pizza and salad and then Schafly came home for good! It is so wonderful to have him back, it feels right with him here.

Thursday, Ellen came by again. She was pleased with how my physical therapy exercises were going and my overall strength and ease with which I can move about, so we added some standing exercises. We also took a walk down the street! We only walked to the second driveway down the street from my house, but my GOD it was exhausting. After I turned around to come home, I could feel my hip gradually getting weaker and my limp becoming more pronounced. It felt good to get out. Ellen said she would call Madalyn (Clohisy’s nurse) to see if I could possibly start outpatient PT before I return to see Clohisy on July 21. That would be AMAZING. She also gave me the go-ahead to leave the house again, which is great because all of a sudden I felt my energy return yesterday! Standing in the kitchen was no longer making me light-headed and I was able to move about the house more. Each day really does get easier.

Today (Friday) I was still tired and sore from PT yesterday, maybe a 3.5/10 (my pain norm seems to be a 2-3 unless I’m moving about or tweak my hip doing something). I have been taking hour-ish naps every day, but today I took almost a 3 hour coma and felt SO refreshed after. It seems the more I do, the more exhausted I get (duh Lydia) so I imagine these naps will continue for quite a while. I am worried about my energy level when I return to work. If I feel anything like I do now, I will need to do some half days. My mom also left tonight and I miss her comfort and humor and company already!

Overall, this week was great. I am still sleeping in my CPM machine every night, taking my Norco (either 1.5 or 2) every 4 hours, taking asprin and senna at 8am and 8pm, and not drinking alcohol (minus sips from Jon or my mom). I have pooped with some regularity, and I’m thankful for that because narcotics really cause issues in that department. My pain never breaks a 5, and that’s usually at night after I’ve had a long day and I get super cranky and usually end up crying a little bit from frustration and pain and tiredness. My sister arrives on Tuesday (!!!!!) and I am looking forward to going out on some adventures with her and using my handicap parking sticker 🙂 Onward!

Day 5

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I have been home for three nights and two full days. So far, my recovery is fortunately pretty stagnant. My pain never increases or decreases, only my energy and crankiness levels fluctuate. I get easily exhausted by visitors (please don’t let this deter you from visiting!) and from moving around too much. I’ve tried to take some quality naps, though it usually ends up with me just laying in bed half asleep.

My home CPM machine arrived on Thursday. This was a MUCH better experience than the hospital. It helps that our bed is (obviously) perfectly flat and I can readjust however I desire. I really enjoy sleeping in the machine because it keeps me from getting stiff and sore, and for some reason it also is uncomfortable to have my knee perfectly straight.

Two amazing home nurses came to visit on Thursday. They changed my wound dressing, allowing me the first view of my scar. It’s amazing how much work they can do through only a 4-inch incision! It was smaller and neater than either Jon or I anticipated, so I am looking forward to minimal scarring. The nurses will come twice a week until I can start outpatient physical therapy. They both brightened my day by admiring how well I was recovering.

My ice machine made a miraculous return. Friday morning I got a call from Barnes-Jewish, and it was the security lady I had left a voicemail for on Wednesday when it went missing! Amazingly, some kind soul turned it in to lost and found. Jon’s mom went and picked it up for me immediately and I have been happily icing ever since.

I kicked out the Vistaril from my pain management regimen yesterday. After researching my medicine side effects, I deduced that it was Vistaril that was making my eyes unable to focus and my brain just generally mushy. I woke up today feeling more clear-headed and focused than I had all week, and no noticeable difference in my pain, so that’s great. My goal for this coming week is to gradually cut down on the frequency with which I take Norco.

Everything is going well. I can’t believe how lucky I am with a relatively issue-free recovery so far. Looking forward to my next Clohisy visit (in 3.5 weeks….) and an X-ray to see how my bones are growing. Onward!

What the heck was I thinking?

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(Written Wednesday evening, a few hours after we arrived home from the hospital. Most of it didn’t hold true starting the next day, but I still need to post it because it shows the horrible, along with the great)

Day 3.

I have made a horrible mistake. How could I have decided to do this to myself? Every time I make a movement my crotch cries out “WHYYYYY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!” And I cry right back, because I don’t have a good answer. It feels like there’s a little elf in there with a tiny knife when I move in a terrible way.

Otherwise, The last two days have been pretty good pain-wise. I was walking and talking and had a great appetite and all of that went downhill the second I got home. Actually, it got shitty the second the nurse tried to “help” me into the car but didn’t realize I couldn’t put full weight on my leg/hip and let me almost fall and die. Traumatic. I think that episode is the cause of my extreme discomfort currently.

Then we get home and realize we had left my saving grace, the Kodiak water machine ice pack, on the curb of the hospital. Jon zoomed back to get it but it was gone for good.

Now I am positioned ever-so-carefully in my bed with a zillion pillows and all my pain pills within arms reach. I can’t see myself sleeping very well, though I don’t have the CPM machine tonight strapped in tonight, so we will see. I already miss the nurses coming in every 4 hours to give me meds and take care of my needs. It was nice to not have to worry about my pill schedule, and it was extra nice to be able to try out a bunch of different meds to figure out what worked best. My current concoction is 2 Norcos every 4 hours, a Vistaril every 6, and a naproxen every 12. It worked well in the hospital but I’m a little concerned about my pain levels now, so we might have to reevaluate tomorrow.

Well, wish my husband luck. I’m so unhappy. This is a side of Lydia you never ever want to see.

The day my life changed.

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We arrived at the hospital at 10am on a bright, sunny Monday morning. I hopped and skipped all the way to the hospital, knowing that it would be my last chance to do so for quite some time. It was easy enough to find surgery registration, where we signed my life away and took a seat in an enormous, cavernous waiting room filled with waiting families. 10ish minutes later, my time was up.

We were taken back to a semi-private gurney area where I changed my clothes, took a urine sample (surprise! not pregnant), got stuck 3 times before they finally got an IV going (I normally have excellent veins, but today they were not cooperating), answered “What are you here for?” more times than I could count, and gave my husbands’ hand the death grip. I was so nervous and on the brink of tears the whole time. Finally, Clohisy and his resident came by to verify everything and signed my hip and that was that. They stuck some anxiety meds into my IV and I don’t remember anything after that. I wish I remembered giving mangosquash a goodbye kiss.

Before I knew it, I was awake in recovery and feeling okay. The only semi-funny thing I remember exclaiming was “it doesn’t hurt very much!”, and then I remember being annoyed because they kept telling me it would be 2 hours until my husband could visit. Then 1:45 until he could visit. Then 1:30 until he could visit. DUDE BRING ME MY HUSBAND I’M SCARED AND ALONE AND SO COLD. I also remember they made me arch my back so they could shove an x-ray screen behind my hips and I though “you’re letting me do this myself? after you just chopped my hips in half?!”, and then I demanded they make me a copy of the X-ray so I could show everyone. I am glad for high, pushy Lydia because otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten to see the X-ray at all. So proud.

After what felt like forever. my dear husband came back and I was soooooo relieved. He showed me all the text conversations he’d been having with my loved ones (thank you to everyone for your prayers and and care and concern and good vibes and juju and everything! I know it helped get Jon through while he was waiting) and I tried responding, but every single word had a spelling error (full disclosure – so did every single word of the previous two blog posts I posted. It took me a VERY long time to have to backspace and correct every. single. word. I wish I was kidding. Don’t blog high, kids.) so I took some selfies instead.

From recovery, they took me up to my room. I don’t remember much of the transfer but I do remember asking many, many times if I would have my own room (thank you again, high Lydia, for being my advocate). The nurse said “technically it’s a shared room, but we aren’t very busy so 90% chance it’ll be all yours”. And I got lucky, which meant Jon could stay both nights with me. I can’t imagine sharing a room, with all the midnight wake-ups and people coming and going for me AND another person, I never would have slept!

That first night, my pain never got above a 6 or 7, and that was only when I had to move around. When I was stationary, it was a comfortable 3 or 4. I had a pain pump (AMAAAAZING!) and a catheter (ALSO amaaaazing!) so I had a constant flow of relief AND I didn’t have to get up to use the bathroom. Seriously, if you have an option to get a catheter during surgery or any hospital stay, DO IT. It seems awkward and uncomfortable, but it saves you from having to get up at all. I wish I had one now for pure laziness reasons…..

With my nurses help, I was able to get up and take a little journey around my room with a walker. It was a shock to my system, for SURE, plus I was battling super low blood pressure for the duration of my hospital stay, so I ended up getting sick not too long after. I started drinking sugary juice with every med time and drinking lots of water, and I was luckily fine for the rest of my stay.

Sleeping ended up not being as horrible as I anticipated, either, one of my drugs (Vistaril) ended up KNOCKING ME OUT, like falling asleep with my eyes open and jolting myself awake kind of knocking out. My surgeon had requested I sleep in a CPM machine (continuous passive motion) to keep my hip flexing throughout the night. When the CPM delivery man came in to fit me is when I had my one and only hospital breakdown. The machine is the length of a leg, with a leg cradle attached to a motorized base. There was a metal bar that sits parallel to the bed right under the thigh, but because of the angle at which I had my bed positioned at the time, it ended up about 2 inches off the bed and right underneath my butt (RIGHT where I just had some bones rearranged). The CPM man was NOT a medical professional at all, and just kind of grabbed my leg and plopped it in the cradle with no regards to my broken hip, so that was shocking and painful. He started babbling on to me about how it works and I’m sitting there overwhelmed and in pain from his actions and this stupid metal bar under my butt, and he kept saying “oh you’ll get used to it” and finally, through tears, I managed to tell him “NO I WILL NOT THERE IS A BAR UNDER MY BUTT THIS IS NOT OKAY, you need to fix it!”. He still didn’t quite understand and finally my nurse came in and she realized what I meant. We just needed to flatten my bed almost all the way and then it was fine. I am still mad at Mr. CPM machine. I wish I could fill out a customer service survey on my experience with him. Luckily, it ended up being ok, and sleeping was more comfortable with the CPM machine because it kept me from getting stiff, and also kept me from wanting to roll onto my sides, my usual sleeping position.

Tuesday was an overall amazing day. I had a physical therapist come visit me to teach me strengthening exercises and get me up walking. Because of how well my surgery had gone, Clohisy had released me to 50% weight bearing (normal is 20%!) so moving around was a lot easier because I could actually use my bum leg for more than just balance. I quickly decided that my crutches would be my main means of transportation, mostly because our house is too small for a walker, and also they’re just easier to maneuver. My PT was amazed with the ease at which I could move around which made me feel GREAT. Honestly, I had expected everything to be WAY more difficult and MUCH more painful than it was. The only thing that really caused me any excruciating pain was swinging my legs off the bed. I have figured out that I can slide up from the bottom of the bed and crawl my way back to avoid this, though, so that’s great. I also had a visit from the occupational therapist to teach me how to use tools to put on my pants and underwear and socks and shoes. That visit wasn’t very exciting, honestly.

The two days at the hospital flew by. I tried out some different pain meds before finding a combo that would work at home. I found that my brain was extremely fuzzy, making it so hard to focus on anything, including watching a simple TV show, so I sat and colored and went on Facebook and talked to Jon and the nurses. Speaking of nurses, I had three AMAZING nurses and one nurse I didn’t see much of the day of my release. Shout out to Annie, Marie, and Michael! My dear friends Lindsey and Maria came to visit, along with a pastor from our church and Jon’s parents. It was nice to see some outside faces, but MAN did it wipe me out.

Finally, on Wednesday, I got to go home!

Anxious

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There is one thing that I am particularly good at, and that is worrying about and overthinking most things. As you can imagine, this whole surgery process was one big continuous anxious event.

I had three months to wait between scheduling surgery and the actual surgery date. While this is fairly standard for anyone getting a PAO, due to the limited specialists in the states, I do not recommend waiting this long. If you are like me, you will take advantage of that time to read about it, talk to other people that had the surgery, think about it, and learn as much as possible about the surgery and recovery. That probably sounds like a good thing, to be over prepared, but it was horrible for my anxiety. By mid-May, about halfway through my waiting period, I had stopped researching altogether and I had to remove myself from the amazing Facebook support group I had become a part of. I had learned TOO much, and was constantly thinking about the negatives, what-if’s, risks, and worst case scenarios. Surgery filled every thought I had, and became so unhealthy because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. If I wanted my hip to get better, I need the surgery. I can either get it now, while I am young and healthy and childless, or wait until my symptoms are more extreme in my 30’s or 40’s, when I have small children to take care of and my body won’t bounce back as quickly, and risk having to get a total hip replacement. The PAO is a hip preservation surgery to hopefully stave off the need to ever get a THR, as those greatly limit your activities forever.

So by the time my surgery arrived, I was not really in a good place mentally. I had tried to stop thinking about it at all and go into surgery with a very open mind, prepared to kick butt in recovery, but if I’m being honest, I felt like a small child inside throwing a tantrum. The day before my surgery, this past Sunday, I refused to pack my hospital bag for the longest time. I was in a state of denial about what was about to happen. Most of my day was filled with on-and-off panic attacks and lots of tears. Why was I doing this to myself? Why me? Why now? Is there anyway I can get out of the surgery? Maybe I don’t need to be active ever again! I can give up running and walking and sports and comfortable pregnancies and childbirth, right?

It was horrible. And then I had the surgery the following morning.

Periacetabular Osteotomy

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Hello all,

I must apologize for my absence. I promise it was for a mostly good reason. Remember how I said back in January one of my goals was to go to the gym more and run, but that I was still in physical therapy for some hip issues?

Turns out these hip issues aren’t just a little fixable problem. It’s a HUGE fixable problem, and it’s called hip dysplasia. Basically my hip sockets are too shallow so the head of my femur doesn’t sit in the acetabulum deep enough, thus causing instability, weakness, pain, and eventually osteoarthritis. Luckily, I have zero arthritis in my hips and I’m pretty young and overall healthy, allowing me to be a perfect candidate for a hip preservation surgery called “Periacetabular Osteotomy”. Sound scary?

IT IS SCARY. They make a 4-8 inch incision on the front of your hip, move aside muscles and tendons, and then they cut your pelvic bone around the socket, rotate it, and screw it back into place, allowing new bone will grow in the “holes” and making it as good as new (most likely).

So after seeing 2 ortho surgeons, one finally said the term “hip dysplasia”, causing me to cry. I had googled everything that could even remotely sound like my symptoms, and when I got to hip dysplasia, I shrugged it off quickly. Turns out, it was real.

I found via Instagram a young lady my age also had DDH (developmental dysplasia of the hip – a fancy term for “acquiring it in your growing years”) and had flown up to St. Louis from Texas to get it fixed with this surgery. It was through her that I found out about Dr. Clohisy, one of the top 5 surgeons in the States that perform this surgery, and one of maybe 20 in the states that even perform the surgery with any regularity. I called him in January to get an appointment and was told that he had an 8-week waiting list for visits. So I waited.

Finally March 10 rolled around and I am so nervous. Certainly he wasn’t going to tell me I need to slice my hips in half, right? Boy was I wrong. He walked me through step-by-step the nature of the surgery and how it would help my own specific hips. I scheduled my surgery that day – June 22 is now D-Day. Over 3 months away. Sounds great.

Full disclosure: I am now on the other side of the surgery with a much more realistic outlook about the surgery and recovery process. It sucks. So definitely stay tuned.