Stuck in the middle
This weekend I am down at the coast and trying to keep to a routine of doing my new, more strenuous, physio exercises. Now six weeks out from my hip operation (the point at which, anecdotally, most ‘hippers’ are told they should be fit enough to return to work) I am still some way behind where I’d like to be – by which I mean specifically able to drop my second walking stick and walk without a limp.
When seeing the physio for the first time last week he told me that I was two weeks behind schedule largely because I ended up going for my first physio appointment two weeks behind schedule.
Sounds pretty fair and logical.
Well, of course, except that said delay was entirely down to an administrative mix-up between hospital and my local physio unit and only came to light because, concerned I hadn’t any physio, I actually rang my GP to ask why not.
Still, never mind. I left the physio last Monday armed with four new – far more exacting – exercises to do, split into three sets of 10, to be performed once a day … and, if I really wanted swift progress, maybe even twice – once in the morning and once in the evening.
I spent the rest of Monday doing ‘chores’, figuring that I’d begin my ‘two sessions per day’ routine first thing Tuesday morning.
Tuesday I then had to go upon an expedition to an important ‘family summit’ which effectively took up much of the day, after which I then decided to flop … and begin my new fitness regime on Wednesday.
Wednesday I had a bucket load of work to do in the morning and then, at 2.00pm I had to join a work colleague at his home for a two hour session upon a project … from which I returned home late enough that I had time to attempt only half my first-ever physio exercise routine – which proved particularly exhausting I might add – before flopping into bed after a meal, this on the basis that I’d live to ‘fight another day’ (again).
Thursday I got myself tied up with all sorts of things and really didn’t have time to do my exercises, so left them to be begun upon Friday morning.
Friday morning I went to conduct my ablutions and discovered during my shower that I had what appeared to be a swelling at the top of my operation scar. This symptom was subsequently found, upon looking at myself naked in the full length mirror, to be accompanied by a pronounced redness (possibly a rash?) that certainly hadn’t been there before. Given that ‘infection’ in the aftermath of an operation is one of the things that one is warned to guard against and report immediately, I then popped along to my GP to ask to see a nurse, just to have confirmed whether or not the ‘rash’ was anything to worry about – you know, with the Bank Holiday Weekend coming up and everything.
The GP surgery said I could not see the nurse until at least 4.30pm – this was no good because by then I had been half-hoping to have reached the coast for the weekend. It was then suggested that I should attend a local hospital where a ‘Walk-In Centre’ was being operated.
Off I went to do that. By the time I’d been seen, 90 minutes later, the nurse had given me a prescription for antibiotics and an instruction that – if I began running a temperature at any point over the weekend (a sure sign of infection), I was to ring ‘111’ and get myself to a local ‘Walk-In Centre’ and/or a hospital pronto without fail.
And so we came to the coast.
Yesterday (Saturday) afternoon I attempted my first-ever session of my proper full-on physio exercises upon my newly-purchased-for-the-purpose yoga mat thingy.
All four exercises are quite tough. Completing one set of what is required is hard, and in the cases of one exercise – lying sideways upon the floor and lifting my bad hip sideways/upwards – I can barely lift said leg an inch from the mat! After completing a first set of all four exercises, I took a ten minute break to take a (much-needed) rest and then began my second – of the intended three – sets in all.
Halfway through the first exercise (sitting in a chair and then standing up and sitting down again, all the while keeping my arms criss-crossed across my chest) I felt a ‘ping’ in the middle of my bad thigh and thereafter a sharp pain every time I stood up. I therefore stopped after two more ‘stands’ and abandoned the entire project for the day.
Two months ago I was confidently expecting to be playing both squash and the violin again by this stage, especially since I regarded myself as an active 64 year old ‘hipper’ and not a decrepit 84-year-old one.
I’m not laughing now …
