They are fancy wrap around compression gadgets that pressurize my legs every 20 - 60 seconds to force blood flow through my legs. I have to wear them until I am walking regularly, but they don't bother me ... my legs are numb anyway and I'm not exactly feeling much. And the pump is quiet. These are used to prevent blood clots, because blood clots cause stokes, and I'd hate to come through all this process then die of a stroke. That would suck.
So, Day 3.
I've hit that day where the swelling is at it's worst, the high of surviving the initial surgery is gone, and pain medications have been reduced. In other words, reality is setting in. I'm tired. Very, very tired.
I woke up well rested at 5:30am when my nurse brought me my wee hours of the morning cocktail of drugs. My incredibly busy morning consisted of eating breakfast (Rice Crispies this morning!), unsuccessful attempt number gazillion at the commode and texting friends and family.
Morning Exercices
The deadly physio duo showed up for my "bed exercises" (not nearly as fun as you may be thinking). Essentially modified quad curls, leg extensions and abductor muscle exercises. Sounds exciting doesn't it. In reality, 15 reps of those three exercises on my weak, spazzy leg exhausted me.
They gave me a break for an hour (where I napped), and then we did "marches". Yep, standing in one spot, being held up by two people and an underarm walker. The objective was to lift each knee 15 times. That's a real challenge when you don't know if one of your feet is even on the floor, let alone your knee being in proper position to hold up your weight. I was unsuccessful more than once, wobbled, leaned heavily on the physio ladies, foot flopped all over, landing nowhere near where my brain was directing it. I have a distinct lack of connection between brain command and foot action.
I had a break for lunch and more texting (and more nap), and then it was time to sit in a chair for half and hour. Who'd'a thought. Sit for half an hour. Yep, two people to help me move to a chair, sit for half and hour and two people to move me back to bed. Sorry to those who were a little freaked out by that sight.
They are stubborn, these physio people, but I think I'm one of their few patients who actually want to be doing, and see the importance of, the physio. I'm the one who sees the walker come in the room and says "ooooh, do we get to go walkies? ??" Kinda like a puppy seeing a leash. I WANT TO WALK!!!
Rehab and going home
But I don't get to home next week because I won't be able to walk out. They are going to keep me here and move me to the rehab unit - a "medium" rehab centre designed for those requiring 4 days to 4 weeks of physiotherapy (there's no occupational therapy). I'm told that today is the worst of the leg swelling and that it should start to subside. The nerve swelling in my spinal cord will take upwards of a year to heal, but any of my movement being restricted by leg swelling should start to improve.
My neurosurgeon seems confident that I will walk again. My physio ladies say they have seen significant improvement over only three days and that I'm doing fabulously. Tonight I'm so tired, I overdid it, and had too much company, so my legs are just deadly numb and I can only see what I can't do. I can't get out of bed on my own. If there is something just outside my reach that I want, I can't get it - I have to call someone. The food for dinner was crappy and the nursing staff are pouring laxatives and prune juice into me as fast as they can (and they refuse to believe that the best trick, is lots of coffee first thing in the morning). Walking seems like a lifetime away.
For tonight, I eat the fresh fruit my friends brought, take yet another nap and hope tomorrow brings a day that feels like I achieved something.
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