I'm finally sort of able to sit up and write a bit. There are a few points I'd like to make:
1. If your insurance company offers to loan you an adjustable hospital bed, say yes. If your doctor or your physical therapist tells you not to accept the adjustable hospital bed, say BITE ME.
2. There is no way a THR patient should be sent home from the hospital after two days. I need to still be in the hospital now. I believe I should have remained in the hospital for at least five, maybe as many as ten days. I assume it's the insurance companies who do not allow this. This "two days only" policy is, I believe, very recent. It's cruel.
3. If you have THR, make sure you have somebody to help you at home round the clock. I had the surgery four days ago, and I still need help doing even the simplest things. I have to wake my husband in the middle of the night just to help me move into a slightly different sleeping position, for example.
Although I have come a long way since Wednesday, I am still more incapacitated than I've ever been in my life. The Lortab for pain was making me vomit, so I'm back on Darvocet, which does almost nothing. I spend a lot of time lying in bed because sitting up makes me dizzy and nauseous, but if I spend too much time in bed, my back becomes extremely stiff and sore. So there is no way to be comfortable, ever. An adjustable bed would have helped quite a bit with all this. Each of my legs has to be carefully balanced on pillows and a foam abductor pillow has to be set between the legs to keep my operative leg from leaning or flopping in (and therefore causing excruciating pain). With an adjustable bed, you just crank up the foot of the bed. Problem solved. Without an adjustable bed, you have to wake your husband and he has to go through the complicated and delicate process of repositioning all the pillows.
This post probably doesn't make much sense, because I'm still pretty out of it. I can only sit up in a chair for about fifteen minutes before my back begins to ache. My whole body is extremely weak, and I am still not allowed to shower. The incision is still draining slightly, and it's supposed to be completely dry before I can get it wet.
I have not been able to care for the kids at all. Not even for one second.
Gotta go back to bed.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
Pukiness
Still Lee:
TLL was able to sit at her computer for a few minutes today and read your comments. They mean a lot to us, as does all of the help and good wishes.
Unfortunately, the day devolved into vomiting. Blueberry vomit, if you're wondering. Pretty spectacular. Here's a little tip: How do you tell blueberry vomit from bloody vomit? Bloody vomit may look like coffee grounds, and it certainly will be dark in color and smell like blood. Blueberry vomit smells like blueberries and is brighter in color. If it ever comes up (har har), now you know.
So, after consulting with someone named Gail at the Joint Replacement Center, we've switched over to Darvocet and stepped up the laxative. Remains to be seen whether the Darvocet will be sufficient for the pain.
Before his bath, Thing 1 visited his mother in our bedroom. He had a lot of technical questions about crutches. (Those of you who know him can imagine.) He also said the sweetest things. Like, "Mama, I hope your hip feels better soon so you can go downstairs to eat your blueberries." And more stuff like that. A wag might find a possible cause of pukiness right there. I guess I'm not a wag. I got a little misty to tell you the truth.
TLL was able to sit at her computer for a few minutes today and read your comments. They mean a lot to us, as does all of the help and good wishes.
Unfortunately, the day devolved into vomiting. Blueberry vomit, if you're wondering. Pretty spectacular. Here's a little tip: How do you tell blueberry vomit from bloody vomit? Bloody vomit may look like coffee grounds, and it certainly will be dark in color and smell like blood. Blueberry vomit smells like blueberries and is brighter in color. If it ever comes up (har har), now you know.
So, after consulting with someone named Gail at the Joint Replacement Center, we've switched over to Darvocet and stepped up the laxative. Remains to be seen whether the Darvocet will be sufficient for the pain.
Before his bath, Thing 1 visited his mother in our bedroom. He had a lot of technical questions about crutches. (Those of you who know him can imagine.) He also said the sweetest things. Like, "Mama, I hope your hip feels better soon so you can go downstairs to eat your blueberries." And more stuff like that. A wag might find a possible cause of pukiness right there. I guess I'm not a wag. I got a little misty to tell you the truth.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Home
Still Lee, I'm afraid:
Another up and down day. I got to the hospital just in time to see TLL puke up her french toast and, apparently, some of yesterday's rice noodle salad from the Mekong. This breaks a streak all of 9 days long. TLL took this rather hard, as it in all probability means her pain pills (Lortab) are making her sick. We don't want that to happen, because the alternative (Darvocet) doesn't actually do much for pain. Darvocet is sort of the O'Doul's of painkillers.
She did all she needed to at the hospital -- peed, walked with the forearm crutches, did some stairs -- but we waited around until 4 p.m. trying to determine if the Lortab would maker her sick again. So far it hasn't.
She got home in time to see the kids eating their curry, always a vivid, yellow experience, then went up the bed. Between the pain, having to lie in one position, and the rather awkward arrangement we had to make to get her feet elevated, she's really, really uncomfortable tonight. Also, someone forgot to freeze the ice packs. So.
I have good company in the dog house. The good name of the medical establishment is really being dragged through the mud right now.
TLL got some nice schwag today, too. Designer cookies, a gardenia, another plant the name of which escapes me. Thanks for the good wishes, telephone calls, gifts, and so on. It's appreciated. We're working hard to remember (and believe) this is going to get better. Wheee!
Another up and down day. I got to the hospital just in time to see TLL puke up her french toast and, apparently, some of yesterday's rice noodle salad from the Mekong. This breaks a streak all of 9 days long. TLL took this rather hard, as it in all probability means her pain pills (Lortab) are making her sick. We don't want that to happen, because the alternative (Darvocet) doesn't actually do much for pain. Darvocet is sort of the O'Doul's of painkillers.
She did all she needed to at the hospital -- peed, walked with the forearm crutches, did some stairs -- but we waited around until 4 p.m. trying to determine if the Lortab would maker her sick again. So far it hasn't.
She got home in time to see the kids eating their curry, always a vivid, yellow experience, then went up the bed. Between the pain, having to lie in one position, and the rather awkward arrangement we had to make to get her feet elevated, she's really, really uncomfortable tonight. Also, someone
I have good company in the dog house. The good name of the medical establishment is really being dragged through the mud right now.
TLL got some nice schwag today, too. Designer cookies, a gardenia, another plant the name of which escapes me. Thanks for the good wishes, telephone calls, gifts, and so on. It's appreciated. We're working hard to remember (and believe) this is going to get better. Wheee!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Day 2
Lee reporting:
Day 2 was rather shakier than Day 1. This was not altogether unexpected. You see, the narcotics in the spine wear off after 24 hours. The first difficulty was sitting up to eat breakfast. She became light-headed (perhaps because of pain pills, perhaps because of the excitement of seeing a sausage biscuit) and had to be hustled back to bed. Her blood pressure was also low enough to cause some concern, but this is pretty common after surgery.
Over the course of the day, her blood pressure improved, and she never had another case of the vapors. She took a couple of good walks around the JCR -- 130 feet the first time, 180 the second. Getting into and out of the bed remained difficult, but there were no more scary popping noises. (The surgeon said yesterday's popping noises were probably a couple of stitches coming loose. This was meant to be reassuring.)
As the day wore on, pain became a big problem. Pain killers help some, but she hurts right now. After I got home, she called to say insult had been added to injury: the night nurse was mean, hurrying her into and out of bed, yanking her leg, and bitching when Louise yelled in pain. So you know what? I don't like this person. Uh uh. No sir. Her shift was over at eleven, so with some luck she has by now ridden her broomstick out of our lives never to be seen again.
Tomorrow Louise will go to the bathroom, use her forearm crutches, and climb some stairs. Then she'll be ready to come home, probably sometime in the afternoon. She's apprehensive about this, but I know she's tough. And the kids and I can't wait to have her home again.
Day 2 was rather shakier than Day 1. This was not altogether unexpected. You see, the narcotics in the spine wear off after 24 hours. The first difficulty was sitting up to eat breakfast. She became light-headed (perhaps because of pain pills, perhaps because of the excitement of seeing a sausage biscuit) and had to be hustled back to bed. Her blood pressure was also low enough to cause some concern, but this is pretty common after surgery.
Over the course of the day, her blood pressure improved, and she never had another case of the vapors. She took a couple of good walks around the JCR -- 130 feet the first time, 180 the second. Getting into and out of the bed remained difficult, but there were no more scary popping noises. (The surgeon said yesterday's popping noises were probably a couple of stitches coming loose. This was meant to be reassuring.)
As the day wore on, pain became a big problem. Pain killers help some, but she hurts right now. After I got home, she called to say insult had been added to injury: the night nurse was mean, hurrying her into and out of bed, yanking her leg, and bitching when Louise yelled in pain. So you know what? I don't like this person. Uh uh. No sir. Her shift was over at eleven, so with some luck she has by now ridden her broomstick out of our lives never to be seen again.
Tomorrow Louise will go to the bathroom, use her forearm crutches, and climb some stairs. Then she'll be ready to come home, probably sometime in the afternoon. She's apprehensive about this, but I know she's tough. And the kids and I can't wait to have her home again.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
A Good Day for Cutting, Sawing, Hammering, Stitching, Etc.
Lee here, reporting events as best I can remember them.
The Little Lady and I left for the hospital at the breakabreaka dawn. Check-in time was 6:30. We were there about twenty minutes early. TLL likes to be early for things. Me, I don't mind being early for things -- as long as it's not surgery. Then I'm not so into the early thing. But that's me.
TLL was given a hospital gown, fly socks with rubbery bits, a hat. She changed into these and filled out more paperwork of the I'm-really-sure-it's-my-right-hip variety. We chatted. There was some fretting about this and that. In particular there was fretting about enema efficacy. Then the man came to wheel her off to pre-op where husbands and such are not allowed.
I was given a (very, very small) piece of paper directing me to the Joint Replacement Center, and, after the kissing TLL goodbye, struck off for the waiting room. I actually opened the JRC. It was deserted at that time on a Tuesday morning, literally. The lights were off. I turned the lights on and settled in for a morning of old Time magazines and Virginia Fish and Game ("2007 Crappie Forecast"). At the end I was actually tempted by the Guideposts with Kellie Pickler on the cover ("Raised by an Angel") but elected instead to stare into space.
Meanwhile, the star of this show was given some IV drugs to make her sleepy. A nurse (or maybe doctor?) came and stage-whispered to her, "I had my hip replaced. You are going to be so happy." Another nurse described to her how the anesthetist would administer the spinal. She was directed to sit on the edge of the bed and lean forward. There was some discussion about which needle to poke into her back, and that's the last thing she remembered until . . . pop! She woke up in recovery.
She was in recovery about twice as long as expected, almost two and a half hours. Apparently this was because they had to give her more juice when, during surgery, she began saying that she could feel what they were doing.
Wowza.
Fortunately, she has no memory of this. So she waited in recovery, listening to other patients talking about kids, a subject near and dear to her heart.
When TLL was able to move her feet, she was released to the Joint Replacement Center. I was notified and got to see her in her room. She looked great and was in a great mood. I think the combination of relief, absence of pain, and, critically, the morphine pickling her spine made her euphoric. She and I had a great afternoon, just chatting. It was like the last time we had a date -- when Thing 2 was getting born.
A few of her wonderful and resourceful friends called. From what I can remember, they mostly talked about enema efficacy ("disappointing," "non-event").
We kept expecting her to throw up. But since her last surgery (ankle) they have apparently improved the management of anesthetic-induced vomiting. She wore a sea-sickness patch behind her ear, and that seemed to do the trick. (As a bonus side-effect, she could see some trails. Trippy.)
I stuck around to see her walk for the first time at a little before 4 p.m. The physical therapist came in, gave some general advice about how to get out of bed, gestured vaguely, and watched as TLL swung her legs out of bed and, using a walker, walked out of the room, a little ways into the hall, turned around, walked back, and lay down.
The new hip did pop loudly a couple of times as she got into and out of the bed. This didn't seem to raise too much alarm among the staff, but it sure wasn't pleasant to hear. We did ask for an explanation and were told, "Sometimes they do that."
Here's an interesting factoid I forgot to include above: A representative of the manufacturer of the bionic hip was in the room during the surgery. I guess they consult? Like, "Yeah, the big end goes up, the little end you pound down into the femur." Or something?
To everyone who has commented, I'll convey your good wishes. It means a lot to her. Please keep it coming!
I know this second-hand account is not what you paid your two bits to see. Just a couple more days until you-know-who returns to give you all the juicy bits. Thing 1, Thing 2, and I can't wait.
The Little Lady and I left for the hospital at the breakabreaka dawn. Check-in time was 6:30. We were there about twenty minutes early. TLL likes to be early for things. Me, I don't mind being early for things -- as long as it's not surgery. Then I'm not so into the early thing. But that's me.
TLL was given a hospital gown, fly socks with rubbery bits, a hat. She changed into these and filled out more paperwork of the I'm-really-sure-it's-my-right-hip variety. We chatted. There was some fretting about this and that. In particular there was fretting about enema efficacy. Then the man came to wheel her off to pre-op where husbands and such are not allowed.
I was given a (very, very small) piece of paper directing me to the Joint Replacement Center, and, after the kissing TLL goodbye, struck off for the waiting room. I actually opened the JRC. It was deserted at that time on a Tuesday morning, literally. The lights were off. I turned the lights on and settled in for a morning of old Time magazines and Virginia Fish and Game ("2007 Crappie Forecast"). At the end I was actually tempted by the Guideposts with Kellie Pickler on the cover ("Raised by an Angel") but elected instead to stare into space.
Meanwhile, the star of this show was given some IV drugs to make her sleepy. A nurse (or maybe doctor?) came and stage-whispered to her, "I had my hip replaced. You are going to be so happy." Another nurse described to her how the anesthetist would administer the spinal. She was directed to sit on the edge of the bed and lean forward. There was some discussion about which needle to poke into her back, and that's the last thing she remembered until . . . pop! She woke up in recovery.
She was in recovery about twice as long as expected, almost two and a half hours. Apparently this was because they had to give her more juice when, during surgery, she began saying that she could feel what they were doing.
Wowza.
Fortunately, she has no memory of this. So she waited in recovery, listening to other patients talking about kids, a subject near and dear to her heart.
When TLL was able to move her feet, she was released to the Joint Replacement Center. I was notified and got to see her in her room. She looked great and was in a great mood. I think the combination of relief, absence of pain, and, critically, the morphine pickling her spine made her euphoric. She and I had a great afternoon, just chatting. It was like the last time we had a date -- when Thing 2 was getting born.
A few of her wonderful and resourceful friends called. From what I can remember, they mostly talked about enema efficacy ("disappointing," "non-event").
We kept expecting her to throw up. But since her last surgery (ankle) they have apparently improved the management of anesthetic-induced vomiting. She wore a sea-sickness patch behind her ear, and that seemed to do the trick. (As a bonus side-effect, she could see some trails. Trippy.)
I stuck around to see her walk for the first time at a little before 4 p.m. The physical therapist came in, gave some general advice about how to get out of bed, gestured vaguely, and watched as TLL swung her legs out of bed and, using a walker, walked out of the room, a little ways into the hall, turned around, walked back, and lay down.
The new hip did pop loudly a couple of times as she got into and out of the bed. This didn't seem to raise too much alarm among the staff, but it sure wasn't pleasant to hear. We did ask for an explanation and were told, "Sometimes they do that."
Here's an interesting factoid I forgot to include above: A representative of the manufacturer of the bionic hip was in the room during the surgery. I guess they consult? Like, "Yeah, the big end goes up, the little end you pound down into the femur." Or something?
To everyone who has commented, I'll convey your good wishes. It means a lot to her. Please keep it coming!
I know this second-hand account is not what you paid your two bits to see. Just a couple more days until you-know-who returns to give you all the juicy bits. Thing 1, Thing 2, and I can't wait.
All Systems Nominal
Everything went well today. She's in great spirits. Even did a little (supervised) walking on the bionic hip. Details to follow later tonight.
Monday, June 25, 2007
The night before
My last day with the original hip is just about over. Before bed I have to take a shower and scrub myself down with something called Dyna-Hex. I then have to dry off with a clean towel, put on clean pajamas, and sleep on clean sheets. When I get up at 5 am, I have to take another shower, scrub myself down again with Dyna-Hex, and head out for the surgery. This is all an effort to combat some kind of staph infection they have in hospitals, so I'm happy to do it. I'll be really clean.
I've had a rather panicky day. Freaking out about everything, especially the kids. I almost couldn't put Scrunch into his crib because I was so sad to leave him, and when I kissed the other one goodnight, I almost had a total breakdown.
I don't have a lot more to say. Lee will post tomorrow to give an update on my condition. The surgery takes about an hour and a half, so I should be in the recovery room by 9 am. Not sure when Lee will be able to post, since we won't have a laptop at the hospital.
I'm looking forward to getting rid of my hip pain, or at least for trading the current pain in on a new kind of pain. I'm not looking forward to being housebound for so long, but that's just the way it is. I'll be under some serious restrictions for a long time. No crossing the legs or ankles, no reaching across my body, no rotating the right foot in, no bending down, no showering, and no sitting for more than 45 minutes at a time. It's a lot to remember.
I am the first hip surgery of the morning. I sure hope it all goes well.
I've had a rather panicky day. Freaking out about everything, especially the kids. I almost couldn't put Scrunch into his crib because I was so sad to leave him, and when I kissed the other one goodnight, I almost had a total breakdown.
I don't have a lot more to say. Lee will post tomorrow to give an update on my condition. The surgery takes about an hour and a half, so I should be in the recovery room by 9 am. Not sure when Lee will be able to post, since we won't have a laptop at the hospital.
I'm looking forward to getting rid of my hip pain, or at least for trading the current pain in on a new kind of pain. I'm not looking forward to being housebound for so long, but that's just the way it is. I'll be under some serious restrictions for a long time. No crossing the legs or ankles, no reaching across my body, no rotating the right foot in, no bending down, no showering, and no sitting for more than 45 minutes at a time. It's a lot to remember.
I am the first hip surgery of the morning. I sure hope it all goes well.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Last minute preparations, and chairs
I spent today doing last minute shopping to get ready for the surgery, and I've also been working on getting the house set up. The medics at Joint Camp told me to remove or secure all rugs, so I don't trip over them with my crutches when I come home from the hospital. I took care of that with some carpet tape which I hope will hold.
My biggest problem in all the preparations has been seating. After hip replacement, you're not allowed to sit in any kind of low, sinky chair. We're short on chairs in this house to begin with, but the chairs we do have are, of course, low and sinky. I asked the insurance company if they could provide me with a Hip Chair, but they declined. They did offer an adjustable hospital bed, something they for some reason were willing to provide free of charge. But the doctor recommended against the special bed. THR patients are encouraged to get into the swing of normal life as soon as possible, and most people don't have the luxury of an adjustable bed at home. So I'll be going up and down stairs on the crutches from day one, and getting in and out of a regular bed. But back to chairs. I was hoping to have a comfortable armchair to recover in, but didn't have the resources to go out and buy one just for this purpose. I was told a wingback chair would be the best, since it would be tall and stiff, and the seat would not be too deep. Nancy spent the day trying to borrow such a chair on my behalf, but once she did find one, I had to turn it down out of fear our cat would destroy the upholstery with her claws. So I'm still without a good chair. After the surgery, I'll have to keep my hip at an angle no smaller than 90 degrees, and keep both feet on the floor, with my knees lower than my hips, whenever I am sitting. I will not be allowed to cross my legs or ankles. The correct chair is a critical piece of equipment if I'm to be comfortable. Seems like I should have arranged all this weeks ago rather than procrastinate and think it would all work itself out. The chair situation is one of my major stressors at the moment.
Other major stress involves the kids, but I'm telling myself it will all be fine. My sister-in-law is coming tomorrow to stay for a few days, and that will be a life saver. She'll be taking care of the kids while Lee is with me at the hospital, and I believe she's going to stick around until the day I come home. If my mother were alive, she'd have come to spend the whole summer with me. We would have driven each other crazy, but it would have been wonderful. Although I don't have family support in the area, I do have good friends. Nancy has been organizing everybody, and arranging volunteers to deliver meals to us, help with grocery shopping, and generally just be there. She's been critical. In fact, she's on her way over right now, bringing two chairs for my seating pleasure.
My biggest problem in all the preparations has been seating. After hip replacement, you're not allowed to sit in any kind of low, sinky chair. We're short on chairs in this house to begin with, but the chairs we do have are, of course, low and sinky. I asked the insurance company if they could provide me with a Hip Chair, but they declined. They did offer an adjustable hospital bed, something they for some reason were willing to provide free of charge. But the doctor recommended against the special bed. THR patients are encouraged to get into the swing of normal life as soon as possible, and most people don't have the luxury of an adjustable bed at home. So I'll be going up and down stairs on the crutches from day one, and getting in and out of a regular bed. But back to chairs. I was hoping to have a comfortable armchair to recover in, but didn't have the resources to go out and buy one just for this purpose. I was told a wingback chair would be the best, since it would be tall and stiff, and the seat would not be too deep. Nancy spent the day trying to borrow such a chair on my behalf, but once she did find one, I had to turn it down out of fear our cat would destroy the upholstery with her claws. So I'm still without a good chair. After the surgery, I'll have to keep my hip at an angle no smaller than 90 degrees, and keep both feet on the floor, with my knees lower than my hips, whenever I am sitting. I will not be allowed to cross my legs or ankles. The correct chair is a critical piece of equipment if I'm to be comfortable. Seems like I should have arranged all this weeks ago rather than procrastinate and think it would all work itself out. The chair situation is one of my major stressors at the moment.
Other major stress involves the kids, but I'm telling myself it will all be fine. My sister-in-law is coming tomorrow to stay for a few days, and that will be a life saver. She'll be taking care of the kids while Lee is with me at the hospital, and I believe she's going to stick around until the day I come home. If my mother were alive, she'd have come to spend the whole summer with me. We would have driven each other crazy, but it would have been wonderful. Although I don't have family support in the area, I do have good friends. Nancy has been organizing everybody, and arranging volunteers to deliver meals to us, help with grocery shopping, and generally just be there. She's been critical. In fact, she's on her way over right now, bringing two chairs for my seating pleasure.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Total hip replacement set for June 26
In the summer of 2006, I was diagnosed with "early arthritis" in my right hip. Not too shocking, considering I'd been limping for several months before the X-rays and MRI confirmed the problem. What was shocking was the rate at which the arthritis progressed. Within nine months of the original diagnosis, the arthritis got worse and my mobility was severely compromised. As a result, I will be having a total hip replacement--THR--of my right hip on Tuesday, June 26, 2007.
Q. What's worse than being 41-years-old and having two children under the age of four?
A. Being 41-years-old, having two children under the age of four, and needing hip replacement surgery.
I had my first child at age 38 and my second at age 40. This sets me apart from most of the women I know who either had children at a younger age, or who opted not to have children at all. I already feel old in momland, so the THR is adding insult to injury. But I have no choice. I have trouble doing the most basic things--getting up out of a chair, walking, climbing stairs, sleeping--and the arthritis will never go away. THR is the only solution.
I'm terrified about the surgery, but the terror isn't about the needles or the cutting or the long, excruciating recovery. I'm terrified for my two boys. What if something bad happens and I die on the operating table? Once you have children, you realize you have to live a long time. Forever, if possible. Facing major surgery, I can't stop wondering how my boys would survive without a mother. I'm trying to stop thinking about this, but it's hard.
The recovery from THR is long. It will be months before I can get down on the floor to play, bend over to pick up a toy, or carry a 29 pound umpteen-month-old boy up a flight of stairs. I won't be able to drive for at least six weeks, and I'll be on crutches for most (all?) of the summer. Because of all this, I have hired a nanny to care for the kids. She has her work cut out for her.
I decided to blog the hip to help other women--mothers with very young children--who are facing THR. Every minute of every day is going to be an adventure. Wish me luck.
Q. What's worse than being 41-years-old and having two children under the age of four?
A. Being 41-years-old, having two children under the age of four, and needing hip replacement surgery.
I had my first child at age 38 and my second at age 40. This sets me apart from most of the women I know who either had children at a younger age, or who opted not to have children at all. I already feel old in momland, so the THR is adding insult to injury. But I have no choice. I have trouble doing the most basic things--getting up out of a chair, walking, climbing stairs, sleeping--and the arthritis will never go away. THR is the only solution.
I'm terrified about the surgery, but the terror isn't about the needles or the cutting or the long, excruciating recovery. I'm terrified for my two boys. What if something bad happens and I die on the operating table? Once you have children, you realize you have to live a long time. Forever, if possible. Facing major surgery, I can't stop wondering how my boys would survive without a mother. I'm trying to stop thinking about this, but it's hard.
The recovery from THR is long. It will be months before I can get down on the floor to play, bend over to pick up a toy, or carry a 29 pound umpteen-month-old boy up a flight of stairs. I won't be able to drive for at least six weeks, and I'll be on crutches for most (all?) of the summer. Because of all this, I have hired a nanny to care for the kids. She has her work cut out for her.
I decided to blog the hip to help other women--mothers with very young children--who are facing THR. Every minute of every day is going to be an adventure. Wish me luck.
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