After several years postponement, I finally succumbed to knee replacement surgery in early September. While it hasn’t been my favorite procedure, it wasn’t the worst and it was necessary. Post-procedure pain management was mostly effective and reading a dozen books as distraction from the rest helped me to pass the time while I reclined with my knee iced and elevated.
Rigorous rehab helped me to advance from an ungainly walker to a stylish cane, with a four-footed stable base, in two months – a time that seemed interminable because, with our hilly terrain requiring constant braking, my ability to drive a car was deferred as well.
Holy crap!
There was neither a drum roll nor applause from my husband, who’d helpfully driven me to my PT appointments, but I felt like an independent adult again… as thrilled as I had been at age 16 when I got my driver’s license.
I’m feeling that surge of refreshed pride and independence again, now that I no longer require a cane to stabilize my gait. While my cane was snazzy and stylish – and assured that I walked well rather than capsize – it was the looks of pity and the piteous thoughts I read on people’s faces – “that lady is old and feeble” – that tested my forebearance.
Holy crap!
Further, even as it propped me up, the cane undermined my ability to carry things around. Consider attempting to carry a full cup of tea steady enough without sloshing half before I reached my desk. At least we already had a stylish and solid stool in the master bath to assist me when I dressed each morning!
As soon as feasible, my husband and I resumed occasional outings: the movies, a night club, church, and dining out. Once seated the cane became an awkward accoutrement, angling to trip others as it leaned against the table or crashing to the floor, All of which got on my nerves, especially with the tinny, noxious sound.
While I prevailed this time, I know that old age dependencies will make me seek the cane’s assistance again – holy crap!
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