Fulkerson Recovery, So Far: By the Numbers

It’s hard to talk about this surgery’s recovery without simply breaking down into racking sobs, complaining endlessly, or considering amputation. So, I thought I’d just give you a run-down of a few “by the numbers” factoids, instead of a rambling essay about how damn much it hurts, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

My nurses, making sure i get lots of rest.

My nurses, making sure i get lots of rest.

So, in no particular order…


Weeks, to the day, since surgery: 3

 

Times pain management has had to adjust (increase) pain meds, because the pain had caused uncontrollable shaking: 2

 

Seasons of “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding” I’ve watched since surgery: 6 (side note: amount of guilt or shame I’ve felt for watching total trash television is absolutely zilch, nada, zip)



Showers I’ve managed to take, in total, in three weeks: 4 (I say “I,” but it’s a “we” process, because it requires massive assistance from Bryon. It takes about an hour from start to finish, and leaves me exhausted for about two hours afterward)

 

Blood clots I’ve managed to accumulate: 2

 

 “Dangerous” blood clots: 0

My third nurse, who tends to alienate himself from the other two, or from combinations of the other two, at any given time. He’s kind of a jerk, frankly. But, he likes me, only me, and can be awfully sweet, when he wants to be. And, he’s awfully cute.

My third nurse, who tends to alienate himself from the other two, or from combinations of the other two, at any given time. He’s kind of a jerk, frankly. But, he likes me, only me, and can be awfully sweet, when he wants to be. And, he’s awfully cute.

 

Amount I’ve learned about blood clots: Lots. Apparently, you can have blood clots in the soft tissue, not just in the vein. And, they can be huge, as I’ve also learned. Soft tissue blood clots still hurt like a motherfucker, but aren’t dangerous. Eventually, they break up, and re-absorb, but in the meantime, they are intensely painful, especially to the touch.

 

Upper Respiratory Infections: 1 (Always have to thank the kiddos for bringing home colds at the most inconvenient times)

 

Average number of times I get up to pee per night thanks to extra fluid intake: 4 (again, “I” = “we.” Bryon is a damn hero. He holds my leg up while I pee, so I don’t have to try to lift it myself, to a stool, in the middle of the night. Seriously, Bryon=Hero).

 

Pillow arrangements we have tried to “get” comfortable and/or elevate: 5,049,789

 

Hours a day I’m supposed to use the torture leg extender machine: 6

 

Torture leg machines that have broken so, far, and have had to be replaced: 2

 

Birthdays that I have had during recovery: 1

 

Years on this planet: 41

 

Years I thought I had on this planet: 42

Diamonds!! The float freely inside the face, and they are so pretty! The hands and numbers are actually sapphire blue, as are the little nubbins on the side, called cabochons. The whole thing is just so pretty I can hardly believe it. It’s possible I love jewelry. I’m not sure.

Diamonds!! The float freely inside the face, and they are so pretty! The hands and numbers are actually sapphire blue, as are the little nubbins on the side, called cabochons. The whole thing is just so pretty I can hardly believe it. It’s possible I love jewelry. I’m not sure.

 

Present I bought for myself for my birthday: my first Chopard (yeah, I know it’s not a number, but it cost a bunch of numbers, and it made me happy when I wasn’t feeling so happy. Just pricing it, shopping for it, and negotiating for it, kept me alert and happy for several days. I love it. It adds to my fancy watch collection, and it is glorious. It’s pre-owned, so I got a good deal from an awesome jeweler, which made it affordable. It looks great with jammies. – P.S. Bryon gets nervous when I say things like “my ‘first’ Chopard.” I wonder why?).

 

Days I spent on my last homework assignment: 2

 

Weeks left of the semester: 6

 

Weeks left until I’m allowed to bear any weight: 6 (again: the timing of my first class with this surgery is the absolute worst…but I’m pressing on. Collin told me, the other day, unsolicited, “Mommy, I’m proud of you.” It was singularly, one of the greatest moments of my life. I’m holding that memory in my heart as fuel for the rest of my career, and life).

This is the strap that goes around my leg for the leg torture machine. Collin felt that it made a good hat. I think he looks dashing.

This is the strap that goes around my leg for the leg torture machine. Collin felt that it made a good hat. I think he looks dashing.

 

Bags of frozen squishy pockets I’ve eaten (other people call them pot stickers): 14? Maybe more? I love them.

 

Bouquets of flowers, and new potted flowering plants Bryon has filled my room with: 6

 

Naps I take throughout the day: 2-10 (long vs short 10 min-ish)

 

Nice bruise on the side of my foot, just because it felt like appearing there. It actually hurts too. The best part of this photo is that the striped fabric under my foot is a DRESS! I wasn’t wearing jammies that day. I was dressed, wearing jewelry, and had combed my hair.

Nice bruise on the side of my foot, just because it felt like appearing there. It actually hurts too. The best part of this photo is that the striped fabric under my foot is a DRESS! I wasn’t wearing jammies that day. I was dressed, wearing jewelry, and had combed my hair.

Bruises that continue to pop up, randomly: indeterminable (new one on my foot last week, and more on the back of my knee – they can continue to pop of from my foot to the top of my thigh for the next six months. Pretty).

 

This is the back of my leg. If you are wondering whether this a  bruise that looks worse than it feels, it isn’t. It looks just as bad as it feels. It’s horrendous both ways.

This is the back of my leg. If you are wondering whether this a bruise that looks worse than it feels, it isn’t. It looks just as bad as it feels. It’s horrendous both ways.

Overall, this experience has been, and continues to be, rougher than I had expected it to be. I start physical therapy next week, which promises to be another step towards healing, but also to be painful. Thankfully, my mother-in-law will be taking me to my first appointment, and there is no greater comfort than her at an appointment like that. My orthopedic surgeon promised that I should expect a few steps backward when they start their work, but also that by the time this is all over with, I will be so happy I did it. We shall see! I am still optimistic, and despite my tendency toward depression, especially when I’m stuck in invalid positions, I’ve actually been feeling really great, mentally. I am making a conscious effort to hang onto that positive attitude, and focus on recovery, at the same time.