The Trip to the Hip
A story about my experience with total hip replacement surgery.
A story about my experience with total hip replacement surgery.
My alarm went off at 4 AM, but I shut it off and laid myself back over Kalani’s chest. “I don’t want to go,” I whined like a child not wanting to get up for school. “My hip feels pretty good today, actually….” He kissed my forehead and said, “You’ll be fine. Probably back running up the Mills before you know it!”
“I hope so…….”
We climbed out of bed and I showered with the “wonderful” antibacterial soap I was provided at the Pre-Op appointment. Then i slipped on a pair of oversized sweatpants and a long sleeved T-shirt. I put on my blue flip-flops and headed downstairs to wait for my poor 80 year old father to pick me up. (Afterall, he’s still my daddy….). I hadn’t had anything to eat since 7:30 the night before and I wasn’t really hungry anyway. I couldn’t even have a drink of water.
Kalani waited with me being his almost annoyingly encouraging self ( a little pity would have been acceptable…), until my dad pulled up in his car. Kalani walked me out and put my things in the trunk. He kissed me good-by and helped me into my dad’s car.
“How are you feeling?” by father inquired.
“Oh, just peachy…” I replied with a hint of sarcasm. Truth was, I really wasn’t scared or nervous. I just really wanted to get on with it, get it over with, go through the anticipated pain that was to come and get out of the hospital.
Dad parked the car in the parking structure and we walked into the Kaiser building’s main entrance. We were supposed to report to the Admitting Office on the first floor, but the instructions didn’t exactly say how to get there. Now if you have been to Kaiser Fontana and walked through Building #3, oldest building, you know that the place is like a labyrinth of hallways that all look the same. So we began what became a major trek, to the Admitting Office. We followed the signs on the walls turning left and right and left and left and right and straight. Every turn found a new sign. Although my 80 year old father is spry of mind, his poor 80 year old heart isn’t. We had to stop a few times so he could catch his breath, but Dad never complains. Never.
Finally we get to the office. (I later realized had we just gone straight into the hospital building and NOT the office building we would have cut our walk in half). There was already two other pairs of people waiting there in the small narrow room. Dora the Explorer was playing on the TV although no one in the room, except me, was under 60.I gave my name to the secretary who told me to have a seat and they would call me in a minute.
30 seconds later I walked into the screening office where a rather ghetto looking gentleman asked me a bunch of questions, took my Advanced Directive for my file and banded my right wrist with the customary identification bracelet. I also received a red bracelet warning of my supposed allergy to penicillin (according to my mother). I then returned to the waiting room which had filled with at least another four pairs. No one was talking, except Dora.
About 15 minutes later a nurse-like lady came and asked all of us to follow her including the people who we had come with. She wanted to show everyone where the recovery room was and where our families could join us after surgery. Then she said, “Say good-by for now and give your family your belongings.” We did. I kissed my dad and said, “See ya in a few.” He smiled took my bags and my grabber and began his walk back to the waiting room. I worried about him walking so much.
The patients-to-be and I followed the nurse down the hall a little farther. It felt rather sci-fi. Like those movies where people think that there’s really a surgical facility behind those metal swinging doors but it really turns out to be processing plant for Soylent Green. (look it up)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soylent_Green
One at a time the nurse took each person back. I was standing in the hall with two other people, an older woman who was to have shoulder surgery, and a man in his 50’s who was going to have a 4 year old shoulder injury repaired. The woman asked me what I was having done. When I said it was a hip replacement, she looked shocked. “But you’re young.” she commented. “Osteoarthritis,” I explained. I thought to myself, I was the youngest person in the group aside from a young Black man, who must have been in his twenties.
When she called my name I followed her back to the room behind the metal doors. It was a series of about 10 beds, five on each side, each surrounded by a curtain hanging from a rail around each bed. Behind the beds were the various pieces of equipment one would expect to find in a hospital, monitors and tubes and IV stands. “Your nurse will be Vee,” she explained, “She’s going to be asking you a series of questions and getting you ready for your surgery. “Here is your bed. Take off everything and put your clothing in this bag. Here is your gown, opening to the back.” she smiled handing my the latest fashion in hospital wear. She drew the curtain around me and I disrobed as instructed and crawled up on the gurney.
Vee came in and helped me lay back on the bed and cover up. They brought me some booties because hospitals are always like refrigerators. She explained that she had seen my dad and was excited because at one time he had been her doctor. (everyone loves my dad). And then my dad appeared, bags and grabber in hand. He greeted Vee and took a seat beside the gurney. Vee asked me various questions to verify the hospital’s current information, after which she disappeared returning to my bedside with an IV kit in her hand,
Vee explained how she was going to start a line so that medicine and anesthesia could be administered more easily. Then she proceeded to pat the top of my left hand until she found a vein to her liking. She taped it down securely then ran the line. “Your doctor will be here to speak with you soon.” She smiled and disappeared.
Soon from around the curtain, Dr. Namazian appeared. Tall and slender with a slight Arabic accent. He held my x-rays in his hand. “Good morning!” he greeted us happily. “Are you ready?”
“Can’t wait.” I said sarcastically with a smile.
“Well, you know how we discussed doing a BHR on you instead of the total hip? In reviewing your x-rays again and considering your age, I really would suggest we do the total hip. Here’s why.” He explained that on the top of the femur was a cyst which is a common reaction to irritation of a bone. The bone had absorbed the cyst so that in order to shape the head of the femur to receive the new surface, he was concerned that there wouldn’t be enough bone left if he took off enough to remove the cystic area. He commented that although my bone is in very good shape now, no signs of osteoporosis, he couldn’t guarantee that the bone would remain that way for the next 10 years, which is about the lifetime of a resurfacing.
Hip resurfacing was originally designed as an alternative to help young patients in need of hip replacement. A hip resurfacing allows a person to return to a wider range of activities, such as running or others that include jumping motions, while a hip replacement excludes these activities. But because a hip resurfacing only lasts on average 10 years before failure, the patient will eventually have to return to the operating room for a total hip anyway.
“On the other hand, the current prosthesis I use, I can guarantee for 25 or 30 years.” He looked at me. “What do you want to do?’ I looked at him feeling like a customer at a used car lot. I had so had it in my mind that the answer to my problems was a BHR. I was looking forward to being able to run with Kalani again. Apparently seeing my deer int he headlight look, he interrupted my thought, “The only difference in activity is the jumping up and down. Otherwise the results are the same, only the total hip will last longer, Talk it over with your dad and I’ll be back.” He smiled and walked away.
“Well, what did you decide?” he smiled.
“Chop it off.” I said meaning do the total hip. I felt not having to return to surgery as soon was worth more than running with Kalani (sorry Brown Man, but you’d agree). “The only thing I ask, ” I said pointing a finger of warning at the doctor, “is leave a nice scar.” He laughed and said he would use subcutaneous stitches. “Great, then! See you in the operating room!”
My next visitor was the anesthesiologist who explained that I would be totally asleep during the operation (I didn’t know there was and option, but apparently if the surgery is short they numb you from the waist down but keep you sedated enough not to remember what happened, but still awake). He then slipped a needle in the IV line. “This will make you a little sleepy.” A LITTLE??? The effect was near immediate. I began waffling in and out of consciousness as they wheeled me away. I have no recollection of them moving me onto the operating table, although I was still awake then. The last thing I remember was seeing a hand with a mask lowering over my face. “You’re going to….” That was it. Two and a half hours later, I was in recovery.
