That Incident on Day 1 (part1)

Ok about that little incident you should try to avoid on the first night after your ACL surgery.

The post-op instructions I received required the patient (or "myself" in this case) to keep a full leg brace on for 72 hours with the knee hinge locked straight. I had every intention of honoring this restriction, when after completeing an hour of icing early on the evening of the 24th, while the leg was fully supported on the sofa, I thought it would be harmless to release the knee lock just to test how it worked. There were two grey plastic buttons that released the hinge, one on each side of the knee. I unlocked them both, with each button emitting a solid click. Bent the knee--a tiny amount--just to see if it was still under control of motor neurons, then straightened to re-lock the both buttons. Thats when an small ordeal began in trying to re-lock one side of the hinge. I could not get it to lock, and I was worried I'd harm something trying to use any extra force or extension on the leg. Alone in the house and stuck on the sofa, I concluded I had no recourse except to contact Kevin O'Conner, the sales rep for the orthotics company. Luckily, he answered his cell phone and, not disclosing by tone of voice how much of an idiot he might have thought he had on the line, said I should take off the brace, then lock it, then strap it back on.

Well, my impulsive clicking of the two gray buttons now had me off on an adventure of post-op rule violations, but if I was careful about it, this seemed safe enough, in addition to being the only way to get myself to the two other points in my little triangular world. Said points being, in order of importance, bathroom and kitchen.

It has to be said that despite the heavy duty pain killers, the psychological state of a surgery patient on day 1 is that everything the surgeon just did is likely to come apart like house of cards with even the slightest jostle. So I took the leg brace off carefully. It took some time because of the myriad velcro straps that loved to velcro themselves into spaghetti when they were loosened. Soon, however, my poor franken-leg was free from the brace, save for an ace wrap, and I could now better fiddle with the recalcitrant hinge lock. This is when it became apparent that something might have actually broken in the mechanism, because I repeatedly failed to lock the thing despite holding it in a perfectly straight position, using not inconsiderable force to help it to latch. I was going to call Kevin O'Conner again, when it finally felt like it locked, and I could begin the slow process of getting the leg braced up again, and moving on to a well deserved bathroom break.

Got my stiches out today!

Leslie dropped me off at the doctors in Mount Kisco and then had to jet off to teach her ballet class at the Rec center in Mount Pleasant. I could have waited over an hour for her to finish the class and get Annabelle off to her dance class and then pick me up, or instead I could cab it back. Seemed the best option all things considered, so I dialed Kisco taxi (666-6000, if you're in the neighborhood). By the time I ambled to the other end of the corridor to the main entrance, the blue Cadillac was already pulling up. Much nicer car than anything encountered with Pleasantville taxi. The driver had a shaved head, and a sense of cop or military about him. I'd asked in advance on the phone what the fare from Mount Kisco to Pleasantville would be (remembering P'ville taxi charged me 23.00). The guy said he'd have to check with his boss. After I eased into the back of the cab and told the driver where I needed to go, he remarked he still didn't know exactly what the fare was, but he guessed about 16.00, based on the slightly lower fee to nearby Chappaqua. I'm liking these guys a lot more than the Pleasantville operation right now. He still thought he should double check with his boss, but he added with a half-chuckle, "He's in PT right now." Ok here we go again--wouldn't be a normal cab ride if somebody wasn't telling me how somebody was being patched back together.

"What happened to him?" I venture.
"Had to have his knee-cap replaced."
"Whoa." Not an extra leg bone, but still good.
"Yeah, bad car accident. He's down at that place between Pleasantville and Chappaqua."

Aka Pleasantville Physical Therapy. If a cabbie isn't driving me to Pleasantville Physical Therapy, then he is in Pleasantville Physical Therapy.

The car pulls up the driveway, and the guy wishes me luck in recovery. I wish the same to his
boss, adding "Maybe I'll run into him."

I'm home with my new brace. It feels easier to move around the house, and I don't seem to need to put my leg up as frequently to relieve the pressure and soreness. I am feeling like I'm
on the road to recovery for real, and that's a good feeling, but I know it should also be a warning that I could do some real damage by overdoing things in a premature expectation of normal function. However, I feel like my two weeks excursion into home-bound rehab is coming to an
end, and I was sure to get a physicians note today so that I can hit the ground on Monday and
return to work.

3rd PT session and More Cabbie stories

Had a 7:30am appointment with Alysa, my physical therapist. Leslie had a busy morning scheduled already with dropping off Annabelle at school, and teaching her first Zumba class at PFX, so I once again left myself to the mercy of Pleasantville Taxi. Today's cabbie story topped them all, when the driver elaborated on an orthopedist visit he once had for a fractured patella (which could have been enough right there). He was handing his doctor the X-Ray films, and the cabbie said he was already little freaked out because the X-Ray tech had simply said "Oh My God, I don't believe this." when handing him his films, without further explanation. As the orthopedic surgeon put up the films, he suddenly exclaimed "Oh my god!" and walked out of the room, returning with some colleagues. It was then he finally learned he had a second set of bones inside his leg. I almost had to keep myself from bursting into laughter (or applause) as he concluded.

Back to the recovery process, I'd had enough free time on my hands in the last few days to survey the myriad of unlikely complications of ACL surgery, and well, of surgery in general. From this I'd come to the conclusion that I spent way to much time on Saturday, fourth day post-op, doing normal stuff like going with Leslie to meet our new tax guy. So by Monday I was starting to worry that my pain and soreness might be indications of blood clots, and my combined fatigue and slight fever of 99.1 might be indication of infection. The news that this complication actually befell Tom Brady (infection) made it seem all the more likely it could happen to me.

The upshot of all this obsessing was that I called for a new appointment up in Mt. Kisco to see Dr. Karas on Tues the 2rd. They have a busy office, but commendably the nurse allowed my subjective, non-medically trained, and most likely ludicrous hunches to be sufficient enough to allow an unscheduled audience with the doc.

At the appointed hour, I got to see not Karas, but his assistant Ed Savarese, who looked at the leg and patiently explained how a person shouldn't fret about blood clots when its normal for a post ACL patient to have pockets of edema in the leg that are sore. I, who earlier felt there was a probability that the wrong movement could send a blood clot hurtling toward my brain, left the office with a new lease on life.