Kung PAO Hips

Yeah, no one's probably gonna read this. Oh, well, here goes some liquid soul.

2010-07-31T12:56:00.000-07:00

There is a noble woman who wrote a hip blog.

She wrote at the end something very true -

"In the end, we can sit around and log every moment of discomfort, each twinge and ache, and try to create some sort of five-year viability projection out of safety pins and scotch tape, or we can recognize that we've tangoed with the MRIs, the CT scans, the arthroscopies, the surgeries, and of course, the raised toilet seat, and it's time to just have a life."

- As she said goodbye to her blog. She said goodbye. And I'm still trying to.

I apologize. This will be the only really Psalm 137 post - the only post without hope.

Not that it isn't there.

There are mornings when I feel some Lamentations 3,

but I don't feel like feeling it.

I never mourned. I didn't think I needed to.

I never cried for my hips.

But really, I lost a part of myself and needed to mourn.

Most of the pain is gone, but instead I have this feeling that I can't look anyone in the eye because my mind is still in a wheelchair.

Not all of the time, but some of it.

I was strong. And now things are having a backlash.

My screws are out, but not all of the pain is.

Most of the pain is gone, but every couple of days I have to quietly squeeze the arm of my chair because of nerve spasms.

I'll always have a reminder of the fact that I'm not normal.

That can be a good thing. But I'm not feeling it too much.

For pure business, my screws were taken out on June 30. Yes, they are very pretty.

No where did I leave you last...?

2009-06-23T16:47:00.000-07:00

Hmm...good question. I think it was in the Recovery Room. OOOKay.

From the recovery room they moved me to my room in the - get this - pediatrics ward. YEAH! What are the pluses of the Lebonhuer ward? Nicer nurses, prettier room, lots of movies, free ice cream, nicer (possibly) pts, and carpet. I had a blast. Okay, as much of a blast as I could have in the circumstances. I think the DVD/VCR was one of the best parts. I watched Finding Neverland (very good, by the way) and ate vanilla ice cream. I'm a big fan of vanilla ice cream. I even dreampt about it last night.

You know what amazes me? The fact that the technology has changed from when I was there 6 months ago. This time, I had a nice little pain pump. This pump sent numbing medication through my back and directly to the muscles around my hip, which really cuts down on some of the pain medication taken. It's kind of funny to feel the numbing medication wear off, though. Sort of akin to a muscle spasm. Also, this time I had feet inflations. As opposed to calf inflations. Why inflatables anyways? The inflation, and hence pressure, on the extremes that there's a good chance you won't be moving increases blood flow and stops your feet from falling off. It's much like massaging the feet to increase circulation. But this time around, they had the little inflatables on my feet. Why is this such a monumentous relief? Because imagine having m0ving plastic around your legs pretty much 24/7. It gets hot and sweaty real fast down there. Having it on the feet kind of changes most of that. My sweaty calves grin in relief.

What else comes with hospital visits? Visitors. It's always fun to welcome friends in your room. And it's kind of an incentive not to wallow in your pain and selfness. Cause people are gonna see that. And you might as well get cleaned up a little before the nice visitors come. And the boys. ;)
Ach, but I dramatize. With the visitors also come the mean pts. And this time, I lived up to the expectations. I fainted, or almost fainted again. I have a terrible habit of doing that. But by the third day, I was able to walk down the the nurses' station and back. Mission Accomplished.

By the way! Let us remember today a fellow hip sister, we shall call her, even though she does not own a blog. She goes to my church and just received a total hip replacement. A speedy and safe recovery to you, Kesha Burns!

If you haven't noticed....

2009-06-21T17:40:00.001-07:00

I've already had the pre-op, surgery, and have come home already. Oops. Ok. My power was out until the day I went to the hospital, so that's half my fault. But still my fault. I apologize.

Pre-op: Normal. They took blood, and it was icky. I swear, I have track marks now! Ok. Mostly on my stomach - of all places - but they're there! Next day:

Surgery: ick. I had the same prep nurse! And that was an up. I love that lady. She's one of those people that are so blunt and down to earth it makes you smile. While I was laying there, in the bed, Mrs. Donaldson walked in! She had come with snacks. Mostly for my parents because I couldn't eat. It was pleasant to see her, especially because she was her summer-self, which is very more relaxed than her school-self. After a few words, she departed and I followed soon after, except I went to the block room. Oh, the block room. You hate it because it introduces to your life wires and tubes that are somehow connected to your person. But you love it because you stop caring when you get in there. It's great. Next stop: OR.

Recovery room: Surprise! I remember it! I wasn't throwing up and in a half-dazed state talking about nutella and ravioli. I was fairly lucid and able to remember the doctor, then my father, then my mother.

Well, I'll see you in Lebonhuer when I post again!

PAUSE! RETHINK! Ok - you may proceed.

2009-06-10T14:18:00.000-07:00

Yes. Pause. Because, the date of my surgery has been moved. Yes, I repeat, my surgery is not on Thursday, but on next Tuesday the 16th. Why? My doctor's son is graduating. Yay him. Meanwhile, I don't want anyone showing up to the hospital and crashing Germantown Methodist when I'm not there. Reminder: "Have fun storming the hospital!!!"

So, my pre-op got moved to next Monday, and my surgery is next Tuesday. If you want to visit me, and I'm definitely not against visitors, please come on Wednsday or Thursday. Because, while I love visitors, I really don't think I'll be very relieved to see you on Tuesday. Judging from last time, I may be passing out and vomiting, which is not really the point where I want to welcome someone in and hug them. I want to see you, and I want to enjoy your company. I love you all!

Please don't show up this weekend!

A bit of a recap - a refresher!

2009-05-29T14:50:00.000-07:00

T- 14 days

Everywhere I turn, there are decaying blog posts - on my blog as well - except one at one blog. I hope that this summer will revive these writings. By the way, today is the first day of my official summer and I shall celebrate it by updating my writing with the songs I am listening to! *The Summer Obsession* This whole week I've been up and about and at the school doing things and this is the first day to sleep in (well, mostly) and not have to do anything, even though I have been doing some things. But this is it, man!

Well, since I actually haven't talked about the medical side to Periacetabular Osteotomies in a while, I shall refresh everybody's memory including mine. Periacetabular Osteomy is a fancy way for saying: "We are going to cut open your hip, disconnect the socket, and turn it around"! Well, hopefully I won't be going in a 360 degree angle! Haha. *I Am the Highway, Audioslave*

My story, and why my situation is so unusual: This surgery, called a PAO, is used mostly on people who have developed hip dysplasia. Hip dysplasia is a condition developed by people, usually women, whose femoral heads have become dislodged from their hip socket, or their acetabulum. *Blow up the Outside World, Soundgarden* Now, there are two kinds of people who get hip dysplasia. There are those who receive it as a birth defect and those who develop it later in life. Those who develop it later in life usually have led active lives and are in their mid-20s or 30s when they realize the problem. And this is why I'm so unusual. There's almost no one else receiving the PAO, or any other kind of hip reconstructive surgery, that is in his/her teens. You see, I had hip dysplasia as an infant, which would have been fairly easy to fix, but it was only caught when I was 1 1/2 years old. By then, the bones had fixed in their place, and we resorted to surgery. But then again, the doctors had no idea how the bones and the joints would react to growth. By the time I was, oh, about 13-14? I had started getting pain in my hip. Which is why I had my first surgery on Dec. 18. And now June 11 for the other hip. *Moonchild, Chris Cornell*

So there we go, all around full circle in a never ending loop. I have feelings of nostalgia. Sorry, I'm being driven crazy by my latest giant novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude. Very good. Very long. Very...long wearing. But, on the plus side, Mrs. Donaldson has promised to read The Alchemist this summer! Hopefully it will be placed on the reading list for future generations... *Wonderwall, Oasis*

A moment...suspended in time...

2009-05-11T20:13:00.000-07:00

I forget what that quote is from. At least, I think it's a quote. And perhaps it's familiar.

But anyhow, I am here to announce that it is only 30 or 31 days until zero hour. I'm rather shaky on the math, you see. It will be my last surgery until several decades from now. Yay. So, in short, I have only 1 month to frolic. To play badminton and make bukus (however you spell it) of muffins and to go to events or casual coffee with my friends without worrying about accomodations. After that, I'm resigned to Tracy, the wheelchair. It's kinda sad, but you probably read my "I am a woman" speech earlier, so that attitude still resides in me. Well, one month. Until I go to senior picnic in a wheelchair. Even at school I'll be on crutches. Sorry! I don't mean to sound depressing. I broke 2 dishes today and so that's probably why I sound down!
This is just a psuedo announcement. I am beginning countdown!

30 (or 31) days

Saving Grace

2009-05-08T09:52:00.000-07:00

Who/What/Where is your saviour? Most of us would say, off hand, that Jesus, or God, is our Saviour. But spiritually aside, what is?

Maybe I'm phrasing this wrong. What I'm trying to say is that there are things in our lives that save us from insanity. Things that save s from feeling that life is hopeless. Things that save us from ourselves, even. School, oddly enough, has been my saviour many a time. A saviour from enclosure, from boredom, from caged feelings. Baking, especially when it come to muffins!, has been my saviour - Abigail (and pretty much everyone else)! I can see you laughing! - from impossibility, from lack of purpose. This summer, I have already picked out my saviours. That sounds odd. Estem...I know what shall do this summer. When I lie in bed lacking motivation or purpose. A list, for I have recently come to appreciate, yet still not love, lists. Oh, Mr. Knight's class...

1. Muffins - Yep. You could probably see that coming. As I have declared that I will someday open a pastry/cafe, I think that this is perfectly normal. :D

2. Books. - Oh, yes. Along with the regular AP English books - Frankenstein, something, and something else - I am trying to get as far as I can on my "100 Books You Should Read Before College" List. I just finished number 23 on my list! Yay!

3. Friends. - Oh, I'll make them come back from vacation or die! Just kidding. I do love all of you.....

4. LOTR? - I have the urge to watch Lord of The Rings again. I'm planning on getting the extendaversion and watching all of them!!!!! Oh, and I'm gonna fly over to the Lira's and steal Spirited Away!

Haha. There is my summer. So, question. What is your saviour? And yes, I meant it, Michael.

Limits that FAIL to exist: Finding the lemons

2009-04-30T19:51:00.000-07:00

If these limits fail to exist, why do we learn about them?

Anyhow. That's really not why I am writing. I am writing to include a way that I failed recently, for the sake of adrenaline! So, as for setting the scene...

Band tour: Yipeeeeee!!!! I loved band tour so much. Ranks the best ever. Even though WOF was a bit of a let down, we OWNED as far as music went. We had fun nights in the hotel with the girls in my room: Jesse, Ashley, Catherine, and Maria. I somehow gashed my leg open with a ... soapdish??? We went to a dinner theatre and I got the prize for...most ridiculous answer. Mrs. Pinkerton, Agatha Christie would've been proud of me. For real. In my answer, I had someone who was really someone else, and seeming strangers who were really partners in murder! It was thrilling. Turns out I was wrong, but I really think it's the other way around. The writers are wrong! Anyways, it was marvelous.
After we competed, we went to WOF (aka, worlds of fun!!!). Whereever I went, the road broke down. It was terrible! I'm cutting all of the middle stuff, but me and a five other people ended up on the Mamba. And were late. And we didn't even get to ride. But here's the deal. We were way late. So we ran back to the entrance and hastily onto the bus.
My mistake? Running, my friends. To the Mamba and from the Mamba. I'm really not allowed to run by doctor's orders. I've already paidd for being late, but I hope I don't have to pay too much for being...foolish. My mom got mad. Really. She wasn't on the bus, but she heard about it later...

And that's the way I've failed recently. Thank you very much.

42 days, if anyone's interested...

Pride.

2009-04-06T16:47:00.000-07:00

Less than a week without a cane and suddenly I'm in Chicago. The A cappella trip really did suprise me. I mean, more than usual. Usually, these trips sneak up on me, but this year it is as if I only half believed it existed and only half believed that I was actually going. And then, I was packing and then I was on the bus. I was excited as all get out. I love big cities. Cities with a dramatic history and something to be really proud about. Where all of the people have a personality. I can just see myself setting up shop and living in these places...

But there I was in Chicago. You know what's in Chicago, more than anything else???
Lines.
And sidewalks.
Suffice to say, I was on my feet a lot. From when I awoke in the morning to when I slept at night, only a few hours-eating and riding on the bus-were not spent walking or standing. And what did my hip/leg/foot feel about this? Splendid. I felt like ROLLMAN. I could do anything. I didn't run, really, but I twirled (and fell) and moved with vivacity. My legs, though tired at the end of the day, were strong and stable under me and I never felt pain. And so pride swelled in my heart like Fozzie's american pride. And confidence.

With this pride and confidence, I'll be able to get through it. Through what's ahead. I'm proud of my hip and its solidarity. I'm proud of the recovery of my body. And I am confident that I can do it again! I am stronger than this. I always believed it, but now I know it. I am braver than I think I sometimes am. I am a survivor in my own mind, surviving my own mind and my own insecurities even more than the hip dysplasia. I am independent despite dependency. I am only physically dependent to the place where I know I won't provide detriment to myself. I am daring. I am proven, refined. I am humble. Just kidding. That was a joke!

I have proven to myself that being halfway through this chapter of hip issues is a pretty good place to be right now. The glass is half full. I am halfway done and I'm proud of that. I could say that I'm halfway done and look at what I have to undergo this summer. But I won't. Apparently, I'm too proud for that. :)

I will be stronger than whatever comes at me.
I can do everything through HIM who gives me strength. -Philippians 4:13
I am invincible.

freedom, Freedom, FREEDOM

2009-03-27T15:10:00.000-07:00

Look at me: no crutches, no wheelchair, no cane, no nothing! I went to the doctor (the doctor named Dake), more correctly, the physical therapist. I just have urges to quote Seussical, is all.

Starting over because I probably confused you, I don't have to use a cane anymore! I'm a free woman! True I still have an assignment of probably a hundred excersises per night (only a slight exaggeration). My psuedo therapist looked at the sheets of paper in her hands and looked at me, then said: "Wow. This is a lot of excersises." So she said I didn't have to do all of them every night. Which was good, because I would probably expire every night from a combination of boredom and exhaustion, and on top of all that, I wouldn't get any homework done and my grades would suffer along with my entire left leg. And then my leg would fall off which would kind of defeat the point. The point of everything. I said my psuedo therapist. I should explain that for those of you still reading. My old therapist, Julianne, took off to Collierville, never to be my therapist again. So, I guess I don't know who my therapist is anymore. Which doesn't matter, because I don't have to go any more!

At least until my next surgery. So, the reason that I have so many excersises is because I have some foot/ankle issues now. Why? No idea. My therapist thinks I'm overcompensating or something because my left leg is shorter, but really, I have no idea. Which brings me to the reader participation part: If you are reading this, stand up. Either push your chair back or move beside it, to get some room for moving. Now stand on your tippy toes and come back down. That's right. Okay, now do it again, except stop somewhere in the middle. Now imagine a kind of steady pain welling up in the bridge of your foot. That's what is in my foot, when I walk and etc. I wanted to show you where the pain was, as well as imagine all of you standing near your computers with slightly confused looks on your faces. Teehee.

By the way, I have dubbed today Mexican Culture day. Aka: Listen to all of the songs in Spanish that you know, as well as some new ones. Tips: Me cai, or pretty much anything by Pacifika, and Juanes, my favorite is Fotografia.

Just a small cosmic question

2009-03-15T10:52:00.000-07:00

Is the past tense of "forgo",
"forwent"?
or, "forgoed"?

Saying either of them kinda gives me the shivers anyway.

Hip Hip Hooray!

2009-03-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

(Just a little point of irony: Just as I was finishing the post above, I realized I was listening to the song Thunder, by Boys Like Girls. Haha.)

Tuesday morning:
I awoke on the cot in Witchita. For a while I lay half awake, half asleep, and half listening to the talk in the kitchen. After a while, I realized I should probably get up. After all, there was coffee just waiting for me in the other room. I half took off my covers so that I may roll over and look at the floor. My crutches, Doppleganger, were laying there, quite innocently, in the little aisle between my cot and the bed. And then I half smiled. Because today was the day that I could stand without them. So I stood up. Going down the hallway, I half clutched the walls, at least as far as it is possible to clutch walls, because I was so unsteady. But hey! I was walking! Okay, half walking. Limping in fact. But I walked into the kitchen, where I was received with joy at my new found freedom. And then I limped over to my coffee. After my coffee, I can stop half doing things, and actually do them. But the limp remained. I think I'm uneven, which is really weird. And I move really slow. But Tuesday, I just walked around just to feel it. It felt so good.

YAY!!!!!!!

Ditching crutches, yeah

On that Tuesday morning, yeah

It felt so good, yeah

Becoming Helen Hunt

2009-03-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

For (half of) spring break, I went to Witchita, Kansas. That's where my Grandparents on my mother's side live. Waiting for us were mis tios, my uncles and aunts on that side. Along with my cousin. Witchita hadn't had any wet weather in a couple months, so it was quite due by the time we were rolling in. On this trip, I drove quite a bit. The ten hour trip was divided about 40/60 between my mother and I. On the way into Wichita, I was driving. To the northwest of us (I think), storm clouds were brewing, with occasional bursts of bright thunder looking like scribbles coming out of those dark clouds. Of course, I just thought We would never quite hit that mass of darkness and if we did, it wouldn't really affect us, right? It would just be some rain. Wrong. Coming straight toward Wichita was a tornado.

...or at least the possibility of one. My grandfather called us to warn us. Suddenly, every flash of lightening frightened the hooey out of me. My eyes opened wider and my hands gripped the wheel just a little tighter. As we entered the city, th storm was right above us, even though they had called off the tornado warning. Gack. I really did feel like Helen Hunt. But we survived it! I spent a lovely weekend+ with my family. I even got to go shooting for the first time. I got to shoot Grandpa's legendary pearl handled pistol! As anyone could guess if they just hung out around me for a while, my aim was definitely not static. My shots were all over the board, or paper, rather. But I got a wicked -sorry- filthy bullseye. That's the word with the new connotation that Uncle Joe taught me. Yes, I shot a bullseye. I shot a rifle and a .357 along with the pistol. Unfortunately, the .357 shares something with the lovely tornado lightning, in that they both scared the ness out of me. Wow, that gun packs some punch, like Tang! So let's get down to the part that's actually relevant: my hips. Yay!

~Keep reading for more episodes from Melora's Dysplastic Life at 8/7 Central~

The Allusion of Life (can you find it?)

2009-03-06T21:00:00.001-08:00

Points to Melora for keeping her blog updated at a critical time in her progress!

Not.

Sorry. I guess I've meant to update. And now I'm here! The day before I depart to into an undiscovered country. Namely, Witchita.

So what's new? I can walk! Kind of. I am allowed to put 50% of my weight on my left leg. Only several more days now till Tuesday, and then I can put my full weight on it. Right now, I'm hobbling around at school with crutches. And they do have a name! Their name is Dopple/ganger, though it is often difficult to distinguish one from the other. I will admit, I did have help coming up with the genius name Doppleganger. I owe that one to Jasper Fforde, a wonderful writer who writes about...literature. But not in a dry way.

Back to subject!
I have a triumph! I have moved back upstairs to the lighter colored realms. Those of you who have witnessed the happiness of my room know what I am talking about. For those of you who haven't...
My room is a burst of sunshine. The walls are covered with blue, orange, and pink paint, alternately and the walls also slant up at the top. There are even little alcoves that wander off with windows at the end. A pink shag rug adorns the floor while and almost identical blue coverlet reclines on my bed. My bookshelves are stuffed with books which lay haphazard because there isn't enough room. My CDs are in a similar state. In all, my room is an oasis of brightness and happiness and cherrfulness and nicety. And especially since it is smelling like spring outside, my room now smells like nothing is impossible. But then I return to "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" as life sometimes feels. But my room is always a reprieve, an escape, to these feelings. So moving back upstairs has been feeling like a kind of heaven for me. I can drive now, by the way. I'm a fairly good driver, so this has been such a lovely thing for me.

By the way, not to damper the feeling, but yes, to damper the feeling, my next surgery is already scheduled for June11. yay.

Hoy es el dia!

2009-02-24T12:43:00.000-08:00

Today is the day! In roughly 1 hour I walk into Dr. Guyton's office to see if he deems me worthy of that lovely blessing, walking. A blessing which I will probably take for granted again, but not for a very long while.

'Count your blessings' is all I'm saying.

I'm very excited. I've had a countdown, oddly enough not on here, but other places to this day. Finally, walking. Putting weight on that leg. I get to go upstairs so I won't fail out of my classes. I used to say pre-cal, but since I aced my last test, I'm more concerned with AP English. Anyways, interesting news which calls attention to my bum leg even though it sounds weird: my left thigh grew a half inch! This is good, because it means I'm not atrophying or anything. The pool work has payed off. Possibly the hydrotrack would've been better, but I'm too stinking tall. Alas, my long, impossibly troublesome legs!

Well, there it is: I might be able to soar on 1 1/4 leg in a couple of hours! Wish me luck!

Deviating from the norm

2009-02-13T20:59:00.000-08:00

This has really nothing to do with hips. Unless you construe it in some weird, unseemly way. These are about recommendations, you could say.

The first is a recommendation of - drumroll, please - cartoon (ism?). Yes. Me, getting into cartoons. Unlikely, you think. But really, this guy who does them is a friend of my sister. AKA, I don't know him personally. But funny enough, I like most of his work. Especially his space/time continuum comic. The outlay is not very professional (or so I've been told), but I like his stuff.
So here it is!:
http://lewis.comicdish.com/?pageID=56

The other is for creative people, you might say. People who like to get inspired occasionally and would like to have a nice place to do it. It's full of arts and crafts and ideas and ...well....pretty much everything. Here goes!:
http://blog.freepeople.com/

Yay! And yes, this is the third post today. I am breaking records all over the place!

Plans for the future.

2009-02-13T15:13:00.000-08:00

Guess what arrived in the mail today!

This did!:

Ok. Not Dr. Gregory House, but his cane did! For several weeks, I shall be needing a cane, and so I ordered this one! Isn't it pretty! I got home and it was just there waiting for me. Aww....
I need to give it a name. Like Elsa, my walker, and Tracy, my wheelchair. Funny enough, I haven't named my crutches, even though I got primer all over them the other day. Now that was a chilly day.

So I know have a cane with flame decals up the bottom! I'm keeping it till I die, pretty much.

It's Free Hug Day, by the way! I posted a piece of paper on myself to day that said "Free Hugs", but I made the H too wide so a lot of people thought it said "Free Mugs" instead. It's funny. I hardly got any hugs at all, except from my close friends during the day. When I came into the band room, everybody hugged me. It was so much fun! If you aren't familiar with the Free Hugs Campaign, watch this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4&feature=related

Yay!

I have a dream...

2009-02-13T14:57:00.001-08:00

...that one day...
Just kidding. To quote MLK Jr. is not the purpose of this post. To relay a dream I had, however, is.

I had a vivid dream the other night. No, it did not concern Goodwill in outer space, but it did concern something with my "situation". Even though there were a whole lot of other things that happened in the dream-something that had to do with a hotel or motel where 1100 Cherry road should be and a lot of....emotion- I still retain the part of my dream that pertains to walking. You see, I was charged with some emotion, and whether that was anger, fear, disappointment, grief, or anything else, I don't know. All I know is that it was a negative emotion. And when I feel like that in real life, I just want to fly away, or more accurately, run. But I never do, in real life.

But in this dream, I did just that. I ran away. I started walking up Cherry Road as hard and as fast as I could, digging my heels into the concrete like I usually do when I'm passionate about something. And then I tried to run. But every time I started to run, my left leg would crumple under me and I would fall to the ground. So I was forced to walk. And then I tried to run again and I still couldn't do it. So I turned around and started back to where I had come from, alternately walking and then falling on my face.

In real life, I have only once or twice encountered that terrible feeling that my body was abandoning me. A couple times when I tried to do something before my surgery, and my left hip fell out from under me. And then in the hospital the few days after my surgery, when my leg wouldn't move. I was exerting a force that would have normall kicked my leg like a can can dancer's, but all the ground I was attaining was a few inches.

I don't know why this terror visited me in my sleep. Some might read this account of a dream and say that it is pathetic and feel sorry for me. Some might read it as a longing to get a way. Some would probably get metaphorical with it. Some might think it is funny, in a light moment with a light telling of the tale. I see it as desperation. I've had dreams like it before, is the funny part. I had a dream where I was walking with a huge tray of fruit-don't ask why, even I don't know- and I suddenly remembered in the middle that I was quasi-disabled, so I would start limping in the middle of the dream. Then I gave it up and started walking normal.

Food for subconcious thought.

By the way, anyone, from my sister to Mrs. Pinkerton, to any other friends who are not commenting, are free to comment. I'm pretty sure I have it opened to all people.

Guess which picture is not like the other...

2009-01-25T12:10:00.000-08:00

Since I know that several casually following this blog have a slight interest in photography (granted, some more than others), I decided to include this quote I just heard which was quick to move to the top of my favorites:

"He never recovered his sanity. Luckily, he was a photographer, so it didn't matter much."

-Garrison Keillor

Now, down to buisness. Even though I received this latest update a couple of weeks ago, I haven't put it up yet, and for that I am truly sorry. Well, here goes: all new and improved.

Sorry about the crummy scanning. I have to admit, I am absolutely pathetic when it comes to scanners. But you get the gist. I promise, if I get a better scan, I will post it. I haven't gotten the chance yet, but the first chance I get, I'm going to see if I set off metal detectors. I have actually come across a half-chance to be wanded, but he passed me over because I was in a wheelchair, and late. :( I will find out though. Maybe after a second surgery...

I've started going to physical therapy twice a week. At first, they threw me on the hydrotrack, an underwater treadmill. Since the water lifts gravity's spell, people like me are able to walk without giving pause. When I told them that I remembered these vividly from when I was 3, even the physical therapists gave me a shocked look. Apparently, they don't get too many two year olds as candidates for surgery and recovery. Unfortunately, after only one appointment on the hydrotrack, I got kicked off. What got me kicked off? My height. The water needs to come up to a certain level for full effect, and apparently 5'8"ish is too tall for the machine. So I'm subjected to pool work only, which is actually kind of fun. My main therapist is a graduate from Harding, so we chat about former teachers and classmates that might have come back. Ironically, one of her best friend's is (former) Coach Myatt, now Coach Myatt Starks. When she asked if I knew Kevin Starks, I almost laughed, considering I was in his first and only 7am Bible class last year. An....interesting experience. Filled with Basketball talk, racist jokes (but only black and white people), and some very interesting glasses of sweet tea (right Melanie?).

The person who owns the first blogspot for hip dysplasia and PAO I looked at named her hip/leg Uber Uma. I remembered that. And though I have not named my hips - yet - despite yelling and thumping (not after the surgery, of course) and some more talking, I have named my modes of transportation. My wheelchair, because of its title: the Tracer SX5, has earned a name as Tracy. My walker is named Elsa, for no apparent reason at all, though it may be related to a very good book, Winter of Fire. I don't know. For now, I must bid you adieu (which is a really good word to use in scrabble or speed scrabble)!

New Years?

2009-01-14T14:30:00.001-08:00

Ok. I'm a little late. As in half a month late. But I have finally decided on my new year's resolution, even though I decided long ago that they are worthless. My new year's resolution: learn to walk for the third time. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen. The third time. How many of you can lay claim to that?! Hmm? Hmm? For a status report for those not in the area presently or who just don't see me often or those whom I lie to about my condition (sorry y'all, it gets really tiring to give a full status report to everyone, so you just end up saying "fine" a whole lot): I am practically painless. I'm just waiting, waiting, waiting for the bone to heal. Sometimes my incision hurts cause I stretch it too far when laying on my side, or my muscles decide they don't want to move so that I end up sore, but for the most part, I'm painless. I've started going back to school, in a wheelchair of course, so that I don't fall over and die. The death refers to a HUGE reconstructive surgery I would have to go through and approximately 4 more months of immobility. Yeah. Not happening. But there are some good things that come out of the surgery.

Pros:
*My seven inch scar. Some ask if I have my vitimin E handy, which is a formula that actually reduces scar tissue. The thing is, I have a weird affection and pride for my scars. This scar will be the sixth permanent scar I have. Five are from hip surgery/leg breakage and one is from cracking my head open. In a weird way, they seem to represent all that's happened to me and therefore are a natural part of me. I wouldn't erase them away for the world.

*My dead spot. I actually feel like Mal (Firefly/Serenity) on this one. Instead of having a dead, unfeeling spot in my kidneys, I have a dead, unfeeling, nerveless area about 2 inches to the left of my scar. It's actually pretty neat. I keep getting freaked out though cause I accidentaly feel it, realize I don't and then get the shivers. My dream, though, is to get into a fight and someone stab my in my hip and then I shake the hair out of my eyes and say in a deadly voice "I don't feel that. But you'll feel this!" and then plant a flying kick into their chest. It'll be great!

*The incredible support. Everyone at school, faculty, staff, friends, colleagues, have showed incredible support to make sure I can still learn everything, and go everywhere I need to. It's so amazing.

Cons:
*The explanatory process. I hate explaining to people what happened to me. I don't mind for about two people, but after a while, explaining to everyone what happened is just so tiring. And you can't just run away from the question, cause you're either in a walker or crutches (muletas!) or a wheelchair. One girl who I didn't even know responded this way when I told her I had hip dysplasia: "You mean, the things that dogs get!?" Yes. The things that dogs get.

*The death of spontaneity. Every once in a while you get an impulse. The impulse to tickle someone, to sneak up behind them, or to dance in the rain. All that was taken away for a while. I realized about a week ago that I won't be able to dance for a bit more than two months. Not that I dance professionally, or even as a hobby, but I like to. I do a twirl when I feel happy, I dance when that certain song comes on that just makes you want to move, I move like that all the time. It's so sad to feel that you can't do that anymore.

*Oh yeah, I can't walk.

*Friends you didn't know you had. I won't say her name, but there's a girl at school I am acquainted with. I don't know her that much and really don't care to. But know that I'm in a wheel chair, I'm her best friend. Wow. I'm really working this italics thing, aren't I? People want to push you around everywhere. Personally, it's a little hit on my pride. Like I can't get myself to places, or what?

Well, that's pretty much it. Sorry for my inattentiveness lately. Wow. I seem to apologize everytime I write. Oops. (But I won't apologize.) :D

And Everything Else...

2008-12-30T18:55:00.000-08:00

Sorry for being ridiculously lax in my pursuit of information giving. Next bullet point.

Sunday: By Sunday I had completed most of the hurdles the nurses require of patients before they leave the hospital. I had (1.) convinced them that I did not require a catheter, finally. Yes, there is a story there, but I will not relate it unless I am talking to you in person, or close to it. I had (2.) managed to walk 10 or less feet without passing out or feeling dizzy. I (3.) stopped throwing up, after much persuasion. I (4.) was feeling alert, or at least enough to yearn for cleanliness and watch TV. Seeing as how my mind set was a couple days earlier, this is very alert. And plus, I received bonus points for making my systolic hit 100. I managed to hover around mid 80s to the 90s for most of my visit. Apparently this isn't good. It probably would help if they didn't suck my blood every 24 hours. Just an opinion.

I was all ready to face to world. I took a shower (by the way, this is a HUGE accomplisment) in their bathroom and put on my own clothes in the stead of hospital gowns. I walked out past the elevators (woot). I made some contacts so that 20 people wouldn't show up at the hospital 20 minutes after I left. The nurses took my IVs out! This is the best news ever! And I ate lunch. In the middle of lunch, Dema and Micheal showed up and became my honor guard out of the hospital. Goodbye friendly nurses. Goodbye Food Man. Goodbye Rusty. I spent an only slightly painful ride home and got to sleep in a real bed, for once.

The next morning I was forced to welcome a new regimen. Every day: 2 stool softeners, 1 iron pill, a Perkaset pain pill taken as needed, and 1 shot in the stomach to prevent blood clots. They problem is, every day spent away from the hospital increases my dislike of being poked with sharp objects. In the hospital you sort of get used to it. But not so at home. As of right now, I only need 2 more injections. Score! So what has been happening since my semi-triumphant return? Well, there have been visits and pain meds and a physical therapist and crutches and a wheelchair and a whole lot of fussing. Since returning home, I've had two showers and washed my hair twice. I feel so clean! I now have so much chocolate and other assorted sweets they would supply 20 hormonal women who had just gotten broken up with. I have watched three times the movies I would normally watch. For many days at home, I just recuperated and rested. I got up several times a day, each time moving more easily. On Saturday I finally did what had seemed the impossible several days before: I got up, dressed in real clothes, and set forth in a wheelchair to go to Borders. It was a good thing too. They are having a huge sale right now!

I'll probably write a follow up post for everything I forgot later, but for know, here is your information overload of the day. Questions? Comments? Threats? Contact me. Somehow...

Friday-Saturday

2008-12-23T16:50:00.000-08:00

I decided to cover these in one bound because half of it is lost in a medicated haze and the other half is full of painful details no one wants to be debreifed on too much. My days at the hospital began early, because for a place that is full of healing, they certainly start processing you ridiculously early. A nurse comes to suck your blood at 5:30-6:00, and after that nurses come in frequently to take your blood pressure, temperature, and such sundry vital signs. At seven, the doctors come to either change you dressing or hospitably (get it?!) talk to you or warn you of incoming therapists. After that, the friendly guy who gives you meals comes to bring you breakfast and to give you options for the rest of the day. No really, I love that guy. He's amazing.
After that come the physical therapists. Though they seem nice, they have a heart of steel behind those helpful demeanors. My first therapist even made me pass out! Just kidding, Rusty, that was my fault. My fault that I have ridiculously low blood pressure. Physical therapy is hard, though. You wouldn't think that moving your leg ahead 2 inches would be that difficult! But it is. The bathroom was probably the biggest accomplishment. You have to move all the way there, do your buisness, then all the way back. Exhausting!
For the rest of the day, it is a blur of visitors, vital signs, more visitors, television, pain meds, vital signs, and food. My apologies for two of my visitors: Suzanne and Jonathan, for almost vomiting on them. I really wasn't good that day, I'm sorry.
There were up moments, and there were truly rotten moments, but I managed to get through to Sunday! Why six in the morning? That's just what I don't get.

First Day

2008-12-21T16:17:00.000-08:00

Yay! I'm home! But before I start confusing you with haphazard rememberances in no certain (haha, London) order, I shall stop confusing everyone and start from the befinning.
-Where should I start?
-I believe the beginning's a good a place as any.

I'm beginning where I left off: the day of. Frankly, I don't remember much of this. I remember insisting to myself that I must find something cute to wear to the hospital (I don't know why) and showing up to the hospital. The waiting room took quite some time, but eventually, we were admitted back. My two pre-op nurses/attendees were Harding graduates! They prepped me by putting in an IV, giving me gowns, taking my blood pressure and taking my temperature. Then they took me back to the "block room". The block room is where they gave me a nerve block for post-op pain and a spinal block (the kind birthing women receive, methinks) for the operation pain. Here was the amazing thing: usually people mind when they are stuck in the hip or the spine with huge needles, but I absolutely didn't. I was in my happy zone. I was feeling my cheerios. I was happy. IV's are miraculous things. Here, my memory goes hazy. I remember the ceiling (barely) from the block room to the OR. I remember commenting to Dr. Guyton that the overhead lights looked like UFOs. And then I cease to remember.

When I woke up, I was in the recovery room, where they put you between operating room and actual room. According to my mother: my first words when hazily awake were about Nutella. Does this suprise anyone? And then I talked of ravioli and Chef Boyardee. And then I cried, because they did an unspeakably cruel thing to me: they rolled me over onto my bad side for an X-ray. Twice. You cannot imagine the searing pain. All of my memories until the next morning remain hazy. I thank Niani Connerly's mother, my first night nurse, for that. I was up all night off and on because of discomfort. This side sleeper still needs a bit of transitioning till she gets used to sleeping flat on her back. That is it for know, my dear readers. I must fly and walker my way over to the couch for some dinner. See you tomorrow!

Well...

2008-12-18T08:04:00.000-08:00

Well....
This is it. I just wanted to say that this is my last post before the hospital and that I am ravenously hungry already. Bye, world! Thanks everyone for the notes and the prayers and the encouragement. Thank you Louis (and Lola and Jacob) for the cookies! Bye!

Drumroll, please.....

2008-12-17T16:15:00.000-08:00

T-1 Day!!!!!!!!!!

Well, friends, this is it. My last day with working (or semi-working) joints.

I would like to formally (or not so formally, since it is me you're talking about) thank everyone for the prayers, and the comments, and the well wishing and the monkey (Thanks Patrick!). Everyone has bombarded me with prayers and chocolates (Thanks Aunt Cheryl!). A couple classes in school had group prayers for me, and several others asked students to think of me. I am truly grateful for these. My hypothesis: they'll open me up and discover that everything is miraculously healed because of all the prayers! No really, there is no way to tell you thank you for everything.

Speaking of the monkey, everyone who visits me and says the passphrase "The eggplants grow greener on the other hip" has permission to sign my stuffed monkey's scrubs. :D
I'll probably post something in a hurry tomorrow before hurrying to the hospital (10:30-sign in; 1:30-3:30 begin the operation) but if not, this could be the very parenthetical last post before surgery. Love you, everyone!

Not About Me, Believe It or Not.

2008-12-14T14:03:00.000-08:00

T-4 days.

Today is the day to think of someone I mentioned earlier in a comment on the first or second post. My aunt. Aunt Vicki is undergoing surgery for her breast cancer tomorrow. Fortunately, the doctor said recently that the tumor is much smaller than expected or something. This is good.

I love you Aunt Vicki, and I hope it all goes well for you. Don't forget to tell me how long it took so that we can compare! :D Good luck. We're all praying for you.

The Problem with Pain: Part I

2008-12-12T21:21:00.000-08:00

T-6 days
Hi grandma! You just got the address, you said, so you get a halloo.

The final pre-op! Really boring. I had to tell my medical history three times! I got my blood taken (again) and another x-ray, though this was of my chest. (?) I don't know why either. What was new was the EKG (the little thing that monitors heart rate and bleeps annoyingly in hospitals) and the urine sample (ugh.). So fun and exciting, right? Most of it was actually waiting rooms. Plus, I left my new ring in the clinic. Oops. Actually, after Dad went back and got it, they gave it to me in a biohazard bag. Pretty sweet!

Now to the pain!
Several of you have asked 'what does it feel like?' Some others ask 'does it hurt now?' That latter comment actually reminds me of the Verizon Wireless commercials: Can you hear me now?
And even though it seems foolish to address this so close to surgery,
I have narrowed my pain into categories:

Just plain annoying!: the kind of pain that barely measures on charts. But it makes you uncomfortable constantly! Agh! It's the kind that makes you shift and change position every 30 seconds, it seems like.

The present pain: This definitely measures on the pain charts. It's the kind that makes you limp, not that I do much. But it's usually brought on by heavy lifting or running around like a crazy person.

The sharp, stabbing pain: This only happens when I've twisted it, or fallen on it the wrong way. It feels like a knife. But only for a minute or two. It doesn't happen very often, so no one freak!

Thank you very much C.S. Lewis (my christian literary hero) for the title.

Why yes I DID wear my Trogdor shirt to the hospital

2008-12-08T13:47:00.000-08:00

Part I: The forbidden land
Isn't this a bummer? I have to stop eating these foods "7-14 days prior to the surgery". A period of which I am currently in. These foods/vitamins/minerals are forbidden:
Multi-Vitamins
Garlic!
Ginseng
Vitamin E
Cayenne
Feverfew
Licorice (poor me)
Ginger
Saw Palmetto
Golden Seal
Ripped Fuel/body building supplements (Aww, man!)
Echinacea

Personally, I thought that last one was an Australian mammal. But maybe I'm wrong.
You know what this means though, no spicy foods, no ginger snaps, and saddest of all, no hummous. For it contains garlic! I just happened to remember to stop eating these foods the day we bought a whole tub of hummous, which constantly calls to me from the depths of the refrigerator. Oh, the humanity! Or the hummousity!

Part II: The bloody escapade
Last Thursday, right before the junior ring banquet in fact, I went to lifeblood to give up some of mine for pre-op testing. The bad thing is, though I've had two major surgeries and it's all been done before, the last time I remember a needle entering my flesh was when I was about 5. I was practically new to the sting, the sight of my blood entering two little tubes.

Actually, it wasn't that bad. I could even bare to watch for the last half of the second tube. Then they fed me and I was left to languish in a comfortable leather chair while my dad got conned (not really, he donated) out of a pint. While there, we met a girl about my age and her mother, also testing for surgery. The difference was that hers was spine sugery and she is going to be in the hospital during Christmas. I guess I'm lucky.
:)

Into the Belly of the Giant Donut

2008-11-21T16:38:00.000-08:00

T-27 days...

Updation!!!

It's been a while, hasn't it? Oh well, here's what you missed.

Nov. 21 (today): pre-pre-op

What's going on: I took a ride in the donut!!! Yes, Melora got her first CT scan ever. It was

pretty exciting. For some reason, whenever I take an X-ray or CT Scan, I have to fight an

urge to laugh. Today was the worst! Apparently, a machine telling me to laugh and hold my

breath, coupled with thrilling animation is hilarious. The lady described it as going inside a

donut hole. I hold to that notion.
Dec. 6: pre-op

Just another visit to my wonderful Dr. Guyton to see how I'm doing about a week before

the thrilling operation.

Dec. 18: little kid band concert! (and PAO)

Yes, the thrilling date at Methodist East. (I can't eat for 13 1/2 hours plus surgery!!)

Dec. 21 or 22: I come home!

Jan. 6: Post-op

Here is where they tell me exactly what I can and cannot do. Yes, school is restricted for a

while.

Speaking of X-rays.....here's my lovely picture!!!

The right is where the R is and so on. The little sticks you see are from my surgery when I was two. Yes, the pins are still in there.

It's kind of small, but you can probably see the space in between my socket and my femoral head.

Technically, I confund the doctors, because my right hip is actually worse than my left, even though we're operating on my left. My right hip has no pain at all while my left is quite painful, so thus the decision to operate on my left.

My right hip will probably follow comparitively soon after my left, owing to it's condition.

If I can ever find it, I swear I shall post my favorite x-ray ever. Yes. It is sad that I have chosen a favorite x-ray. Instead of a little scrap of lead over the uterus (to protect from radiation damage) the hospital chose a little lead heart instead. It's so cute!!!

Interesting fact: after the surgery, I will have a dead nerve space for about 2 years. You learn something new every day!

Well, that's it for now.

Dysplastic word o' the day: Ganz Osteotomy-exactly the same as a PAO, just named after the guy that invented it.

Explanation and Description

2008-11-12T19:02:00.000-08:00

T-36 days. And 98 till my birthday! Right, London?

THE CLEVER, CLEVER PUN EVERYONE SEEMS TO BE MISSING:
(maybe because I didn't explain it enough.)
Everyone started asking about my title, Kung PAO, and why I had called it that.
Duh, I thought, because a periacetabular osteotomy is called a PAO. Everyone knows that. And then it struck me that everyone may not know that. Even my sister had a sticky point connecting synapses.
Leave it to me to use a pun that goes over most everybodies heads. Oops. So my goal today is to inform the ill informed.
I'm getting a periacetabular osteotomy for my major surgery. Shortened, it is called a PAO. The main mechanics of it involves cutting out my bone socket, rotating it several degrees, then screwing it back in. X-rays to come later. The reason reason for pain and the surgery is that the (irreplaceable) cartilage is being worn down by the uneven pressure on the socket. This causes pain. Ok, here's my brief glossary:
PAO: periacetabular osteotomy; 'peri' meaning around, 'acetabular' referring to the acetabulum, 'osteo' as in bone, and '-tomy' as in an operation.

OS: Orthopaediatric surgeon. He works with the anatomy and physiology of bones, mostly.

Hip Dysplasia: Where a head of the bone is "displaced" from the socket. That may not be the actual origin of the word, but that's basically it.

NWB: Non-weight bearing. Means no pressure on the joint. Hence, the crutches.

PWB: Partial weight bearing. Figure it out.

Acetabulum: The socket, basically. It is the anatomical name for the bone in that region.

Did I skip anything? Probably. More to come in future, probably. Maybe I should open up every post with the "Dysplastic Word o' the Day".

Following Yellow Brick Road

2008-11-09T18:12:00.000-08:00

T-39 days

Found on a fortune cookie at Pei Wei: Some like it hot. Eat more Kung Pao.

Surely a good omen or something akin to one! (My lucky numbers are 5,9, 11,20,36, and 40, by the way.)

So, where were we? Somewhere along the "I'm a fairly healthy person point." About mid-September, I went in to my OS (Orthopaediatric Surgeon) at the grand ol' Campell Clinic. I had told him about pains I had in my hip, how it was pretty bad some days, blah, blah, blah. He took x-rays, which are muy uncomfortablemente, by the way, and had them on the computer and was hemming and hawing and said: "If you don't have surgery within the next 5 years you'll need a replacement... (something about cartilage, not important at this present moment)...but I recommend getting them within the next 2 year span or so. Get back in touch with us when you want to schedule." So we talked. At Atlanta Bread company. I mean, I'm off school, right?

And I mull. I decide Christmas. There is my story (pretty much, details to come later, I suppose). Any questions? Comments? Threats? What does this mean to me as a Junior at Harding Academy?

The Beginning...I'm Pretty Sure

2008-11-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

Well, welcome to my hip blog. The place where I tell you my whole life story concerning hips.

I will start at the beginning: birth. I was born with hip dysplasia. Except my doctor didn't seem to notice. Grr. You see, at birth dysplasia is fairly easy to fix. The bones are still semi-malleable, and all is right with the world. Unfortunately, I was about 1 1/2 when they found out. Which meant two (both my hips were messed up) major surgeries. So we fixed them. I was in a body cast for about six months and then a couple months more because I, accident prone as I am, had to go and break one of my legs. In the hospital, no less.

So here I am. All I have on me since my surgeries were 4 scars. My doctors were not sure I would be able to grow up as active as other children. They were mistaken. I was active plenty enough. (Of course, my dad did get teary the first time he saw me run a cross country race :) I still went to the Milwaukee Children's Hospital every year till I was 10.
When we moved, we went once to Campbell Clinic and that was it. Until one day, when....

Tune in next time for the next exciting account of Melora managing to mess herself up...