Progress Report

I told myself I would not make my hip replacement regular fodder for this blog, but then again who am I to look a titanium gift horse in the leg?

It was 4 weeks ago today when a young surgeon stood in a Santa Monica hospital, turned to the nurse and said, "Gimme the big scalpel, the No. 10 Machete, and let's get this fat boy sliced open." 

Hours later, through the miracle of silicon substitute cartilage and the dulling effects of industrial grade opioids --- Mmmmm, opioids -- I was miraculously standing on two feet and, with the aid of a walker and PT therapist named Logan, walking the hallways in the Santa Monica Hospital OR recovery room.

The modularity of the human body still amazes me. 

We are in the truest sense of the word, the sum of all the parts. And sometimes those parts need to be replaced. I can't help but wonder what our nomad Neanderthal ancestors did to older members of the tribe when they couldn't keep up the pace of the hunt. 

I'm sure the first hip replacement was nothing more than the Alpha grunting something unintelligible to one of his underlings. Followed quickly by a large stone to the head of the limping straggler.

In any case, the rehabilitation is going fine. I no longer need the walker. I was given permission to sleep on my stomach. And, after watching my gait, the orthopedic surgeon gave me the OK to resume my Peloton work-outs. 

I think he was premature on that. Because after 20 minutes on the bike the next day (I should have done 10) I was sore and any progress slowed considerably. I so want to get back to normal that I have a tendency to overdo things. 

As in most things in life. 

If my reading of all the Internet material on 'hip replacement rehabilitation' is correct, I will be fully recovered in two weeks. And if I'm not, I will explore the possibility of supplementing my comeback with this new drug I've been hearing so many good things about -- Ivermectin.

I hear it cures Covid and builds bodies in 12 strong ways.