Something for the Soul - Il Divo

I love this music, it is so vital.  I love watching these beautiful people!  I've listened to this frequently and the words of Amazing Grace still work; they teach the meaning of 'grace'. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYMLMj-SibU
And besides, I love the bagpipes!

So tired of my bones - Week 10

So, so tired.  The knee is taking such a long time to get back to normal.  Of course "everyone" says that the knee is worse than the hip, but how many of them have had both done in the course of 6 months? 

So tired of all the advice, none of which is "good" and all of which is based usually on hearsay.  So tired of feeling tired, especially after exercising.  The best time of the day is early morning when the knee hasn't had a chance to swell, the scar looks as though it's fading (10 weeks) and there is a good feeling of well-being.  Of course, all that depends on whether there's been a good night's sleep preceeding it.  I weaned myself off sleeping pills at week 9 although I didn't force the issue.  If I felt I couldn't sleep, then I simply took a pill.  Then, fairly suddenly, the body just got back into a rhythm of sleeping.  But turning over means waking to place the knee or hip carefully... and sleeping in strange beds (yes, even at my age) plays havoc. 

The feet are still sore and tender and occasionally the knee will spazz on me and nearly put me on the ground.  Recovery is slow.  Instead of a daily realisation of improvement in strength, as with the hip, this is more a fortnightly realisation, such as that I may not have to swing my knee a couple of times to unclick it before getting into the car, or that I can clamber up the stairs without clinging with both hands to the handrail. 

There have been no New Year's Resolutions this year.  Little point, really, when recovery is first and foremost on my mind.  The only good thing has been an unanticipated weight-loss through the feeling of constant nausea.  Sorry to say that has gone away and the appetite is back, but am hopeful I can keep the weight away. 

Went to aqarobics this morning and the knee is very tender now.  Muscles in both legs are sore along with the arms.  Which proves how good the exercise is for one.  If only the chlorine didn't make the skin super-sensitive.

So, week 10: 

• walking better, but rolling gait.  Need more physio.
• Swimming and aqarobics are good, strong exercises
• Still feel sorry for myself, wishing I could be back to normal
• Tiredness still there, even though diet and sleep and exercise are good
• Walking up stairs help to strengthen the quads
• Need stronger quads - can't stand on one leg and balance - or walk up stairs without lunging at the handrail
• Rest quite a bit with leg up - watching stupid tv like Come Dine with Me
• Find it difficult to concentrate for long on any subject
• Sitting on hard chairs is uncomfortable.
• Driving is fine, but cramped in one position is very uncomfortable
• Can't get up from chairs quickly. That includes the loo.
• Still clicks and graunches!

Time, as they say, will tell.  I'll keep an eye on it for you.

Marcia Russell

Some 20 years ago, I picked up the phone extension in the woolshed office and the person on the other end introduced herself as Marcia Russell.  I knew I knew that name from somewhere; surely this was the editor of “Thursday” magazine.  But why was she ringing me?  “I have a daughter”, she said, “who was recently diagnosed as having Prader-Willi syndrome by the mother of another girl with PWS, standing at the counter of a shop in town.  I just need to talk.”  A good hour later, I felt as though I’d found a kindred spirit.  Although Kate was a few years older than my daughter, Francie, what Marcia and Tom had gone through rang so many bells that it could have been orchestrated.   

This was the beginning of a long friendship, founded on PWS, but built by each of us into a strong relationship.  I have always felt lucky to know Marcia – for a start, she was a strong role model for all of us growing up in the 60s; her vibrancy, great sense of humour, her verbal skill, her ability to quickly grasp a situation, to sort the wheat from the chaff, is a rare find.  It wasn’t long before I asked her if she would be part of the PWS Association that I was struggling to form.  So many parents whose children had PWS were simply unable to commit to anything else but trying to grapple with their own situation.  But Marcia had enough energy and drive to do both and for many years she was a strong member of the Association’s Board.  She knew and understood the limitations of the syndrome, the difficulties faced by parents and families, the issues in confronting disbelieving professionals, and was able to educate and inform and support others.   She, and Tom, attended conferences, met with, and also hosted specialists of the syndrome

When Kate went to  Salisbury School for Girls in Richmond, Nelson, Marcia took a seat on the board and became Chair.  Her ability to lead the board was exemplary and she guided Salisbury through some difficult times.  I know this from firsthand experience as I also joined the board as our daughters progressed their way through the school. 

Marcia’s loyalty as a friend could never be doubted.  Her loyalty to our New Zealand PW Association was always strong and she brought wisdom, wit, and compassion to her job.   In those days when I was often struggling to run the Association, I could always rely on her to hear me out, offer wise counsel and give support.   I know others have found the same. 

We shared some good times over a few glasses of wine. Laughter and tears of mirth and despair.  

Marcia died on 1 December, 2012.   I shall miss her greatly.

On becoming a grandparent

I have a grandson!  Our first grandchild!  There is great joy in that statement; hard to describe really, as it is quite different from the joy of having one's first child.  There is a sense of great satisfaction in knowing that you have helped carry on the line, as it were, you are continuing the will of the world, to procreate.

Some years ago, I recognised in myself a sense of emptiness.  Not the 'empty nest' syndrome, as that had occurred many years before when all three children had grown up and left home.  No, it was another sense of emptiness and I could not identify it until, at last, I realised it was a real deep need to know that there would be children from my children.  Weird.  Never thought about it before, never really worried or wondered, but here it was, presenting itself in a very physical way - a hollow that needed to be filled.

So, on 1st October, a baby son was born to my firstborn daughter.  The emptiness had gone - filled by new life.  The sweetest baby imaginable.  Everyone says that of their own - so it must be true.  We travelled to Australia to visit the new little family.  To wonder at the new life.  To watch him breathe, hear him cry, marvel at his perfection!

Now, he is smiling.  I can't wait to watch this child grow!

Kneed it?

I think I am my own worst enemy.  After having my hip done in July this year, I went back for further punishment in the form of a knee replacement.  On the opposite side to the hip.  My God.  I have never known so much agony and pain as in the first two weeks after the operation.  There was no escaping it - nowhere to hide, to curl up, to ignore the pain.  Sleep was non-existent, and tiredness affected the healing process as well. Tears were never far away.

I gathered around me whispers and threads of advice.  Someone here, with a suggestion of arnica creme to massage into the bruised leg; someone there with the thought of arnica drops to be taken orally for bone healing.  Another clue in the type of drugs I was taking (opiates) that it was ok to change them.  (Oh, they were wicked - deadening the mind, not the pain.)  Another whisper of sleeping pills - ok to take a whole one each night until you can sleep without them. Someone else with the valued knowledge of what a tubular bandage could do to help support the leg and dissipate the pain a little.  Finally, an 'ice sleeve' that wraps around the knee and fills by vacuum method with ice water.  The chill of the ice kind of overwhelmed the pain of the knee and, by concentrating on the coldness, I could overcome the pain and even sleep. Once the stitches came out and the leg stopped looking like a rolled and tied lump of meat, stretching and extending became a little easier.

Then, on day 16, a kind of breakthrough - the bruising diminished and along with that, almost overnight, went at least 60% of the pain.  I didn't dare say anything for two days, just in case I was wrong and pain was simply waiting around the corner.  But I think it is true - the bruising and having to work through the damaged muscles was causing more pain than anything else.  Did the arnica work its miracle?  yes, I think so!  To be through that pain barrier and on the other side is incredibly rewarding.  So is sunshine, and so is laughter.  I have my sister staying with me and together we can work up quite a level of childish hysteria at past things forgotten, but still hilarious.  Laughter at that level where you can barely draw breath, is so cleansing and makes you feel really happy.

There are more joints to go.  I know.  I've inherited bad joints - I have only to think of my little old grandmother, who died at the ripe old age of 93, and her bandy little legs which looked as though they were set at 45 degree angles, to even guess at the grinding pain she must have had when walking.  Same as my father.  But operations and replacement joints were not an option then as they are now.  So, I am lucky.  In pain, but very lucky!

After Sales Care

The best thing to do, according to everyone Who Knows, is to get back swimming.  This is the best after sales care for the hip, or knee or any sort of operation it would seem.  There are two things I hate about this kind of exercise:  one, the need to dry off and get into clothes in a very small cubicle without getting feet wet, clothes wet, or dropping the towel - and the mere fact of getting oneself dry properly is impossible.  The second thing I hate is the chlorine.  I hate the smell of it, and I hate the prickly feeling it gives the skin after bathing in it.

However, I love the freedom of water, the fact that exercise is not weight-bearing, and the wonderful thought that if I fell over, I would be entirely supported.  So I paid my ticket and took my chances with the aqua fitness classes.  I'd already done these before the hip replacement, so knew what I was in for.  I can cope with these, particularly if I can take a sneaky rest during the class.  So back I went.  First up was a class by Tarnz.  Tarnz is super fit.  As is Tania - not to be confused with Tarnz.  Two different women, but both look very similar.  Fit as.  Slight, brown-skinned, black hair, and with a wonderful ability to cheer you on.

We're mostly baby-boomers, especially the class for Aqua Senior which has different music - all the sort of 70's and 80's stuff that we can apparently rock on to.  And we do, many of us singing along before gulping a mouthful of the chlorinated aqua stuff or going under.  Many of us know others in the class and many of us wish we didn't have to meet others under these often undignified circumstances.  But there we are; in the same boat, as it were.

"Awesome!" is the word most frequently used by these lithe, super-fit instructors.  Not many people tell me I'm awesome, or give me so much praise for doing so little, or indeed clap me after I've finished.  "Awesome!" I hear, as I push my weary way through the water, legs hoisted up one after another, or rocketed from side to side.  I lift my chin a little - hey!  I'm awesome!  I'm awesome as I sit astride the 'noodle' and vainly try to scoot down the length of the pool with knees in sitting position.  I'm awesome as the noodle is swung two and fro under the water making my arms weak with endeavour.  I'm awesome as I scoot backwards down the length of the pool, tripping over myself in my haste not to be last.  It's quite nice to be told I'm awesome after all these years - quite a compliment, really.

I'll take it!

To sleep, perchance to dream

Right now, I would love a brandy and ginger.  I can smell it and taste it - that wonderful gingery taste with the depth of brandy - smoky, deep, pleasurable - and the effervescent bubbles of the gingerale.  To go with that, I would like some thin ginger biscuits.  Wafer thin, crisp, almost peppery.

It's 2.30am and I can't sleep.  It's impossible having to lie on one's back for 6 weeks while the hip heals.  Pillows stacked high, sloping gently down like a ski slope so that my back rests in an almost upright position. Sleeping like this can only be done in two-hour snatches, if you're lucky.  Then the desire to turn over becomes unbearable.  The pillow, wedged between the knees is there to stop all that.  I've managed four weeks out of the six, but each night is like an endurance test.  I keep my laptop by my bed, along with my e-reader, and my cellphone.  The phone was there originally so that if I needed something when I was too weak to get out of bed without help, I could phone.  Theoretically.  The one time I tried that system, everyone slept through.  However, I don't feel I could use it now for a brandy and ginger, and get away with it somehow.

My back loathes the pressure put on it - whether that's something that has built up during the day as I lunge about on crutches, madly practising my walking skills up and down the steep drive-way and round and round the house, or whether it's just a pressure point from lying awkwardly, I don't know, but it is protesting.  My whole body protests, particularly the bladder.  It's like some sort of payback time.  During the day, bladder is well-behaved and acts normal.  Come the night and it demands attention every hour.  So the struggle to get out of bed, find slippers, don't bend down, don't twist, don't turn on healing leg, find crutch, get to bathroom, etc etc is a 'mare.  Three, four times a night.

By the time I get to sleep - waiting out the non-sleeping hours til the requisite time allowed to take next lot of painkillers - it's dawn and the magpies are starting their chorus out on the lawn.  It's my cue to fall asleep before the rest of the household gets up and the dog comes tearing along to jump on the bed.

I looked up quotes for sleep, only knowing one myself:  "Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care" which I have always liked (Shakespeare), he goes on:
"The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course
Chief nourisher in life's feast"

Which is a wonderful way to look at sleep - as the second course in life's great feast.  Day/Night.  Awake/Asleep.

But right now, I see sleep in a crystal goblet of brandy and ginger.  How can I magic that up?