My left sock.
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It has been exactly a month since my hip replacement. I’m not jumping for joy, but only because it’s not physically possible yet. I haven’t begun physical therapy to get my full range of motion back, but that starts in a couple of days.
While I can’t jump or run, there are loads of things I can now do — I can take a shower in my own shower, which entails stepping over the lip of the bathtub. I no longer get so tired out by a shower I have to take an immediate nap afterwards. I can walk without a cane, but I don’t fully trust my left hip yet, so I walk with the cane, but try not to rely on it by leaning too heavily on it. I’ve walked several blocks from my house and back, trying to add a little distance each time. I’ve helped put out the trash. I can now sit long enough to write a blog or to drive somewhere nearby — in other words, from 15 to 30 minutes. Last week I drove to the Russian book store, where I worked the 4-hour shift. I can pretty much do everything independently, or at least, most things.
But there is one thing I cannot yet do unaided — I cannot put a sock on my left foot by myself. It’s just a bit funny and a bit pathetic, relying on another person (usually my husband, but occasionally, my daughter) to put a sock on my left foot. It’s understandable, of course, since my muscles do not want to move this way yet. But on especially cold days, when I prefer to wear two pairs of socks (soft, fuzzy ones to hold in the warmth, snuggly inside the more utilitarian outer socks) I feel like an overgrown child. “Feed me!” I want to say, like a baby bird to mama bird. “Swaddle me in warmth, throw worms down my gullet! Take care of me!” And, just as naturally, I feel resentment, like a little bubble of acid, rising from my stomach into my throat. I am a fully competent adult, perfectly capable of microwaving my own frozen burrito, even adding a slice of mozzarella cheese on top! (Follow me for more recipes). I am only allowing this charity towards me because I have no choice.
I only wish I had a robot servant for this single sock task. Why don’t we have robot servants?”
Robot servants are not an unreasonable thing to expect in the 21st century, although we have been promised flying cars since the 1950s, and we’re still waiting — but I digress. My point is, I am not ready for prime time, not ready for a parade, not ready to meet my adoring public — not without assistance. Come to think on it, I’m never going to be ready to meet my adoring public because I am scared of public, I don’t care for parades (my youth has been tainted by Red Army military parades, and my first, knee-jerk reaction when I hear the word “parade” is still, 45 years later, triggered by that), and I will never be ready for prime time at the rate I am going. So, what is the entire point of this blog? I don’t actually have one.
I started this out as an update on my progress, and I’m making good on it. I’m also trying to focus on what I can do rather than what I can’t. But it would be a rather boring article if all I wrote about are victories, when little failures can be so much fun.
