She read my chart and saw I have a minor blood clotting disorder.
"Great! We will make sure you are on aspirin for the week or two after the surgery so you don't get DVT. You will have to flex and circle your feet twelve times an hour so you don't clot," she said in the same voice as if she were offering me magical* homemade brownies that had were both fantastically delicious and had no calories. I hadn't really thought of the risk of Deep Vein Thrombosis with this surgery.
"Aspirin -- sounds good. I'll get some before the surgery."
"And you won't be able to take a bath for six weeks. You can't submerge the wound," she said smiling as if she were a college admissions counselor telling me my daughter is a shoo-in for Columbia on a full-ride scholarship.
"Okay," I said. "I can see that." I nodded and smiled.
"And I recommend some laxatives to balance out the constipation from the narcotics," Claire said. "Get the generic Miralax. It is the same as the regular stuff but it is cheaper." It sounded like she could have said, "You know those rainbow Ferragamo shoes** you love? My cousin works for Ferragamo and I can get you a pair for free!"
 |
| You are welcome, Ferragamo, for the advertising. |
She made a possible blood clot, constipation and not taking a bath for six weeks sound like dessert, shoes and getting my daughter into her dream school for free. This woman should be in sales. In fact, she is. She is selling me the surgery in a sense. I've already decided I want it. Her job is to close deal and make sure I don't change my mind when I realize what a nightmare this recovery is going to be. And this is elective surgery versus getting a cancerous tumor removed where they would be handing me tissues. This was very different than when I had my mammogram at the Fred Hutch Cancer Research Center. (See my previous post, Lump.) It is not as elective as a nose job or a tunny tuck, but I could live without out my ACL. I wonder what the pre-op meeting is like for a boob job...
Twenty minutes later, I was out of the appointment at the grocery store buying aspirin and laxatives when it hit me: No baths for six weeks? You've got to be kidding me, I thought. I just started taking showers a week ago because I was afraid I didn't have enough stability. I have to take showers for six weeks, which means I'll have to stand in a slippery bathtub with a leg that doesn't move? Seriously, how can this possibly work?
The Sports Medicine Clinic I go to must be sprinkled with magic fairy dust, and it wore off once I left. I am not saying this is a bad thing. Perhaps I can get some of that fairy dust to get my kids to do chores around the house.
* Not that kind of "magical" brownie. I do live in Washington but...
** I don't think my PT team would let me wear these shoes for quite a while.
No comments:
Post a Comment