Hip, Hip, Hooray...Not!

I'm trying to bring crutches into the world of Haute couture... one gimpy slap step at a time...(sigh)

Google image

I have been on walking aids recently, first a walker, then crutches. I have been off my horses,too. I am not happy about that. I haven't even been able to longe or play with them for fear of injuring myself further.

Three years ago, thinking I was in my twenties, not my fifties, I overdid the leg presses at the gym. The result was soreness that turned into tendonitis which turned into bursitis of the hip. Chronic, painful, sleep disturbing, radiating-to-my-foot bursitis. I couldn't even lay on my affected side or wear snug pants.

So-called conservative therapies either didn't help at all or helped only a little. Those included massage therapy, warm water movement, iontophoresis, electric stimulation, and injections of corticosteroids at the site.

Finally, my orthopedic surgeon recommended a procedure to remove the bursa, a surgery that is only done by a couple doctors, and those in a city over a hundred miles away. After a ton of research, I agreed. Last week, I had the surgery, and now I am on crutches and off my horses.

I am not a languishing sort of person, not one to enjoy this interlude drooping and clickety-clack staggering from bed to couch. I am ready to be all done with this.

Lesson: when it comes to weight training at my age: less is more...

Proud flesh

Google image, my horse's was higher on the forehead

First thing today, my task was to deal with the icky thing on Cruz's (my horse) face. It looked like the raised wheal of a bot. But, it turned out to be proud flesh growing under tough dermal tissue, creating a boil-like wound.

Lidocaine, freely injected around the wound. Betadine cleanser, after the area was numb. Scalpel to debride the tissue. Pick-ups to hold up the tortured flesh, surgical scissors to cut away the excess granulated tissue. Not much blood, but an open wound covered with antibiotic ointment.

He tolerated the procedure well, actually dozing off, leaning into my daughter's hands as I placed pressure on the seeping veins. What a trooper.

Ugly stuff, dealt with summarily. Just another day in the life of a farm woman.

Medical bonding time

My middle son is getting surgery again. This time on his foot, his heel specifically.

This follows scar revision of the hand, an ACL repair, appendectomy resulting in abscess and more surgery for placement of drain in abscess which wore a hole in an artery causing an arterial bleed and more surgery. He has had mono, bad flu, broken clavicle (2,) broken thumb (2), concussions (2).

We have spent a lot of time in medical facilities. We call it bonding time. We talk, joke, philosophize, dream, and actually enjoy the time. But, all the time, I worry. Until he is out of surgery, without complications, and stable, I worry.

Hey, he's still my baby.