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I wanna take you to China, I wanna kiss you in Rome
In case anyone's curious, I've still got bad knees. I just stopped writing about them because I was boring even myself ;)
On the plus side, there is good news. Over small distances - say, round the office - I can do something that more or less passes for normal walking. Except for those times like yesterday when I've been sitting for too long, get up, get a few steps away from my desk, and then realise that my knees are giving way.
In general, so long as I take things slowly, I can walk (with a crutch) quite considerable distances. About ten days ago I made it from Ealing to Richmond via a wander through Kew, which the slightly shonky GPS on my phone made 7.5 miles. Although the 7.5 miles did include a stop for brunch, a stop for ice cream, and a stop for a pint[*]. On bank holiday Monday, I did a bit of pottering about on Hampstead Heath - much less distance but lots more hills, slopes, unexpected tree roots, slithery patches of gravel, and diverse obstacles. So by many standards, that's pretty decent mobility.
On the other hand, I'm still very aware of how much unexpected things hurt. Sitting down. Standing up. Lifting a heavy bag, or opening a door with a strong spring. Doing stairs. I am doing stairs - I even occasionally walk up to my third-floor office - but it hurts. Hurts quite variably, too, which makes planning tricky. An apparently innocuous twist, done accidentally because I'm now walking less cautiously a lot of the time, can be hugely painful and throw the rest of the day out. But, y'know, stairs. That's still pretty decent mobility.
What has been nice has been the constant sense of achievement. First I could get about safely on crutches, then safely on one crutch. There was a day sometime in March when I staggered, unsupported and arms oustretched, a few steps from the sofa towards ChrisC. This is probably a familiar scene to many, except the principal character is usually about four feet shorter than I am. I've been ticking things off as I go: walking longer distances, walking up stairs, then walking downstairs. When I hop in a pool and kick with my legs, I now make measurable forward progress. I tried, very briefly, the motion of jogging through the flat the other day. That was a very bad idea and has resolutely not been ticked off yet.
What has not been nice has been the relentless tedium of physio. Yes, yes, I know, it's doing me lots of good. And I'm very lucky to have good physiotherapy, and I am grateful. But the grind of 45 minutes of exercises morning and night is really quite surprisingly draining. Come home from work, eat tea, do physio, go to bed. Get up and hurrah! More physio. I have been trying to keep the whinging to a minimum (not least because there is no let-up in the physio schedule for the forseeable) but bloody hell am I fed up with it.
The gym program designed by my physio has been slowly upped until I'm now cycling (on a static bike, obviously) for 20 minutes at a time, with the resistance level turned up such that it actually feels like exercise. Breaking news: turning abruptly sedentary for three months does nothing for your fitness. The little warning light flashed at me on the exercise bike the other day to tell me that my heart rate was entering "dangerous" :( A month ago I couldn't talk and walk up stairs because I was too busy concentrating on making all the various muscles do that which they should. Now I can't talk and walk up stairs because I'm out of breath.
On Thursday I'm off to the hospital to see the consultant, and discuss the possibility of ACL reconstruction. My physio's advice this morning was that I shouldn't think about having the surgery for at least another month, as my knees have only just recovered to the point of being able to do "serious strengthening".
[*] At a pub in Richmond. ChrisC tells me that if he'd been in charge of my physio[**] I would have been set a series of challenges to reach particular pubs on foot.
[**] He concedes it's probably for the best that he wasn't.
On the plus side, there is good news. Over small distances - say, round the office - I can do something that more or less passes for normal walking. Except for those times like yesterday when I've been sitting for too long, get up, get a few steps away from my desk, and then realise that my knees are giving way.
In general, so long as I take things slowly, I can walk (with a crutch) quite considerable distances. About ten days ago I made it from Ealing to Richmond via a wander through Kew, which the slightly shonky GPS on my phone made 7.5 miles. Although the 7.5 miles did include a stop for brunch, a stop for ice cream, and a stop for a pint[*]. On bank holiday Monday, I did a bit of pottering about on Hampstead Heath - much less distance but lots more hills, slopes, unexpected tree roots, slithery patches of gravel, and diverse obstacles. So by many standards, that's pretty decent mobility.
On the other hand, I'm still very aware of how much unexpected things hurt. Sitting down. Standing up. Lifting a heavy bag, or opening a door with a strong spring. Doing stairs. I am doing stairs - I even occasionally walk up to my third-floor office - but it hurts. Hurts quite variably, too, which makes planning tricky. An apparently innocuous twist, done accidentally because I'm now walking less cautiously a lot of the time, can be hugely painful and throw the rest of the day out. But, y'know, stairs. That's still pretty decent mobility.
What has been nice has been the constant sense of achievement. First I could get about safely on crutches, then safely on one crutch. There was a day sometime in March when I staggered, unsupported and arms oustretched, a few steps from the sofa towards ChrisC. This is probably a familiar scene to many, except the principal character is usually about four feet shorter than I am. I've been ticking things off as I go: walking longer distances, walking up stairs, then walking downstairs. When I hop in a pool and kick with my legs, I now make measurable forward progress. I tried, very briefly, the motion of jogging through the flat the other day. That was a very bad idea and has resolutely not been ticked off yet.
What has not been nice has been the relentless tedium of physio. Yes, yes, I know, it's doing me lots of good. And I'm very lucky to have good physiotherapy, and I am grateful. But the grind of 45 minutes of exercises morning and night is really quite surprisingly draining. Come home from work, eat tea, do physio, go to bed. Get up and hurrah! More physio. I have been trying to keep the whinging to a minimum (not least because there is no let-up in the physio schedule for the forseeable) but bloody hell am I fed up with it.
The gym program designed by my physio has been slowly upped until I'm now cycling (on a static bike, obviously) for 20 minutes at a time, with the resistance level turned up such that it actually feels like exercise. Breaking news: turning abruptly sedentary for three months does nothing for your fitness. The little warning light flashed at me on the exercise bike the other day to tell me that my heart rate was entering "dangerous" :( A month ago I couldn't talk and walk up stairs because I was too busy concentrating on making all the various muscles do that which they should. Now I can't talk and walk up stairs because I'm out of breath.
On Thursday I'm off to the hospital to see the consultant, and discuss the possibility of ACL reconstruction. My physio's advice this morning was that I shouldn't think about having the surgery for at least another month, as my knees have only just recovered to the point of being able to do "serious strengthening".
[*] At a pub in Richmond. ChrisC tells me that if he'd been in charge of my physio[**] I would have been set a series of challenges to reach particular pubs on foot.
[**] He concedes it's probably for the best that he wasn't.
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I don't regret the skiing trip. I've had fun skiing without mishap, in the past, and I could have done the exact same injury slipping down stairs (a friend of mine did, in fact).
Would I ski again is rather harder. My initial thought was that yes, I would, but now I'm not so sure. Certainly I wouldn't ski if it were against medical advice for me. If I'm deemed fit, I was already a pretty scaredy skiier, and I find it hard to believe that that won't be worse on any future occasion.
On the one hand skiing seems a really stupid thing to do, as I absolutely don't want to go through all this again. On the other hand, it was one unlucky fall and that could have happened at any time, doing anything...
So in short, I don't know.
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I think age is a massive factor. I'm always amazed by the fearless way four year olds zip about on skis, completely oblivious of that unfenced opportunity to plummet right next to them.
I fell over a lot the first time I went skiing, but except for one time when I kicked myself in the shin, nothing hurt. In fact I was pretty surprised at how well I bounced given some fairly spectacular-looking limbs-and-skis-everywhere tumbles. So I was always worried about going over an edge, or going too fast and crashing, but weirdly wasn't that worried about falling over.
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(or has someone run off with Pintwatch's pints?)
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Pintwatch is going well thanks - tweeted as recently as a couple of weekends ago (https://mobile.twitter.com/pintwatch/status/737326934657531908). On the whole, people were very nice and brought Pintwatch pints while it wasn't able to get to the bar.
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:-(
I'm not remotely surprised.
My physio's advice this morning was that I shouldn't think about having the surgery for at least another month, as my knees have only just recovered to the point of being able to do "serious strengthening".
As opposed to half-hearted strengthening?!
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Some of the exercises she's given me definitely constitute comedy strengthening.
I was almost beaten this evening trying to figure out how to give myself a strong enough anchor point for the new exercise. She'd suggested using a chair with someone sitting on it but ChrisC is out. Eventually managed using a piano stool and a case of wine...
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On the contrary... If I drink any wine, the case will no longer be heavy enough to keep the piano stool in place!
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This is mostly because it usually winds up with my smacking myself in the head when my shoulder fails to completely perform the movement it's trying to make and decides to drop my own hand on me instead.
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Oh dear :(
Are you seeing any shoulder improvement?
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On the plus side: obvious healing going on. On the negative: it's suddenly got a lot harder to do simple things I could do a week ago. And it's randomly aching in new places as the muscles complain about the physiotherapy. And my son laughs at me when I smack myself in the face. But I can feel the difference in the muscles around the shoulder so ... plodding on.
If they could invent a way to accelerate tendon/muscle/ligament healing I would be all over that first study. :)
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Argh. Yes. That bit about waiting for things to heal. I know that one. Also things getting worse in the short term (new exercise yesterday; now I have a sore bum).
The healing part is good news, though. I hope it gets on with it...
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Thanks!
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It's down from 90 minutes morning and evening! Dunno if my physio ever pauses to add up how much all those "and do three sets of ten" come to!
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Oh, turns out I exaggerated. With the new exercise regime (as defined yesterday) I just rattled through in 31:35 :)
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(Anonymous) 2016-06-08 12:31 pm (UTC)(link)I don't know, I think ChrisC's idea of carrot/stick (or, more accurately, beer/hobble) has its merits.
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I "danced" Shepherd's Hey for exceedingly small values of "dance". Fortunately, it was a very shambly set (I was relying on it!) and no one cared that I was in the wrong place. Or couldn't clap :)