No Bunny Hop

The one where the rabbit doesn’t die; he just hops out of the lab altogether

(Note- words in parentheses are things I thought and may or may not have said.

Also, my apologies for this blog being released later than usual. The plan was to release it in time for Easter but as you will see, hopping and healing are exhausting!)

I couldn’t help but notice the boy of around seven or eight, clutching what was likely his favorite stuffed friend.

Was he here for surgery too?

Was his friend helping him?

Did we have time to go home and get Bergie?

Even though I’d called ahead and asked, they wouldn’t let Peter go back with me. It wasn’t so much that I was nervous, as much as I thought I owed him for taking that silly picture of him wearing the scrub cap before his last surgery.

The male nurse led me back into the pre op area, stopping in front of the bathroom and suggesting I use it before we get started. I wasn’t there 20 seconds when he banged on the door.

“Yvonne? Is there any possibility you could be pregnant?”

(Well of course it was possible. Anything was possible. Hadn’t he ever heard of the Immaculate Conception? But if we are strictly biologically speaking then no, that bunny rabbit left the lab quite a bit ago.)

He then took me to a bed, pointed out what I needed to change into and the fancy plastic handled bags I could put the clothes I was wearing in, and closed the curtain. Shortly after I was in a johnny my surgeon came by. He said hello and then asked what we were doing today.

(Shouldn’t he know? Should I be concerned if he didn’t? I was already concerned that when he used the plastic foot puzzle in his office to describe the surgery to me, he dropped it on the counter where it promptly fell apart. Was this another sign I should leave, half- undressed and all? Or did it mean I could have any surgery I wanted- nose job, face lift, tummy tuck?)

“I forgot the long-involved name but basically, I have an obnoxious bunion on my left foot, and you are supposed to fix it. Wait, are you just testing me?”

He smiled then and, to prove he had some knowledge of the subject, reminded me that I was about to undergo a surgery called a First MTP Joint Fusion or, in more difficult medical terminology, an Arthrodesis of the Metatarsophalangeal Joint.

(Yes, exactly like I said- obnoxious.)

I was then taken for a ride through the magical halls of the hospital into another room. Which was weird because the next thing I remember was being in a totally different room and a very friendly nurse was placing cranberry juice on my tray and asking how I was feeling. I was feeling ok but had no interest in the boring graham crackers and saltines she was trying to get me to eat. She left and returned with a package of Lorna Doone cookies.

Now she was talking my post op snacking language.

(Great- just what I need, to be reacquainted with a delicious cookie I had forgotten existed.)

As I munched, she went over the instructions which seemed a little complex for my anesthesia riddled brain. She said I didn’t need to worry as they were all written down. What I should remember was that I might not remember much of anything as my brain was still foggy, even more than MS usual, and so the next 24 hours was not a good time to make any major decisions.

(Hey Peter, let’s plan a weeklong sailing trip to the Bermuda Triangle in the middle of hurricane season. No, wait, I probably shouldn’t voice that one. He loves sailing so much he just might be on board, literally.)

It was my lucky day in post op. Not only did I get cookies but then the nurse gifted me a walker and a huge, yellow, slanted foam pillow to rest my leg on. She put my bags of clothes on my lap which now included my left sneaker and sock as my left foot was in an orthopedic shoe, handed me the pillow, placed the new walker on the arms of the wheelchair I was sitting in and rolled me out to Peter waiting by the curb.

With that we were on our way. Or at least Peter was. Me, not so much.

I had been told I would be non-weight bearing for at least two weeks and I had tried to prepare. I borrowed medical aides from local agencies that I thought I would need for being non-weight bearing, including a cool knee scooter.

I had called ahead to see if they had one and they said they did, but only one. They couldn’t hold it, and they were only open on Saturdays from 10 -noon. I got there wicked early and managed to snag it. I was psyched that it was pink and thus matched a pair of my sneakers!

I joked that I had to knock over two old ladies to get it but that wasn’t true. Luckily, the few people who got there before me wanted commodes and I didn’t need a commode, just the scooter. Or so I thought. I also got crutches.

Turns out non-weight bearing is hard. Maybe I had a harder time than most due to my multiple sclerosis balance issues, or being out of shape, or being just overall clumsy or a combination of all three. The crutches were useless as I wasn’t stable on them. I did feel balanced on the walker, but it turns out to move it you carry it and hop!  I haven’t hopped since those raucous hopscotch games during fourth grade recess! 

Peter tried to help and showed me what he called a swing I could do with the walker. I tried it and I didn’t swing. I hopped. We tried again but Peter’s swing was my hop, and I knew of which I spoke. I’ve read Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss and thus have medical research behind me.

The pink scooter became my bestest friend. It was kind of cool. So cool that Peter named it Pinky after Pinky Tuscadero in Happy Days.

What didn’t feel so cool was discovering that I did need a commode after all, or at least something with handles that raised the toilet seat.

Did I already say that non-weight bearing is hard?

It was just too tricky trying to balance what needed to be balanced to use the bathroom. We took to Amazon and wound up ordering something called a “toilet seat riser for seniors.” 

I am not a senior. I’d like to think of myself as a freshman with a cool sports injury like from gymnastics or cheerleading but I’m probably more like a geeky sophomore at the end of the year who’s tripped on freshly mowed damp grass or something.

Nothing says romance like having your boyfriend put together an Amazon toilet seat delivery for you. Still, it did help. You do what you’ve got to do, I guess.

I also had to get something called a tub bench for the shower.  What a way to give a lazy girl an excuse to lounge while taking a shower!

No matter what I used to get around, I needed both hands to manage basic moving. I took to wearing a sports bra all the time- not for support necessarily, but to help carry stuff, a handy trick, no pun intended, I learned from a dear friend. (See The Motley Two Go to Motley Crue.)

While my friend used her bra to carry smokes, nips and a camera, I used mine to carry Tylenol, cheaters, protein bars and my cell phone. The scooter has a basket but that’s for big stuff like Yeti’s and my laptop.

The plan this Easter was for me to be hopping around like a bunny with my mobility aides in check. It didn’t work out that way. 

I was scooting though. I was scooting all over the place.

And with help from Peter, friends and neighbors, I was getting around and healing. Before real bunnies start hopping all over my yard I hopefully will no longer have to hop or scoot. I should be walking soon. Maybe limping for a bit, but getting there…

I will not miss the bathroom riser. 

I may miss Pinky though…..

FYI FeedSpot as named YvonnedeSousa.com as one of the Top 45 MS Blogs! Check out the great list here.