I look back over the previous blogs and I see “the highs & the lows”, “all change” and “ups & downs” etc. and this just about sums up the last 20+ months of crap I’ve (we’ve) been dealing with on a day-to-day basis. The daily stress with the actions and mostly inactions from people so detached from this injury is clearly seen and yet they plough on with little consideration to the person (patient) they’re affecting but still put in their monthly invoice with little/no guilt or concern.
I’m still not sure what the title of this months’ edition will be, I’m hoping it’ll jump at me through the text as I’m conducting my own therapy session as I write. Maybe it won’t, in which case it’ll be “see previous titles”!
I think I had hoped to write this one from my hospital bed, looking back to a week ago that wouldn’t be a good idea as I was ever so slightly drugged up with anaesthetic and strong painkillers after having my “minimally invasive’ keyhole surgery. In reality that last bit is a bit tongue-in-cheek as it was pretty invasive. Don’t worry, I won’t be graphic in my description, nor will I share photos of the post-op scars.
Suzy & I travelled down to Central London on the Monday evening and eventually got to the hotel after a 4hr journey which hit rush hour traffic at the wrong time – I think we’re going by train next time. As soon as bags were dropped it was time for food and Suzy suggested Wagamamas on Kensington High Street, judging by the map it was a short walk away and soon turned out to be nearly 25minutes of hobbling to the restaurant in the hope they hadn’t shut the door as they closed at 10. Luckily we got in and fed ourselves quick enough not to be stared at by staff wanting to go home.
In the morning I was told not to eat after 7:30am so a “all you can eat” breakfast seemed the right option at our hotel before heading to the hospital. Off we went some 400m from our hotel to The Cromwell – a private hospital where I was greeted with demands for payment! I very briefly lost my s##t before Suzy took over and chased around for the payment which actually had already been paid but the hospital had mislaid it! Nonetheless, during all this I was taken to my suite, yep, pretty posh, well it is private I guess. I had my own bathroom so no embarrassing walks across the ward with my butt hanging out of my operating gown! On that note I also was given paper pants so save the embarrassment in theatres. My own TV – a far cry from sharing it with 5 other guys wanting to watch farming programs – such is the life in rural Norfolk. Also, my own personal WiFi, so suzy was sorted.
After a few visits from the nurse, head nurse, pharmacist, anaesthesiologist and my surgeons’ Junior assistant I adorned the gown & pants and awaited my surgery. Somewhere in the middle of this I told Suzy to head off either back to the hotel to carry on with some work or go shopping as it was unhealthy for her to sit around and get all anxious about when I was going down or coming back up. I sent her regular updates though just to assure her things were moving in the right direction. The Junior Assistant’s visit was interesting, I hope I’m not being disingenuous, an assumption on my part that he was Junior, anyway, I was told that the original scar would be used to go in – all these months I thought it was keyhole but now a change of plan? Maybe I heard them wrong in my focus on getting things repaired rather than how they were getting repaired? “Too late now Nick, suck it up” I thought.
I walked to the lift, with an accompanying nurse, from floor 4 to -1…”Theatres”. Heart started to beat faster/harder. A quick check that the wrist band matched the paperwork and the arrow was on the correct leg, I always laugh at that bit – someone really messed up big time for that to be a necessary process!They were barely removing the previous patient off the operating table before the anaesthesiologist walks in and checks the wrist band again and fills my cannular full of anaesthetic – enough to make me jolt as it bloody hurt. Then I get that smell… that feeling…. and the last words were “I remember this – I know what happens next”…….
I wake up in the recovery area, it appears I had a full-blown lucid chat with my surgeon and his assistant on the successes of the operation and I told them to enjoy their evening…apparently. I have no recollection of it, in fact I have no recollection of most of that evening. I vaguely recall having the nurse call Suzy and I talked to her telling her I was fine and I’d be fighting fit in no time at all. I recall Suzy visiting later that evening, although the contents of our conversation seemed a little odd for someone coming out of surgery! Of course, I was starving hungry as surgery didn’t happen until nearly 6:30pm and this was now 11pm before a nurse asked if I was peckish. “Yes, bloody yes” I replied and was soon offered a full compliment of sandwiches, bruschetta, juices, desserts & crisps only a private hospital could offer. Back home it would’ve been whatever curled up sandwich wasn’t wanted from the tea rounds or what the discharged patient had ordered the previous day. I do jest – the guys at my local NHS hospital saved my life, I can’t take that away from them, they were great given the crap conditions they were forced to work under, under-staffed, barely and resources to back them up and judging by recent news under-paid. But this…this was a different world.
The following day started well, and that was about it. Sickness from the anaesthetic kicked in and I was given a tablet for that before signing my discharge letters and walking myself out of the hospital – quite weird really, almost a “see yourself out”. The fear of me trying to get across London on the Underground was agreed prior to the trip so a Uber Car was ordered whilst I sat in the fresh air of the hospital forecourt. He arrived and I prepared for my 90minute journey across central London at an eye-watering 10mph avg. speed. I was acutely aware of my original journey from my local hospital to home (8 miles) and how painful it was – this one wasn’t at all. Even the car journey back from the car park on the outskirts of London to our home proved a comfortable affair – even the stop halfway at Colchester for a toilet break with double crutches.
I was home.
Either way – I didn’t like it!
The next 48hrs wasn’t pretty and I do not envy Suzy at all. Between bouts of feeling sick & dizzy to just wanting to fall asleep at the drop of a hat she didn’t really know whether I was coming or going. My educated guess is that my body was just reacting to the slam-dunk anaesthetic given and the severity of the operation. Given this, I was up and about going to the toilet on my own and sleeping in my own bed – as opposed to being sofa-bound for nearly 20 weeks the first time round and restricted to the downstairs toilet as I couldn’t climb stairs. Due to the fact I was moving I think my recovery has been fast as compared to the first one – again, an educated guess is because I wasn’t involved in a RTC the day before my Op this time round so no “double-trauma”.
Being typically pig-ignorant I was planning my return to training at the end of last week, only 4 days after surgery. And on Sunday evening I went with Suzy to the gym. Whilst she swam her only swim session that week due to looking after me I went upstairs to the gym and did upper-body weights pretty much where I left off. Towards the end I was struggling – the weeks’ effects taking their toll on my body. I finished with a quick “flutter” on the gyms’ Wattbike “just to see” if I can turn the pedals. If truth be known I had sat astride my road bike in my house and pedalled backwards to see if my knee could go all the way round the pedal stroke the day before so I knew it was possible. I started pedalling and although tight around the knee due to the stitching and dressings I could push out a few watts – nowhere near where I had started the week but it was progress. And then…
6 minutes in I felt a tightness in my adductor/hamstring and within 30 seconds I couldn’t even turn the pedals without excruciating pain. A different pain though – one I hadn’t experienced for several years but I clearly remembered it.
I can’t remember exactly when but several years ago I had the same issue in my left thigh – it was ok for a few minutes then as blood started to flow I was starved of oxygenated blood OR waste product was not allowed out and soon enough my muscles just screamed out and stopped working due to the pain. I would then climb off my bike, ICE the thigh and wait a few days to try again. This process repeated itself and I lost 6 months of cycling and almost a whole season of racing because a simple saddle position had restricted a blood vessel in my groin and starved the leg muscles from blood, a very helpful message from a good friend who worked in a completely unrelated hospital department nearby sent me a white paper/study on “Stenosis in Professional Cyclists” or words to that effect. I read it front to back, adjusted my saddle height and came out of the other side.
I’m writing this convinced this is what has happened to my right hamstring/adductor – maybe the surgery has changed the position of my leg, thus creating a blockage of some sort? The surgery was in my knee so I can’t think it’s anything the surgeon did. Maybe I should try to drop the saddle? If you’re reading this and have experienced something similar please let me know as I’m very slowly pulling what little hair I have left in my skull out as my knee has enough range to pedal and I just wanna sit on the bike, even at 50 watts knowing it will all come back. Instead, I’m told by my surgeon to focus on Range Of Motion (ROM) and use my Compex Machine – Electrical Muscle Stimulator and focus on recovering, not training.
Before you all shout at the computer screen “just relax and recover” – I know. I just need to know I can turn the pedals sooner rather than later – I’ve harped on about it in previous blogs and losing may identity. It is a very real fear that if I can’t do this simple task I will lose my identity, and inevitably my mind.
Prior to this week I was smashing it, it’s alway the way. I was hitting numbers in the pool I’ve never ever experienced, my bike numbers were looking good and ahead of the curve towards my first big event in early May. In fairness I’ve been overloading on distance in both disciplines as I knew I’d be out of action for a while – good old overtraining to create the overadaptation which athletes feel when they taper for a big event. Judging by Training Peaks my form is through the roof so I’m race-ready!
PT has been good too, I always thrown in the “that was nice, it’s a recovery day after all” just to keep her on her toes, being ex-army I know I’ll be paying for that in our next session but I’d rather be pushed than tickled – I’ve seen too much of that in other PT sessions in the past – too much pampering to the “wants” of the client and not much attention on what they actually “need”. This is where a lot of PT’s lose their business, very limited results means the clients give up eventually. Anyway…
Counselling has been good too, a lot of deep-diving into the trauma of the crash and it’s effects on those close around me, I do come out a bit shell-shocked at times but by the time I’ve driven the 45 minute journey home I’ve reshuffled it in my head (mostly) and can process what’s just been said and how I can work towards our goals. I’m not entirely sure she’s going to be ready for the next instalment! I very rarely tell Suzy what was said when she asks, she often gets a “it was alright” and it’s left there. She knows in a few hours, or days, she’ll get my shortened version of it one way or another – these things take their time for someone who is pretty clueless how to express things.
I’m happy the surgery is done, so many things are seemingly better than last time almost immediately, but the niggles are there and I just want to be better. “Time will tell” is the call but I’m impatient. To distract me I have found Audible amongst my usual books to read and have ploughed through several hours already. It’s better than sitting on social media and scrolling the hours away. I have my athletes too who keep me busy with their differing trajectories – it’s a good outlet, a change in direction in the near future perhaps to make this a bit of a ‘thing’? We’ll see.
As far as employment is concerned, the operation has delayed things but I’m keen to get back to where I was – in all areas of my life.
And to Suzy…watching all those daily meltdowns, all those highs, all those lows, giving me all the reasonings which I flippantly deflect whilst having a hippy fit. Being on the end of drug-fuelled random conversations in a hospital room at midnight and still finding me funny and wanting to spend time with me despite all my flaws.
So, there it is, not all the gory detail but better than before, and also worse. Recovery going well but then it isn’t in other ways. After all that it seems the “see previous titles” seems relevant after all! lol
