I'm ok.

I had surgery -- ended up with a spinal anesthesia and the sleepytime IV and it was long and much more stuff than was anticipated was wrong with my knee. The orthopedist said he had to make a couple cuts on my tibia to clean it up and that it was a very good thing that we'd done the surgery when we had because not only was there extensive damage to my tibia, but I had lots of bone spurs. I'm assuming that this is why it hurt so much beforehand and why so much of my recovery has been "slower than expected."

Most people apparently are walking the first day. I was not among them. I was able to stand. I was able to do small versions of the physical therapy exercises and I did them a lot. Apparently, the physical therapist in the orthopedic ward was a bit of a psycho bitch and when I did not meet her expectations she patronized me, talked to me like I was a moron, who didn't have the slightest clue about my pain threshhold, and generally, was a complete bitch. I politely held my ground and said that I was doing the best I could and that I would continue to.

The next day was more of the same and I asked her to please leave because I did not like the way she treated me, nor the way she spoke to me, nor her presumption that I was an idiot about my own body. She began to become argumentative and unpleasant. I asked her to please leave again, saying that I would not work with her. She continued to be obnoxious at which point I said,"Look, today, I've had a good night's sleep and I'm not above ripping you a new asshole. Please leave. I will not work with you." She said that I had threatened her with violence. I said,"No, I merely have the wherewithall today to tell you to go to hell and have no problem doing so. Please leave."

Finally, she left. I worked hard with nurses and was able to walk more and get more flexibility out of my knee. That night, however, they put me on a machine (Continuous Passive Motion or CPM) that is used for helping with range of motion and the settings were quite wrong. I cried through the first session because it was pure agony. The second session, Mike pet my hair, while I cried through it. In between things, I was told I had been admitted to rehab upstairs and I cried through the third session.

The next day, I was moved to rehab. The thing that was cool through this all was that the kenalog shot for my right knee -- a steroid shot, which in the past had sent my sugars reeling to new heights held pretty steady, which I attribute to byetta. My sugars were absolutely perfect -- flawless -- throughout my hospital stay. In fact, so much so, that the day I accidentally dropped a 20lb. box of laundry soap on the suture line of my wrecked knee causing it to bleed profusely down my knee that my rehab doctor and my endocrinologist were blithely watching me bleed and discussing just how fantastic my sugars had been.

I told the new physical therapist about the problems I'd had downstairs. I told her I would work as hard as I could but that I apparently wasn't at the recovery level that most people would be and that my pain had not been well managed to that point. I said I'm not a bitch, typically, but that I hate being patronized and that I definitely know my body's limits. She said she wasn't about putting me through agony. We discussed the CPM. She measured me in my first session and informed me that I was only able to do 20 extension on the machine and 40 flexion and that the machine had been set at 0 and 60 -- way beyond my capabilities. She showed me how to reset the machine. Now, I am at 9 extension and 58 flexion. The goals are 0 and 90, respectively.

Friday night, at my new home in the rehab unit, Mike brought the kids to visit. I had been hugged and smooched by both kids, and Genny had spent some time cuddling with me. Later, as we played games together, I heard Genny coughing up a lung. I asked Mike, scared shitless,"Is Genny sick?" He said, "Yeah, but I gave her triaminic." I said, "Yeah, but she's contagious and I'm in a weakened state! Please get her a mask!"

The next morning, after PT, I said to the PT guy,"Please get me something to throw up in." He handed me an emesis basin and I said hurriedly,"Bigger!" He handed me a liner to a water pitcher in time for me to fill that, fill the emesis basin, barf down my night gown, and then barf partially into another pitcher liner. I drink an enormous amount of water because of the dry-mouth side effect of percocet, so it wasn't that I had a huge breakfast.

I got into the shower while the poor staff cleaned everything else. I came back and called Mike. Turns out -- Genny had barfed all night, too. Serves him right. ;P

At first, I suggested they not come because Genny and I didn't feel well. Mike cried.

In the face of that, I told him to come anyhow. I told him I'd probably sleep, but that he was welcome to cuddle up with me and we could put on cartoons with the kids. I don't remember much of that day other than Mike cuddled against me for part of the afternoon.

I worked hard during rehab and they released me on St. Patrick's Day -- 10 days later.

Now, I'm in wake up, sleep, wake up sleep mode.

During wake up mode, I do my physical therapy, take my own shower, and sort laundry.

During sleep mode, I sleep like the dead and sometimes with my CPM machine on to advance my flexibility.

Overall, I'm doing really well. Don't worry. :)