Falling into Old Age

Surely, you knew I would write about this given my current situation. Apparently, I fell down a vibrant woman, climbing a volcano, helping my husband with his business, enjoying Greece, cruising around the caldera. I brazened it out for a while. In Athens, I limped up the many, many, many steps to the Parthenon, enjoyed the views in the Theatre of Dionysus, admired the caryatids (which I always want to call katydids) on the Erectheon, and returned home, handling the forty-five minute flight, then nine-hour flight, then four-hour ride graciously.

I left Greece and returned to Valdosta, to real life, to prepping for college classes, to cleaning house, to Blackwater Writing Project. But then I left VSU, fell down the steps in the rain, and became an old woman--that woman in the commercial who fell and couldn't get up. I fell into old age, and unlike the woman who kissed a girl with cherry Chapstick, I didn't like it.

Wes helped me up and helped me find a doctor. He's a good husband.

The doctor planned surgery on my knee to cut out the bad cartilage and to test my ACL. I was pretty blase about surgery. I had experienced anesthesia before and liked it. When I had a breast biopsy several years ago, I woke up alert and hungry from surgery. We went to the drugstore for pain medicine (just in case) and then went to an Italian restaurant for lunch. Wes couldn't believe it. His prior outpatient surgery turned into a hospital stay because of his reaction to anesthesia.

When the doctor told me I needed surgery on my knee, I said, "Let's do it," and set the date, eager to get my knee back. Silly Donna. Apparently, old age affects anesthesia as well. This time I didn't come out of the anesthesia as easily or clearly. As the physical therapist explained exercises she wanted me to do at home, I was barely conscious. She made me walk on crutches, but I struggled to stay awake, so they put me in a wheelchair and let me go home, where I slept all day long, even when my mother-in-law dropped by to check on me. I slept on my back--I have rarely slept on my back. It's uncomfortable to me.

My stomach rebelled against the anesthesia as well--not to the point of sending food backwards, just to the point of being unsettled. My mother-in-law brought dinner to me that night, but I couldn't stand the thought of eating. I had to go to the bedroom to get away from the smell. All day, I struggled with feeling nauseous and with being sleepy.

Even the next day, I slept most of the day. Most people don't realize how strange that is for me, but I'm the anti-nap woman. Usually, I get eight hours of sleep per day, and once I hit that eight hours, I can't sleep anymore. Not after surgery. I was probably only awake for five hours total on Thursday and four hours on Friday. Isn't that old woman hours?

I'm coming to terms with it. The sleeping has stopped (it had to--I'm back at school). The limping is minimal. It's supposed to be gone, but I still fear reinjuring the knee. The crutches are leaning against the wall in the kitchen, but the doc told me to take them on the family shopping trip, just in case. The family shopping trip is on and coming up soon. At least there, I'll be the youngest person there.