CrossFit and Knee Replacement—Part 3

'Twas the night before TKR and all through the house...

Here we go.

I report to the surgery center at 8:15 a.m. tomorrow (Thursday).

I don’t exhibit nervousness in the obvious ways. Instead, I do stupid things. I’ll lock the keys in the car (which I did on the eve of my wedding) (with the car running!) or leave my ID at home. Today, I was cooking food for our parrot and completely forgot about the pot on the stove. It must have boiled over for at least 15 minutes. The stove and the pot are completely covered with caked-on goo, and the food has a black crust on the bottom. I try to be conscious of this when facing something stressful and take precautions, but this one got away from me.

On Monday, I went to CrossFit for the last time (for a while). I spoke with a man who had the same surgery at the same surgery center (different doctor) two weeks ago. He worked out on the other side of his gym while his wife was at CrossFit. He’s doing amazingly well, only walking with a cane, and he’s off most of the meds. He only had one bad day (day two), which made me feel a lot better about the whole thing. We had a full class that day, and my friends there were so encouraging, promising to pray for me. I will miss them.

Per my doctor’s instructions, I began taking 1000 mg. of Tylenol every six hours. No food or water after midnight, but curiously, at 6:15 a.m. I need to down an Ensure pre-surgery carb drink. It’s supposed to reduce pre-op hunger and anxiety and post-op insulin resistance, nausea, and vomiting. Is there anything this drink can’t do?

I don’t understand why I am only allowed a sip of water to take my Tylenol, but I have to drink a 10-oz. bottle of this stuff two hours before surgery. Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of going into surgery with an empty stomach?

Whatever. I am a rules girl, so I will drink the pink stuff as prescribed.

Speaking of prescriptions, I have NINE different medications. For pain, I’ve been prescribed Tramadol and Tylenol, with a side of oxy for breakthrough pain.

One thing I’ve learned through this process is how different this surgery looks in different countries. For example, it seems that countries outside the U.S. are much more generous with narcotics. Thanks to the U.S. war on opioids, doctors are terrified to prescribe it, even to patients who really need it. Another difference is that patients in the UK and Canada routinely have to wait months or even years to get knee replacement surgery. Glad I didn’t have to deal with that. Hopefully, I won’t need the oxy, but I’ve been told so many times that the key to pain relief is taking your meds as prescribed to keep ahead of the pain. Again, the rules.

I’ve got an app called Medisafe, and I’ve entered my list of meds. It will send me a notification every time I need to take something. It sounds like someone shaking a bottle of pills for a few seconds. When it notified me that I needed to take my Tylenol at 6 a.m. I jumped out of bed, confused. Hopefully, future notifications will go a little smoother. I shared the app with Gary, and he will be notified if I am more than 30 minutes late for a dose.

The surgery center told me that I will be there for 6-8 hours. When I arrive, I’ll swab my nose with something to prevent MRSA and take Tranexamic acid, which is supposed to control bleeding. I’ll get an IV, then a spinal, and something to make me sleepy. When I come to, it’ll be all business. I’ll have to demonstrate that I can walk, pee, and eat—all things I take for granted that will be much more challenging post-op—before I’m released. It blows me away that I’ll be able to walk, even up and down stairs, almost immediately after surgery. My new knee will be perfect. The surrounding muscles and tissue, not so much because of all the trauma to the area.

I’m as ready as I’m going to be. The ice machine is set up, the throw rugs have been removed, and the “toilet safety rail” is set up. I’ll meet my walker at the hospital. It’s very humbling. Suddenly, I feel like an old woman. I have to keep reminding myself that these things are temporary. Probably. Hopefully.

Physically, I’m in the best shape of my life, thanks to CrossFit. When I went for a PT evaluation, the therapist remarked how strong my quads were (thank you, squats! She should see my glutes!). I’m not gonna lie: that was a really proud moment. It validated all the hard work I’ve put in. I trust that my CrossFit training will give me an edge in my physical and mental recovery. I’ve read that the mental game is the hardest because it’s a long recovery period. My surgeon said nine months.

Between here and there is a lot of ice, elevation, PT, and exercises. And pain. My CrossFit mantra is “You can do anything for ten minutes.” I hope that attitude serves me well. Knowing it’s temporary and that there is an endpoint might make it tolerable.

Lots of friends have wished me well and promised to pray for me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that and how much peace it gives me going into this surgery. Whatever happens, God is on the throne, and he is GOOD. Blessed be the name of the Lord!

See you on the other side!