Month: July 2026

I washed my hair, sliced some peaches, and resumed working on my knitted sweater. Hooray!

The anesthesia kicked my butt, and I felt bleh the day after surgery, but I’m better now. I am moving around pretty well with the walker and doing stairs with the cane. One more day of my “surgery coach” hovering whenever I get up to go anywhere, and then I’ll graduate to moving mostly on my own (except maybe stairs for a few more days). Then I’ll be off the walker and onto the cane for several days. I guess I should use the cane for a good week when I’m outside because of the unevenness.

I had always known my cats sleep most of the day, but now I’m seeing it up close. They really do sleep all day, except when they briefly wake to stretch and reposition. What the heck do they do that makes them so tired? I know they’re not active all night because they sleep in our room for a good part of the night. They must be doing serious cardio when we’re not looking.

Okay. The muscle relaxer I’m on is making me feel tired, so I’m out.

I set my alarm for 5:45 this morning, knowing it wouldn’t be necessary. I knew I would be awake before then, anxious to get the day started.

I guess I’m a little nervous, especially when I picture what will be going on while I’m under. I’ve been noticing the tendons that run around my pelvic bone. I guess they know how to get around those without cutting into them. I’m sure they’ll remember it’s my right hip. I am confident the anesthesiologist will have my correct weight and use the right dose of knock-out drugs. Of course, of course.

The days leading up to today have reminded me of the nesting weeks before giving birth. I’ve been making to-do lists and methodically ticking them off. I’ve been cleaning, cooking, slicing and freezing fruit. I’ve weeded the garden and washed the car. I got through the tricky first part of my latest knitting project so that it will be smooth sailing once I’m home from the hospital this afternoon. I even started making an agenda for a late-summer CLT planning day.

It’s just Chris and me, since Edwin is in Richmond and Maxine left Saturday for Camp Varsity, where she’ll be a counselor for three weeks. Since it’s summertime, the demands of taking over what I usually do won’t be too much for Chris. Still, the women have insisted on a meal train. I met with my knitting friends yesterday morning at Suzanne’s house, and her husband was making dough for his delicious pizza. I eyed it in the bowl, and he smiled and said, “This is for you, you know. Monday’s dinner.”

I hissed, ‘Yessss! I had been hoping you’d be on the meal train.”

I have tentatively made plans to venture out in a few weeks to see jazz in Georgetown and to see my brother-in-law’s band play in Westover a few days after that. I assume I’ll be dropped off at the door, possibly with my cane. I have my pass to Ft. Myer ready to go so I can park myself in a lounge chair by the pool with one of my fellow sun-loving friends.

Time check: it’s 5:44. I am one-third of the way through the one cup of coffee I am allowing myself this morning. They said I could have black coffee, so of course I’m having some; it’s why I get up every morning (kidding, not kidding). I’ve removed my wedding band, as instructed, which had never been off my finger since the day we were married in April, 2003. I removed my toenail polish so they can see my circulation. I have one more shower to take with the antiseptic soap. The walker my neighbor loaned me is by the door. Let’s get this show on the road.

I’ve been fretting a little over the past several weeks about my upcoming surgery but not only for the obvious reasons. On the days when I feel fine, I wonder if I’m overdoing it getting a hip replacement. Rowing is no trouble; walking around my house and classroom haven’t bothered me. Sure, sleep often takes a little longer to overtake me because of the dull pain in my hip joint.

Then came last night. We drove into Brevard with Chris’s parents and his brother’s family and walked about four blocks to park our chairs on the campus of Brevard College near an idyllic stream, facing the line of trees across the modest football field over which the fireworks would appear.

About a block into the walk, I began hobbling like a granny. The pain wrapped around my entire hip and deep into my joint and shot jolts of pain down to my knee. This has happened before but not recently to this extent. I’m usually the one sprinting ahead of everyone and impatiently waiting for them to catch up. This little jaunt put me in my place; I took up the rear, surrendering the chairs I was carrying to my kids. Chris offered to pick me up rather than have me walk back to the car, but I gritted my teeth and refused.

I’m actually kind of relieved to have experienced this; it has confirmed I’ve made the right decision to go under the knife in eight days. Bring it on!

When offered three words to define myself, “runner” unfailingly made the list for years, up there with “mother” and “wife.” It even edged out “reader.” I laced up in 25-degree weather, taking an absurd pleasure in the ice crystals that formed on the fleece buff I wore over my mouth. I headed out in 85-degree weather, satisfied by the dry, salty sheen coating my skin by the time I finished my last mile. I relished the escape I could make on family vacations as I crested the bridge over Sarasota Bay, passed the crab pot buoys bobbing in Chincoteague Channel as I ran down a barely-stirring Main Street, or quietly lacing up as the rest of the house took a late-morning snooze after opening Christmas presents and finishing up the last of the coffee and French toast.

I vividly remember watching the sun rise in a brilliant orange and pink sky on a cold morning on January 7th, 2021 as I ran along Arlington Ridge Road, filled with a sense of hope, convinced the bloated ogre had gone too far and would be forever banished from politics. Surely, our national healing had begun.

One year later, I would hang up my running shoes for good, no longer able to ignore the increasing pain in my knees and hips, particularly aggravated during and after running. I pivoted to the rowing machine for my daily cardio. My preferred Apple Fitness coach, Anya, with her unfailing pep and vigor, has led me through surfing adventures, a Hawaiian vacation, amusement park rides, and through the four seasons as I row easy, moderate, hard, and all out in my basement.

I am actually in the best shape of my life. Rowing has made me stronger and leaner than running ever did and doesn’t damage my joints. The trade-off, however, is no small thing: no sunrises or laughing gulls greet me during my morning row; no blast of frigid air assures me I am fully alive when I step out the front door in the depths of winter.

Here I am now, on the cusp of yet another pivot. I am getting a total hip replacement in 12 days, due to arthritis and the total absence of cartilage in my right hip joint. I should be taking slow walks around the block within a week or so after surgery, but the all-out rowing adventures will have to wait at least five months.

Over the last couple of years, I have slipped into a bit of an obsession with rowing, even lugging the machine up to the living room to avoid missing even one day when we have guests staying in the basement where I do my rowing. No matter how little sleep I’ve gotten, I feel a sense of guilt if I skip my workout. Nothing short of a fever stops me.

Life has a way of slapping you upside the head once in while, which can be a very good thing. When you’re forced to pivot, you have an opportunity to step back, observe, and recalibrate. Maybe I will take longer and more frequent walks outside with friends, take that after-dinner evening stroll with Chris more regularly, get on my bike and just ride without a destination in mind.

I would be remiss if I do not use this as an opportunity to take a careful look at myself and consider what’s important, what I may have been missing, and then decide how to move forward.