Sparrows have settled post surgery

“For better or for worse, in sickness and in health …” those words came to mind as I was setting up the Continuous Passive Motion machine this morning.
The machine is only one of many things we are doing to help my husband’s new knee reach its full potential.
Even though there are more than 600,000 knee replacement surgeries done each year in this country, it is different when it happens to someone I love.
My mother had knee replacement surgery almost 10 years ago.
She spent weeks in the hospital rehabilitation unit and still uses a walker to get around.
Even with all her medical problems, the knee replacement was the right thing to do as her pain in the new knee is far less than that in her other one. I was working at the time and therefore the doctors, nurses and therapists in the rehab unit took care of her needs until she was able to live alone again. All I had to do was to visit and keep her company when I could.
My husband has had painful knees for decades. He has tried many other solutions to alleviate the pain to no avail. We had run out of options and it was finally time for him to become the bionic man.
A series of tests revealed minor problems that threw us into a tailspin.
We met at least a dozen different doctors who would be involved with his care. As the legion of golf carts was invading our town in preparation for the annual Antique Engine and Tractor show, we left for an early morning ride to the hospital.
We met even more people who would care for him.
He was wheeled away and I was left to wait. I ate a peanut butter sandwich I had stashed in my purse. It was a futile effort to calm the turmoil I felt inside. I was grateful that the waiting room had a separate area where I didn’t have to be subjected to that infernal, banal and ubiquitous television.
As I sat there it felt like a flock of crazed sparrows had invaded my body and they were all trying to escape in different directions.
They were not mollified by the peanut butter sandwich. I sat and worried. I paced the halls. I tried to read. I prayed that he would be fine. Then, feeling guilty and selfish, I prayed for everybody in the hospital, and finally for everybody on earth.
The crazed sparrows made my insides vibrate. I paced some more. I drank the worst cup of tea I have ever had. I tried to sit quietly.
I checked the board that told me when he went into the operating room and when he came out. I paced until my own knees ached. I worried that someday I would be the one under the surgeon’s knife while my husband waited.
I went to the gift shop and bought a pack of crackers as the crazed sparrows assured me they would reject anything more substantial. I paced and prayed some more.
Finally, they told me he was in his room and I could go see him.
He was remarkably chipper. Relief flooded my body as the crazed sparrows finally settled down.
When I got home that night all the restless energy I had felt all day manifested itself in a fit of spring cleaning. I had a bowl of cereal for supper and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Barely two days later I took him home with me. We were soon convinced we had left the safety and security of the hospital way too soon.
I was overwhelmed with fear that I couldn’t do what I needed to do. I learned to set up the CPM machine and how to help without hurting him too much.
The crazed sparrows still visited, but in smaller numbers.
Today we walked to the corner and back. Such a simple thing, but the last of the sparrows finally flew away.
Thousands of people go through this process every year.
The numbers are expected to grow as we baby boomers age and our parts begin to wear out. Such a commonplace operation, but one that is fraught with danger.
Soon we will go fr­­­om “sickness” to “health,” and from “worse” to “better.” I am eternally grateful that at least some of my prayers have been answered and that the crazed sparrows are blessedly quiet … for now.