What on earth was I blogging about before my dad fell and broke his hip?

I seriously have no idea.

I think it was probably something like ARTICHOKES + THAT TIME I FELL DOWN IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. Am I right? I think?

Who knows.

The point is, I got more information on my dad for you guys. And if you’re totally over this whole DAD FELL DOWN thing (believe me, I am), then just…ignore. Go look at something else pretty on the internet. (May I suggest this adorable post with an ovary-pang-inducing picture of a baby floating happily in a pool?)

Yesterday, my mom and older brother drugged dad up, put him in the car and drove him into the city for a consult at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan. The drugs were important because car rides for my dad seem to be hell on earth and since his operation(s), he hasn’t driven in the car for long periods of time. The choice of hospital is important because it has one of the lowest rates of infection in the world.

It’s in New York City. I mean, we go big here, you know?

On top of that, my older brother the research assistant nerd found out that this particular hospital INVENTED the cement block procedure that my dad had done after his infection was found. Remember when I said that it sounded like something some jerk just made up? Um. I was right. Except this jerk was like some important hospital guy and he worked at the Hospital for Special Surgery and revolutionized medicine and BLAH BLAH I STAND BY MY ORIGINAL ASSESSMENT.

The reasons for switching hospitals and surgeons should be obvious to you by now. But in case you need a refresher course:

1. My dad got a staph infection from the first hospital/surgeon. While this is not necessarily anyone’s fault, the surgeon was the one who made the call to wait it out through the weekend before testing for it. Had my mother not ignored him and rushed my father to the ER, my father would probably be dead at this point in time (worst case) or an amputee (best case).

2. The surgeon inserted the incorrect size cement block into my dad’s hip joint. When the x-rays were pulled up at the new hospital yesterday, the new surgeon remarked, “Huh! Your left leg is three centimeters shorter than your right leg because that cement piece is too small.” FANTASTIC.

3. The original surgeon remarked to my mother after the first operation that he may or may not have damaged some nerves. This is very common when you cut into someone’s hip. (Apparently, there’s…stuff there. Like nerves. And muscles. And stuff.) However, throughout the five weeks post surgery and the subsequent two surgeries and 25 day hospital stay, as my father screamed about spasms in his knee and lower leg, the surgeon made no mention of nerve damage, no mention of anti-spasm medication, no mention that knee pain was not a common side effect from hip surgery.

After about ten minutes chatting with the new surgeon, he said the following:

a. Knee pain is not a common side effect from hip surgery and in fact, represents
b. Significant nerve damage that may or may not ever go away. Your best bet is
c. To see a neurologist as soon as possible for testing because
d. He’s never seen a patient with my dad’s problem on so many narcotics.

THERE YOU HAVE IT FOLKS!!!!!!! I am so in love with that hospital right now! The new one, of course. The other one? I want to set it on fire. (JUST KIDDING DEPT OF HOMELAND SECURITY!)

We warned my dad not to set his expectations too high before the consult with the new surgeon. I tried to tell him that this is a hospital people come to from ALL OVER and that surgeries are likely booked far in advance. My father didn’t care though and because his eight weeks on antibiotics were within a day of being finished, he had his heart set on a plan similar to that of the old surgeon.

THE OLD PLAN WAS: eight weeks on antibiotics, one week off to see if the staph was still around/would develop. After a week, a culture would be taken from inside the hip joint and tested for infection. If there wasn’t an infection, dad was cleared for a full hip replacement surgery, something that he is itching to have done because it means he can, you know, WALK again eventually.

Unfortunately, the new surgeon didn’t have the speedy news dad was so aching to hear. He explained that because he was not the original surgeon, he couldn’t take any chances with that infection. Instead of one week off antibiotics, he suggested six. And as my dad’s face deflated, he continued on to say that the earliest he could book the final surgery would be sometime in September.

Silence.

Definitely not what dad had been hoping for.

But my dad is no ordinary man.

After he had has head wrapped around the idea that his choice was either 1) wait longer for new surgeon/new hospital or B) go back to crappy old hospital and get it done sooner, it was pretty clear what needed to happen. Dad declared that he would wait forever for the new guy, that there was no option of going back, NONE AT ALL! This is what he wanted. He told my sister this morning that if he can wait eight weeks, he can wait a few more.

The new surgeon was extremely kind and told him he could bump the six weeks up to four. At the four week mark, he’ll do some blood work and a hip culture to see if the staph is still around. The reason for waiting 4-6 weeks instead of just one is because he’s unsure what is going on inside the actual hip. He’s not sure how good a job the old surgeon did (I’M SURE WE CAN ALL GUESS HOW GOOD A JOB AT THIS POINT!) and the last thing he wants is to cut dad open only to find out the infection hasn’t fully gone away.

Dad can’t even let himself think of that possibility, which is still very real. The new surgeon explained that with staph infections, there is always a 5% chance that it will come back, no matter how long you wait or who does your surgery. That sucker can always reoccur. It’s possible. But for now, we’re just going to pretend the surgeon never said that.

OKAY?

OKAY.

So, that’s the plan, kids. An appointment with a neurologist to talk about the damn nerve damage/knee problem. New hospital, new surgeon for the hip. Four more weeks in a wheelchair unable to walk, probably longer. The surgeon explained that surgeries get canceled and there’s always a chance of bumping up dad’s appointment. But for now, my father will spend the rest of the summer and possibly even part of the fall in a wheelchair with a cement hip, unable to put weight down on his left leg.

He had his last round of antibiotics today which warrants rejoicing. And now, we wait. We wait and see if that evil staph is gone. Or if it’s still hanging out, making a mess.

I’m wishing with all my might that it disappeared. And that it won’t ever ever ever come back.

But even if my father falls into that 5% and we have to go through this all over again, I know we can handle it. It will be devastating. But my father is strong. We are strong. Together, we will see him walking again, strolling down the street as he once did, humming a tune completely offkey, newspaper tucked under one arm, coffee cup in hand.

You can do this, dad. We are all behind you, next to you, surrounding you, you can lean on us until you can stand on your own.