Today
There are so many miracles in today's medical world that it's easy to think that, once we are in the surgeon's hands, there is nothing more we have to do. Of course, that's not quite right; in most cases, it's a question of co-operation; working with the surgeons to achieve the right outcome.
This morning Paul at last received the go-ahead for a total knee replacement. The procedure is fairly routine, but in order to get full benefit, there are exercises to do, both before and after the operation. And exercise isn't really in my husband's vocabulary.
In My Day
Back in the day, there was much less emphasis on rehabilitation. Patients spent a lot more time in bed following treatment, which was not often the best way to recovery.
When he was seventy-four, my father had a stroke. This meant that Daddy's right side was severely affected, and he couldn't walk, use his right arm or speak properly. He was kept in bed at home and I don't remember seeing a physiotherapist or similar ever turning up.
Daddy, however, was a man of action, and being cooped up in bed was not, in his view, an option. So every day he struggled out of bed and attempted to walk; gradually bringing control to his limbs. When the doctor next paid a visit, after about ten days, Daddy got himself to the front door to let him in. The doctor was amazed and pleased at Daddy's progress. Clearly, there had been no provision to help him, but his ability to help himself was a matter for wonder and praise.
And he was eventually able to walk again and use his right arm to an extent. He gave up driving when he found that his right foot couldn't quite make the transition from accelerator to brake fast enough for safety and his speech was always a little slurred after that.
But he lived on till eighty-six, only becoming immobile in the last year or so, mainly because of an unrelated health issue.
I hope that Paul will learn the lesson and see that his recovery is truly a joint enterprise.
