IN the days and weeks after hip replacement surgery, you curse a lot. Every minute of every day there’s a curse word wanting to tumble into the ether. You just can’t curse enough.
And if you’re not cursing aloud, you’re cursing inside. The pursed lips are a dead giveaway.
It could be anything from your toothbrush being beyond reach, to dropping something on the floor, or sitting on a rickety plastic chair to get showered only to realise the shampoo is at the other side of the bathroom.
This cursing is not in the slightest bit cathartic either because you don’t believe things will get better. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week.
But, of course, they do get better. This agitated state isn’t permanent. I know. I’ve been that soldier. I’m just over four weeks post-op.
But in the days after the operation perspective is criminally absent.
You believe in conspiracy theories.
You’re convinced that your better half has sprayed the wooden floors with Mr Sheen and the house has turned into Dundonald Ice Bowl.
For people with new hips, autumn comes with its own challenges.
A million wet leaves have colonised the footpaths; one misplacement of the crutch and you could be lying in a heap at the end of the street like an upturned turtle fearing dislocation of your brand-new hip.
And beware of creeping irrational fears.
No word of a lie. In the fading light one evening, I stood rooted to the spot in my driveway, leaning against my car, struggling.
The front door of the house was six feet away. Six impossible feet.
For 15 minutes I stood there motionless and fearing that my crutches would not support me for a couple more steps.
Post-surgery is a thoroughly weird experience altogether because you’re encountering things for the first time, stuff you never anticipated.
How a 20-yard walk leaves you feeling exhausted. And how a month’s supply of Inhixa leaves your abdomen with more perforations than a tea bag.
And the clot stockings are so fetching. Sleeping on your back with a thick pillow between your legs becomes the norm.
All this vulnerability is real. But it fades.
You reach a stage where you begin to appreciate life’s small things again.
When you open your window and how the morning air ransacks your senses and the day suddenly morphs into one of infinite possibilities.
Perspective does return in generous form. It’s only when someone enquires that you realise just how many people have had hip or knee replacement surgery, or are on a waiting list to have part of their anatomy repaired.
If you’re in chronic pain with a hip problem, you will feel the benefits almost immediately after surgery because the post-op pain is surprisingly low.
I had slight muscle pain in my thigh and hamstring which I put down to the invasive nature of the surgery to the leg.
As my surgeon explained beforehand, the operation is essentially a pain-relieving procedure.
He couldn’t guarantee I would be playing Twister with the kids at Christmas, or able to put my left sock on without assistance, although four weeks down the line I am managing this daily feat.
What you’ll also find during your rehab is that there’s always somebody doing better than what you’re doing.
Take note: rehab is not a competition.
A friend’s uncle had his hip replaced just two days before me.
In our insatiable pursuit to get better quicker than the other, he sent me a short video of him cycling gingerly around the front of his house a week after his surgery.
The next day I sent him a photograph of me at the top of Cavehill overlooking Belfast. It didn’t matter the photograph was a year old.
Your energy and strength return too, and your unsightly scar is worn like a badge of honour as time passes.
It’s also important not to discard your crutches too early. At least retain one of them for a period as trying manfully without a crutch can negatively impact on your walking gait, according to my physio.
So many sportspeople will preach about the importance of doing the rehab earnestly and trying to activate the glutes as much as possible. Never a truer word was spoken.
Everybody’s motivation differs. It depends on what you want to get out of your new hip. For me, my aims and objectives are modest ones.
I want to be able to do the school run without being sore with every stride. I want to have some unbroken sleep.
I might even want to break into a light jog – something I’ve been deprived of doing for the last couple of years.
I want to coach the St Malachy’s kids by being able to demonstrate drills rather than displaying all the stiffened physique of an out-of-shape 80-year-old.
I want to play reserve team football again. Who knows, maybe even push on after that.
I might want to play a bit of Masters for the mighty Saffrons.
In my head, I’m 25.
In my head, this new hip will allow me to reclaim my youth.
In my head, I can resume my playing career in a couple of months time after a 20-year lay-off and be the player I always believed I could be.
But alas, the wings of youth fly away and never come back.
So what do you do?
You open the window in the morning and breathe the cool winter air because it can only conjure good things.
When we’re above ground, life will always be one of infinite possibilities.