ESSAY BY HEIDI JOHNSON-WRIGHT
When
I began to awake some six hours later, I was preparing myself for the worst:
that the doc would tell me my femur had completely shattered in the process of
him removing the old prosthesis.
Perhaps he had simply shored me up best he
could, but that further surgeries were needed, and I may never have a
functioning hip joint again.
But
the news was good. While my femur was as thin as a sheet of paper in places,
Dr. T had gotten out the old prosthesis, implanted the new one, reconstructed half
of my femur and part of my pelvis, and carried out the necessary bone grafting.
Now it was a matter of healing up enough in the hospital so I could then go to
an in-patient rehab facility.
RECOVERY ESSAY CONTINUES TOMORROW -- FEBRUARY 7
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