A few weeks ago, I fell and dislocated my shoulder. I wrote about that experience at the time, and you can read it here. Today, I’m dictating another blog entry a week after surgery. You’ve got to love modern technology—the ease with which I can write, or rather dictate, while sitting in the comfort of my office, albeit with a restrictive sling on my arm, enabling me to share my stories.
If you read my previous blog post, you’d know that I simply fell and dislocated my shoulder, leading to a six-hour wait in the emergency department of a hospital in Canberra. It was during the Paris Olympics, and I likened the heroes who cared for me that day to the admiration we hold for athletes—chalk and cheese in reality.
Since that day, my shoulder dislocated itself three more times. It was almost as if it had a mind of its own: my body would move one way, and my shoulder would go the other. In excruciating pain, I sought the advice of an orthopaedic surgeon. After a barrage of scans, he recommended surgery. I suppose during those two weeks, I was hoping for a different outcome—searching for some form of magical healing that would restore my shoulder without the need for painful surgery and an even more challenging recovery.
Naively, I thought I could avoid surgery. Dr. P, with 20 years of experience, recommended it; my sister-in-law, who is a nurse, was on board. Work health and safety folks at my workplace also advised it, and even a mate of mine from South Australia, who had surgery two decades ago, said it was the best decision he ever made. I was reminded of the Split Enz song “Six Months in a Leaky Boat” because that’s what everyone was telling me: recovery would take six months—not just two weeks in a sling or three weeks of physio. In reality, it’s quite literally six months until I regain full, unrestricted use of my shoulder.
Some of you reading might say, “Get over yourself.” Millions of people live with one arm, one leg, or in a wheelchair, often facing much worse challenges. I’ve lived with vision impairment since birth, so I understand what it’s like to not fully utilise all the senses, faculties, and physical capabilities that nature provides. However, I think we humans can underestimate the impact of short-term ailments we haven’t lived with, making them a hyperfocus in our lives. Someone born with one arm, or someone who loses an arm in an industrial accident, as terrible as that is, faces a life-long adjustment without the prospect of “recovery in six months.”
Like me, I don’t see as well as someone with full sight—that’s my lot in life, and I’ve made peace with it. I will never see perfectly, drive a car, or fly a plane. I’ll always walk past friends in the street without noticing them. Fortunately, until four weeks ago, I had the full use of both my arms, hands, and shoulders. Just a month ago, I was weightlifting, squatting 120 kg and deadlifting 140 kg—then, in an instant, weightlifting disappeared from my life for six months. I’m not depressed and I’m not wandering around saying “woe is me.” Yes, I need to wear a silly sling for six weeks and lift nothing heavier than a kilo for six months. In the grand scheme of things, this is but a drop in the ocean.
But right now, a week after surgery, it’s only the beginning and it feels like an ocean.
I celebrated yesterday when I could lift my arm an inch higher than I could a few days earlier. On the bright side, the surgery was a success, despite the damage I did to my shoulder. After the operation, the doctor informed me that I had fractured the head of the humerus in two places, requiring two anchors, torn my bicep (requiring a third anchor), and shredded the capsule around the shoulder joint, which resulted in several stitches. Ouch.
Yes, it’s painful.
Yes, it’s difficult to sleep.
I’m tired most of the time.
But in six months’ time, my shoulder will be stronger and more powerful than I thought it could be, which makes me think of the Six Million Dollar Man from the TV series of the ‘70s and ‘80s. I may not have bionic parts, but it’s comforting to know my shoulder will be better than nature intended.
So here I am on day seven, dictating this entry. My wounds are healing, and while I’m still in significant pain, I’ve begun some physiotherapy, and my arm is starting to show a little movement—with a bit of assistance from Mardi. It’s bruised and sore, so check out the photo!
I’ll write again in a couple of weeks’ time.
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