This what we’ll be dealing with for the next 12 weeks or more. What you’re looking at is a big white styrofoam wedge, with velcro straps wrapping around two grey zimmers (the overgrown shinguards also known as “knee immobilizers”).

If it’s like the other two times, it’ll be six weeks all the time, and then six weeks at least in bed. The beauty of it is they can come off for showers, baths (in a few weeks when he can have one) and weight-bearing in water (starting in about three weeks!).

I don’t look forward to dealing with this sucker in the middle of the night when Jon wants to roll over. But it is a huge improvement over the A-frame cast we were dealing with 5 and a half years ago…but Jon is a lot bigger.

We’re definitely getting down to the short strokes now: Jon’s been completely de-tubed, with the IV coming out around dinnertime. Nice, substantial dinner; then at around 7 p.m. we’ve had our first poop (which apparently—from Jon’s expressions—was akin to giving birth). We’re waiting for a visit from the physiotherapist—about the only reason they want us to hang around until tomorrow.

Jon ate well and then got a new dose of morphine and fell asleep by 7:30. Prior to that he was on his belly for close to 4 hours, most of that time he was twisting around without much discomfort while watching both his DVD player AND a vidoetape on TV. They removed his dressings and his incisions are looking luverly.

He’s sleeping peacefully right now, knock on wood. Poor Laura! Not only is she the one with the lingering nasty head cold, but it’s exacerbated by the fact that she keeps getting the nights where Jon isn’t in a happy place, while I get the tranquil shifts. Well, maybe I should stay another night. Then again, there’s talk that we may be discharged tomorrow, so I may just have equine footwear administered rectally, as they say around here.

Laura reports that Jon slept well til midnight, then off and on from there.

This morning, his medical status is ABG: Alert But Grumpy.

So today can be summed up with the image/feeling of me with my head on Jon’s chest, trying to sooth him, as he alternated between groaning in pain and trying to sit up and tear at his zimmers/epidural/catheter.

In hindsight, we can reconstruct what happened. The epidural started leaking on Thursday—maybe even Wednesday night post-surgery—but they were able to compensate by increasing the dosage and Jon had a good night last night.

But it was likely the wear-and-tear of shifting him from bed to table for the x-rays this morning that did it. By the time we got Jon up to his bed, he couldn’t get comfortable and you could see another site where the anaesthetic was leaking in a little river from the fine tube taped down along his spine. Then a tech came into examine his zimmers and she stroked his feet. Up until then Jon could feel a tap, but he showed no foot reflexes. When the tech brushed them, I saw Jon’s toes arch out. Uh oh, it looked like he was gaining fully sensation in his legs. And within an hour all he was suffering.

View from the X-ray Control Room

Our nurse Patti quickly started the protocol to get morphine going and remove the epidural. Powerful medications, so it takes time. So it was about two hours before Jon started getting comfortable again, but it wasn’t true comfort. The epidural removes sensation, the morphine just dulls the pain.

Jon has been pretty dopey the rest of the day. Despite the pain stress on Jon, nurse Patti insisted on getting Jon out of bed and into a wheelchair this afternoon. This is to get his body back into a more natural position ASAP, to aid in healing.

Last year, we were very impressed with how the hospital handles pain, especially compared to five years previously. Every morning you are visited by a triumvirate from the Pain Management Team, who assess and decide the course of the treatment for the next 24 hours and beyond. Of course, now we know that last time was the ideal situation — the epidural lasted well, and Jon’s pain transition was ideal. But epidurals are not predictable, and this time we got to see how they react when things are not ideal…and I’m equally impressed.

Because Jon can’t give a great introspective analysis of his pain, we can only read his body and manner and fly by the seat of our pants. In cases like ours, we are brought into the decision huddle and our opinions are given a goodly amount of weight. (From right out of surgery, we were brought in to consult on how Jon was reacting to pain.) So the pain situation may not be ideal, but we are a respected part of the process searching for a solution, and that makes all the difference.

Still, here at home, late on my off-night, my thoughts return to lying my head on his chest, trying to absorb some of Jon’s pain.

This is second-hand info from Peter’s phone call late morning and I hope I’ve gotten it straight: Jon got wheeled down to Diagnostic Imaging—in bed; no wheelchair quite yet—to get x-rays taken while his epidural is still in place (better to twist him into the correct position while he theoretically can’t feel anything).

Apparently there’s a lot more leakage from the epidural than previously, and the fact that Jon is in a lot more pain today seems to point to the epidural not working as well as it could. It looks as though he’ll have to be put on morphine and it will possibly set back our hospital release by a day. More details as we get them later.