And so it begins!

I am 26. Six weeks ago, I had a total hip replacement (THR). When I was preparing for this hip replacement, I was told by various medical professionals that the surgery would be the orthopedic equivalent of botox: so common these days! Everyone I know has one! The recovery time is so quick! You'll wonder why you waited so long! People told me stories of their grandfathers leaping from hospital beds and running triathlons, of 90-year-olds who took up skydiving/golf/extreme tango. So, after six months of "prehab," a farewell party for my old hip and a handout with a series of diagrams alerting me to acceptable post-surgical sex postions, I strode (well, okay, gimped) confidently into the O.R. ready to get that sucker out and get on with the extreme sports.

Six weeks later, however, I'm still not walking (let alone extreme tango-ing) and my road to recovery has been one massive detour, a detour bigger than the time that I went on a roadtrip with my then-boyfriend and he was trying to teach me to read a map and I told him to take a left, but twenty minutes later we were on a dirt road that had a number instead of a name and we ran into one of those biblical Midwestern rainstorms where you can't see an inch in front of you and you expect frogs to start raining down from the sky and the hand of God descend from the heavens and alert you to the error of your ways and we ended up in a town where people were giving us the "you're not from around here" death stare and by the time we got to Kansas we pretty much weren't speaking, though in my defense the map was old and the intersection had been changed. Something like that.

Turns out that hip replacements on young people who have complicated medical histories can be somewhat non-standard. Since I figure that I'm not the only person under thirty to have a hip replacement, and since I'm bored as f*ck and can only watch so many baby/wedding/house buying/ renovation reality TV shows, I've started this blog to detail my recovery. Will this blog end up being someone else's post-surgical GPS or will it devolve into me bragging about my cat? Will I ever walk in a way that doesn't look like I should be ringing a bell in some medieval castle? Only time will tell.