I have a story to tell. Last Friday was my routine post-surgery visit at my surgeon's office. Their routine first step is an x-ray to check the new parts, on account of them being hard to see with the unaided eyeball.
X-ray photographer helps me up on the table, leaves the room, comes back and looks at the monitor. Leaves the room and comes back with the other tech. They both leave the room and come back with an older tech and some other guy. One of the surgical fellows wanders in. Another guy strolls in. The surgeon's nurse walks in. The surgeon comes in. All these people are looking at my new hip joint on the monitor and stealing glances over their shoulders at me. Yup. I have been, for most of the six-week recovery period, walking around on a dislocated joint. Without realizing it. Well, it felt better than it did before surgery and it felt better than the joint on the other side.
They didn't let me go home, and advised me that I was NPO and should park myself and possess my soul in patience until a hospital room and a surgery suite opened up. They managed to put the joint back into place without slicing into me on Friday night, and released me Saturday morning. I made it all the way home, got my feet out of the car, stood up, and felt a soft "pffft" from my right hip. Yup. Right leg not longer than left leg any more. Out of the joint. Got back into the car and the Fish returned me to the hospital (had to sit around Urgent Care for six hours, dammit, before they got the oncall osteo surgeon down to see me) and they fixed the dislocation again. And stuffed me into a hospital bed with instructions not to move. At all. For anything.
Monday was plans and schemes and consultations day - consensus (which I shared) was that the current hardware set was not going to work out and that the hip would have to be revised. They reworked the hip Tuesday night and I am now home again with the same femur insert, the same socket, a different socket liner, and a new ball. And a moderately bad case of paranoia.
Nobody has yet explained to any of the players in this little drama how the patient managed to walk through a six-week recovery and rehab period while dislocated. That. Doesn't. Happen.
This whole thing is apparently weird, bizarre, unheardof, impossible (or at least very very unlikely), and quite unusual.
I hope nobody has passed out from excessive laughter. Or sprained a joint falling out of the chair. Geez, I feel blond.