A ‘Joint’ Visit to the Fracture Clinic (pun intended)
Georgia and I, ready to head into the clinic
We’ve had so many people asking how recovery is going, so here’s a little update and a few observations from our latest hospital visit.
By chance, Georgia and I were both scheduled for fracture clinic appointments on the same day. A quick call to the office, and they moved things so we’d be seen 15 minutes apart. A small win, but a meaningful one when you’re managing crutches, a wheelchair, and energy levels. Result.
We travelled in together - Georgia, her PA Saoirse, and me, allowing extra time for logistics. Just as well, because the underground car park was like an ice rink (minus the ice). Saoirse somehow managed to keep all of us upright, no small feat.
Inside, another bit of kindness: Laura, Georgia’s other PA, happened to be in the same building and came to find us, offering backup if needed. We were okay, but thank you Laura.
Then came my moment.
A quick trip to the bathroom turned into a lesson learned the hard way. I used a standard-height toilet (not ideal or advised post-hip replacement), and as I sat down, a sharp pain. A pull. Maybe worse. No phone. No bag. Just the realisation and dread that I’d have to reverse the movement to get back up.
When I returned, Saoirse took one look at me:
“You’re as white as a ghost — what happened?”
Timing-wise, at least, I was in the right place.
The nurse flagged it for the consultant. Thankfully, no damage — just muscle pain and a clear reminder: low seats and new hips don’t mix. Result.
From there, things went smoothly:
My wound is healing well. Result.
Georgia’s X-ray looked good. Result.
Cast off next week. Big result.
The Other Side of It
The clinic itself told a different story.
It was packed, beyond capacity. Around 120 patients booked into a two-hour clinic. Limited seating, long waits, and staff clearly under pressure but still friendly. Moments of humanity still broke through: like keeping our two files together so we would be seen roughly around the same time, like the radiographer, visibly rushed, who softened instantly with Georgia and even offered her ponytail for distraction.
While waiting, I noticed a poster:
363 missed outpatient appointments in one month
€46,827 in wasted resources
That annoyed me.
Not because the numbers are shocking or so high, but because they’re preventable.
We all sit in those waiting rooms. We all feel the strain on the system. And yet, missed appointments continue. If we want better services, it starts with small acts of responsibility, turning up, or cancelling in time.
On Getting a New Hip at 51
A few people have asked about this.
Yes, 51 is considered young for a hip replacement. Yes, it's arthritis. Yes, I've had problems for a long time. But what doesn’t get seen is the lead-up. The chronic pain. The slow narrowing of life.
I was functioning, just about. But only just. And like many other family carers who have chronic illness or pain themselves, I am no good to Georgia or any of my children if I'm not in good health myself.
There’s also this narrative that you should “wait” until you’re older because hips have a lifespan. I struggle with that.
Why wait until your body is in a worse state? Why make recovery harder than it needs to be?
I’m choosing to trust that when the time comes again, medicine and technology will have moved on. The alternative 'living' in unnecessary pain doesn’t make sense to me.
The first 10 days post-op were tough. No point pretending otherwise. But the chronic pain is gone. And that changes everything.
Where We Are Now
Four weeks on, I’m moving well on one crutch.
Georgia? She’s out of the boot, and quite literally running. Which is… equal parts brilliant and terrifying.
We stepped outside together for some fresh air the other day. I realised very quickly there was no chance of me keeping up (her in a boot and me with my one crutch all proud of myself) never mind catching her if she fell.
That’s where the team comes in.
Her PAs have been incredible: steady, flexible, capable, and there when it matters.
And just like that, normal life is beginning to return.
After a few intense months, we’re finding our rhythm again.
I had a proper laugh-out-loud moment the other day.
A cousin of mine couldn’t quite get his head around me having a new hip at the ripe old age of 51. He’s a decade ahead of me and still thinks that’s far too young.
Not fully convinced by my explanations: genetics, arthritis, the usual, I added that having four children might also have taken a toll on my body.
Without missing a beat, he replied that he’d “had a hand in three children of his own”… and it didn’t do his body any harm.
Thanks, Michael. 😂