OOPS #10 Adventures in Lithuania
Welcome to OOPS — occasional reflections on the experience of getting older: what surprises us, what makes us pause and think, and what seems to matter more with each passing year.
WIGO member (and ex-colleague from Community Catalysts) Heather Maling reflects on what happened when, facing years on an NHS waiting list, she took matters into her own hands by travelling to Lithuania for a hip replacement—discovering not just a faster route to recovery, but a fresh perspective on patient empowerment, rehabilitation, and the future of healthcare access.
A while ago, a friend mentioned that her husband had gone to Lithuania for a hernia repair. I remember thinking it sounded like a strange idea—surgery overseas—and then thought no more about it until last summer.
By then, the pain and stiffness in my left hip had been getting steadily worse. My walking slowed, and getting out of the car after a long drive meant clinging to the roof until the pain subsided. The turning point came in August 2025 while leading a group walk in Snowdonia. At a ladder stile, two kind young women offered to help me over. I resisted the urge to shout, “But I am a Mountain Leader,” and politely declined, quietly nursing a bruised ego. Did I really look that bad?
By September, I had made it onto the orthopaedic waiting list—no small feat, as access is carefully filtered through the CMATS physiotherapist. The projected wait for surgery was two to three years, and that was considered conservative. My plans for mountain leadership began to fade. The pain would only worsen, and my altered walking risked damaging the other hip. Walking, once a joy, became something I rationed to an hour or less.
I joined a gym and attended three supervised sessions a week, surprisingly enjoying being told what to do by someone young enough to be my grandchild.
Then one day, an advert for Nord Orthopaedics in Lithuania popped up on Facebook, and I remembered that earlier conversation. The cost was about half that of private surgery in the UK. A plan began to form. I did my research and joined a patient Facebook group, which proved invaluable. Within days, I had booked surgery for early December, conveniently during a quiet spell at work.
I felt oddly empowered. Twenty-five years as an NHS physiotherapist had given me insight into what to expect, and I was curious to see how things were done in Lithuania. That said, background knowledge doesn’t guarantee a smooth recovery. The driver who picked me up from Kaunas airport told me about a physiotherapist who had tried to manage his own rehab, fainted in the shower, and dislocated his new hip. I was relieved I had already dismissed any “DIY rehab” ideas—and decided to keep my professional background to myself.
The weekend before surgery felt surreal. I wandered Kaunas aimlessly, not quite a tourist, slightly preoccupied. I watched too much Netflix and spoke to lots of people on the phone.
On the day itself, I shared a minibus with John from Swansea, also having a left hip replacement. We buried our nerves in stories of home. The Facebook group had prepared us well—we felt part of a calm, efficient system. I apparently walked to theatre, though I only vaguely recall it, thanks to what I now refer to as “intravenous champagne.” Soon enough, I was back on the ward.
I shared a room with Geraldine from Ireland, whom I had already “met” online. Later that day, I attempted to walk but my blood pressure dropped dramatically, and I made a swift return to bed. The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur, somewhere between reality and the crime drama I’d been watching. No one got murdered, so I concluded I wasn’t part of the plot.
The next morning, I was up, dressed, and ready—albeit at a snail’s pace. Getting dressed felt important. There’s a condition I call “pyjama paralysis” in hospitals: once you stay in your pyjamas, you fully become a patient—compliant, grateful, and immobile. Dressing took ages, with clothes repeatedly ending up on the floor and underwear mysteriously twisting back to front.
We were discharged the following day. I moved to the Moxy Hotel for ten days. My room had a kettle and dehydrated camping meals—enough, I thought, to survive at basecamp indefinitely. But curiosity won, and I ventured downstairs to the bar, mingling carefully among the cocktail drinkers like a modern-day Major from Fawlty Towers.
Sleep came in two-hour blocks. My days settled into a strange rhythm: physiotherapy in the morning, followed by rest, more rest, and then a bit more rest. It didn’t matter—this was my own small world.
Eventually, the need for fresh milk forced me out. A trip to the convenience store—normally five minutes—took twenty. Kaunas’ pedestrianised main street, with its benches and cafés, turned out to be perfect for recovery walking.
By day four, we were feeling confident enough to go out for dinner as a group. We chose Grill London, queued patiently, and were rewarded with excellent steak and chips (and strictly non-alcoholic drinks). It felt less like recovery and more like a holiday—new friends, shared experiences, and a city glowing with Christmas lights. I doubted I’d have been doing this at home; I’d probably still be in my dressing gown with a tray.
The days passed, with new patients arriving and others heading home—some as far as Canada. On day ten, it was my turn to leave, assisted through Bristol Airport.
Now, four months on, I’m back climbing mountains.
I often wonder what would have happened if I’d waited for NHS surgery. Locally, that “two to three years” is now said to be closer to four. Would I still be walking? Would the other hip have gone too?
Many patients I met were from Wales, Ireland, and Canada. Before Brexit, UK patients could reclaim overseas surgery costs. Ireland still can, and Wales offers limited funding—though not for hip or knee replacements. It raises a puzzling question: if joint replacement relieves pain, why is shoulder surgery funded but not hips?
Since returning, I’ve contacted local politicians. Waiting four years is simply not acceptable. It seems logical that the NHS could partner with overseas providers like Lithuania, or at least contribute to costs. This could help people return to work, support families, and live fully—while easing pressure on UK waiting lists.
Recently, I listened to the What’s Up Doc? podcast on hips. A specialist physiotherapist noted that 60% of patients who commit to prehabilitation—exercise before surgery—don’t go on to need a hip replacement at all.
That, perhaps, is where the story should really begin.
