One Step Closer?

On Tuesday, I officially made the weight requirement for my orthopedic surgeon to perform the hip replacement I so desperately need.  The news was overwhelming and all I could do was cry.  That afternoon, I moved my orthopedic appointment up to the 15th of December.  I’m still holding the line on food restriction and though the pace of my weight loss has slowed - a thing bound to happen once my metabolism caught wind of what I am up to - I remain on track to lose a pound a week.  Food restriction will continue in earnest until the day of my surgery - a date yet-to-be-scheduled.  And that’s the fly in the ointment right now.  

When I see him on the 15th, I am fearful that the surgeon will move the BMI target and require that I lose more weight.  I have no especially rational reason to believe this; my primary care and pain management doctors have reassured me that the surgeon won’t do so.  But none of this journey has been rational. The surgeon’s adherence to BMI, a health metric well-discredited, is where the irrationality started and my less-hopeful self assumes more stupidity will follow.  Of all people, the orthopedic surgeon who told me on September 21 that the only treatment for my pain was a hip replacement surely knew what the next three months would bring.  In September, I could still walk without a cane and could make it the length of several football fields before I needed to rest.  By October, I needed a cane to make the length of a single football field.  Now, I can’t walk that far without excruciating discomfort.  I can't grocery shop or go anywhere by myself.  I cannot sleep at night without narcotics.  He knew this would happen, didn’t warn me, and really didn’t seem to even give a damn.  My lack of faith in his word is understandable.  And yet I met the goal and I am holding on to hope for a surgery date and with it, the prospect of a return to the full life that I long for.