Looking Beyond Anger

At the three month check-up for my hip, the Physician’s Assistant made the mistake of asking me if I was glad I’d had my hip replaced.  She’s the good PA - I truly like her - and I sensed this was a standard question meant to collect stories to help people considering their options when it comes to hip replacement.  So I played along - I have no regrets.  None.  The new hip has not only given me back my life but it’s eased all of the pain I experienced from hip arthritis.  I couldn’t be more thrilled with my new hip.

But the fact is I needed a new hip five months before I received it.  From September 2023, when my excruciating, disabling pain was diagnosed as arthritis that had deteriorated my hip so badly that only a replacement would do, to the point of hip replacement in mid-February - well it was a struggle.  A colossal, horrifying, miserable struggle.  That I was forced to lose 35 pounds and live with increasing pain and disability for 5 more months…..well, I am mad as hell about that.  I met the weight loss goal in 3 months by engaging in significant calorie restriction - effectively starving myself - and then continued the food restriction for another two months while I waited for a surgical date.  Try as I might, the misery of those months —— the growing disability, the non-stop physical pain, the reliance on opioids for rest (though not actual sleep), the misery and fear, a weight-loss requirement not supported by valid medical research, and living with the stark reality that my life didn’t matter because I am fat —— I find that very, very hard to set aside. 

Many, many people feel called upon to recognize the weight loss that occurred as I waited for surgery.  I know that they mean well but the need to lose weight so that I could receive life-saving medical treatment created a mental health crisis for me.  Long a woman who had come to value her fat body despite social norms, I became a woman who loathed her body.  The dysmorphia that I have lived with my whole life exploded in those months of food restriction.  Today, three months after the new hip, with much of my strength returning and the pain gone, there are still days when I cannot eat because I do not feel that I deserve to eat.  I remain unable to select clothes that fit because I cannot reconcile what I see in the mirror with the physical existence I actually have.  Those feelings linger more than I would like. 

I am doing the work to like my body again but some days are really hard.  I resent the fact that getting much-needed medical care meant having to shrink myself.  I am glad beyond measure to have my life back but I am also so fucking angry at what I had to go through. I don’t enjoy living with this anger so I am working on that as well, aware that forgiveness will restore my equilibrium.  I’m just not quite sure who needs forgiving. 

Back in the Swing of It (I Hope)

Now that the school year has ended, I’m faced with the prospect of actually having enough time to do all the things that need doing.  It’s a happy development.  I’ve got a back log of half written pieces for this blog and I’m glad to have time to finish them and write more.  Shorter work days and loads of time off mean that I’ll have time to travel, to garden, to go for longer walks, and to catch my breath.  As I approach August, and the one year anniversary of my hip’s collapse, I’m a little more grateful for all the good things in my world.  I plan to write about that, to record some of my most pressing thoughts about the medical establishment, and to renew my commitment to daily writing and more consistent posting.  The long days of June make everything feel possible, don’t they?  That’s happy!

Feeling Hopeful Again

New hip rehab is no joke and it’s taken me a while to return to blog posting.  But that’s not because things aren’t going well - quite the reverse, in fact.  I’ve started a whole bunch of posts and those half-written thoughts will become fully-developed posts in the coming days.  For now, let me simply note that I am back - whole and relieved and - most important of all - finally feeling hopeful again.  In time, I will wrestle with the complicated thoughts I have about what my life felt like as I waited for hip surgery.  I will post some serious thoughts about the gratitude I have for my sister and JT, who got me to the surgery and then through it to this other side.  All of that and more is coming.  I’m back, world, and I’ve got a lot to say!

The Countdown Continues

On Monday morning, I taught my classes and when I returned to my office, there was an e-mail from my surgeon’s office: my hip replacement was delayed, likely to February 28.  I was appalled.  It took a day of back-and-forth with the office, before we landed on a one-week delay.  Now my surgery is on February 21.  I’ve been waiting for relief since September and strictly speaking another week is just that - 7 more days - but it was another blow in an already demoralizing journey.  I made a last-minute appointment with my pain doctor to renew the meds that help me to get some sleep, updated my supply of ibuprofen and Tylenol for daytime support, adjusted my countdown calendar, and got back to life.  Today I have two pre-op appointments: testing at the hospital and a visit with the surgeon’s office.  Next week, I'll see my primary care doc for surgery clearance.  With 19 days to go, I am lslowly imping toward the finish line.

Countdown Mode

Today marks my last 5 day week of school before surgery.  Next week, I have pre-op appointments on Friday; the week after that features another pre-op appointment on Thursday (side note: pre-op is just code for running up the cost for surgery) and the week after that is go-time.  Mornings are brutally difficult for me - getting dressed alone takes me half an hour.  I’m up at 5:15 am, not to enjoy my morning coffee and watch the sun rise, as was my old habit, but simply to get my crap together so I can leave for work by 7:15.  

This reality of being disabled caught me by surprise.  Because I had never had to walk this path, I hadn’t released how difficult it is to try and live a normal existence when one is disabled.  I expect to reflect on that when I get to the other side of this chapter.  For now, suffice it to say that the abled world gets to take a lot for granted. 

Plenty of people have encouraged me to take a few extra days off to ease the burden in advance of surgery.  I appreciate the idea.  But I like my job and these days it is literally the only thing I do outside of home.  I go to work, I drive to pick up groceries that the store shops for me, I go to the library every third Saturday.  That is the sum total of my existence.  So by-passing a day at school to avoid the morning struggle has costs on the other side.  My world has already shrunk and I don’t wish to shrink it further.  These days, as things are growing harder, I’m just grateful that the surgery date has hovered into view.  I am counting the days.

Gratitude Journal: January 15

With luck, one month from today, I will be on the other side of the hip replacement surgery that has occupied my every thought since the pain first became constant last August.  When I received a surgery date earlier this month, my heart opened up to the idea that I won’t have to live in the small world of crippling pain forever.  The relief I feel at having a surgery date is palpable. Aside from the pain and disability of the last 6 months, the way the situation has untethered my general optimism has been hard to bear.  It will be a good long while before I recover from the mental health disaster of draconian food restriction brought on by the requirement that I lose weight to receive medical treatment.  Being denied much-needed healthcare because of weight, especially in the absence of scientific research to support such cruelty, is appalling.  I don’t expect that I will ever again trust a doctor.  When I have seen to my recovery, I intend to speak out about the injustice of the whole situation. 

 For now, I am focused on getting to my February 14 surgery date.  And I am incredibly grateful to my son, my sister, my family members, and the friends who have helped me to get to this point and who will see me through to the other side of surgery.  Their help and willingness to celebrate the surgery date have been an incredible bright spot in this very hard patch.  My heart is full of gratitude for them, aware that I could not have made it this far alone.

The Magic 8 Ball Delivers

My office in the Middle School has a Magic 8 Ball, which mostly serves as a source of comic relief.  When a visitor asks about it, I explain that it’s the primary decision-making agent of the Middle School and then we all laugh.  But this '70s era toy brings amusement on the daily and I should show more respect to the Magic 8 Ball.  On Tuesday, thoroughly fed up with my lack of a surgery date, I shook the 8 Ball and asked if the scheduler would call today.  The 8 Ball answered, “It is certain.”  I responded with a smart ass remark and then limped my way to class.  But you know where this story is going...at mid-day, the scheduler called.  She was all business, with pre-op appointments and a surgery date. 

February 14. 

Valentine’s Day has little charm when you are single but you can be damned sure that I will be celebrating this year.  

A Wish for Peace

The last few months of 2023 were rather a shitstorm, both personally in terms of my health and in terms of world affairs.  The October 7 Hamas attack and the devastation in Gaza that followed has been heartbreaking.  Explaining it and discussing it with my idealistic and hopeful 8th grade history students has been extraordinarily hard.  My own reserves are spent thanks to my deteriorating hip and the ways in which I am disabled by it.  As a woman who thrives on her independence, I have not handled the waiting with any kind of patience or dignity.  Even as I understand that anger will not help, I yield to my fury more than I should.  When I found this lovely tag among my Christmas wrapping collection, it spoke to me on so many levels. 

As I continue to play a waiting game for my hip replacement and prepare to return to school next week, this tag will be my mantra and a reminder to control what I can control and to be the master of my anger, not mastered by it.