Forgetting Fear and Forging On

Two weeks ago my surgeon informed me that I needed surgery.  I turned ghost pale while he went over the procedure in detail; my head spun with each mention of needles, pain blocks, fracturing, traction, graphs, anchors, and sutures.  The moment he left the examination room, I threw my head between my knees trying to avoid throwing up or passing out.  My husband patted my back and asked if I was okay.  I turned up to him and responded, "It is a damn good thing I never went to medical school.  I'd make a feeble doctor."

I tried to buy a few more weeks.  Knowing that I'd already gone through 8 weeks of physical therapy, the doctor offered to let me try two more weeks of therapy until I came to terms with things.  "When you are ready to schedule.  Give us a call." 

It is really hard to pull the trigger on something like this.  I have two small boys, both of whom are starting back to school next week.  While it will be good to get them out of the house while I recover, it's my smallest son's first year of preschool and this transition will be substantial.  It is important that I am available and present while he gains confidence for the first few weeks. 

And frankly, this will suck.  Who signs up for something knowing they are going to really hurt when they wake?  That's masochistic.  The surgeon told me I will have my leg in a machine that moves the knee in an out for 8-10 hours a day for at least a week.  Physical therapy starts the day after the surgery, but there is no weight bearing for 3-6 weeks, leaving me in crutches, hip braces, and unable to drive or care for my boys for an unknown amount of time. 

However, I haven't driven my car without pain in weeks.  There is something torturous about sitting with my leg out and slightly flexed to control the gas pedal.  Forget squatting on the floor or chasing after my kids on the playground, it's literally impossible.  Last night I woke up at 2:30 in the morning feeling like a little gremlin snuck into my bed to pinch my hip for an hour.  No matter how I moved, I couldn't get comfortable.  He visits several times a week.  This isn't okay.  I can't live like this.  I've had two physical therapists and two surgeons both tell me it was time to make a choice. 

"What do you want to do for the rest of your life?  Do you want to run, swim, bike, and chase after your kids without a second thought?  Or do you want to learn to take it easy and only engage in low impact activities from 30 years on?" 

When they put it that way, the answer seemed obvious.  I was letting fear make my decision.  I focused on the surgery and the recovery, not the long term benefits.  Trading a few weeks or months of discomfort for a full life seemed clear.  If I neglect the surgery and sit on the couch to avoid further damage, or have to rehabilitate my hip through physical therapy until I need a hip replacement, the burden will be insurmountable.


This morning I scheduled the procedure for August 28, my fingers shook as I dialed.  My physical therapist said very reassuringly that I made the right choice.

Instead of focusing on the present for a while, which still seems scary, I am going to look far ahead.  My first goal is Halloween.  I will help with my kids' class parties and trick or treat with them in the evening.  By Christmas, I hope to walk a couple miles at a time without pain or pause.  Better yet, next summer I hope to complete my first triathlon.  This injury brought me the gift of swimming and I want to honor that fully.  I'm going to take a more rounded approach to training this time.  Finally, I will be stronger, more competitive, and more patient after this experience.


~Roadburner

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