Monday, May 24, 2004
First Post
Six months ago I took the big step I had been anticipating for about ten years: I had a hip replacement. At 48 (just yesterday!) I am relatively young by hip replacement standards and so I looked forward to regaining some of the physical freedom I had gradually lost over the years as osteoarthritis slowly robbed me of a normal range of motion in my right hip.
Like anyone going in for major surgery, I was afraid. I updated my will and made a list of everything my husband should know in case something terrible happened during surgery. Banking information, automatic bill payments--it was all there, just in case.
But while feeling this fear, I also felt an enormous amount of anticipation. At last I would be able to throw away my cane and walk down the street holding hands with both my children! I would be able to go to the amusement park with them in the summer and not be constantly searching for a place to sit down. I would be able to go back to Europe and explore the narrow, steep streets of little villages in France or Italy. I would be able to go for long walks with my husband as we had done when we first met fifteen years ago. The possibilities of a normal life inhabited my thoughts and helped to keep the fear at bay. And why shouldn't I have this normal life? Literally dozens of people had regaled me with their own total hip success stories or the stories of relatives or friends who were dancing up a storm, golfing to their heart's content--even wind surfing!
What happened on Nov. 18, 2003 has thrown my life into a black hole. Instead of gaining freedom, I am massively more disabled than I was before the surgery.
I do not know if I will ever be even as mobile as I was before. My only mobility is now on the Web.
Like anyone going in for major surgery, I was afraid. I updated my will and made a list of everything my husband should know in case something terrible happened during surgery. Banking information, automatic bill payments--it was all there, just in case.
But while feeling this fear, I also felt an enormous amount of anticipation. At last I would be able to throw away my cane and walk down the street holding hands with both my children! I would be able to go to the amusement park with them in the summer and not be constantly searching for a place to sit down. I would be able to go back to Europe and explore the narrow, steep streets of little villages in France or Italy. I would be able to go for long walks with my husband as we had done when we first met fifteen years ago. The possibilities of a normal life inhabited my thoughts and helped to keep the fear at bay. And why shouldn't I have this normal life? Literally dozens of people had regaled me with their own total hip success stories or the stories of relatives or friends who were dancing up a storm, golfing to their heart's content--even wind surfing!
What happened on Nov. 18, 2003 has thrown my life into a black hole. Instead of gaining freedom, I am massively more disabled than I was before the surgery.
I do not know if I will ever be even as mobile as I was before. My only mobility is now on the Web.
