Total Hip Disaster

I'm in waiting mode again. Today marks S-day minus three weeks and counting. I have gone for my pre-admission tests, x-rays, etc. I know that I can continue to take my anti-depressants and calcium, but not my multi-vitamin or my shark cartilage. I will probably be the first case of the day since I am considered a "serious case". It's good to be in the spotlight and scary knowing why this is the case.

All things considered, I'm feeling fairly positive and relaxed. But today I feel a bit down. I've been reading posts from my various hippy sites (these sites warrant their own special post) and people are reporting in on their stellar results at the six-month or two-year or whatever mark. I can't help having that feeling again that I didn't have a hip replacement at all. It feels like someone played a horrible joke on me and that instead of a hip replacement I had a disability augmentation operation! It's a conspiracy (cue in the theme from "the Twilight Zone"!

Today, I went to have my car serviced and started chatting with a woman in the waiting area. Six degrees of separation really do exist: she went to high school with my surgeon and told me all about the fact that she had had a crush on him, that he's a twin from a wealthy family, that he's twice married, etc. etc. My surgeon, made human.

So that's where I am today. My cat is stretched out on the window sill right behind my computer. I see a single ear and an elegant orange paw. Her greatest worry is whether or not she will be fed her favourite food or not. Lucky Miss Bean.

I just came home from a short assignment. As I was driving along I saw a thirtyish couple riding their bikes and a man who looked old enough to have grown children rollerblading. One of the songs from the 60s musical "Hair" was playing on the radio. The sun was shining brightly. This weekend there's a street fair on a major artery not far from my house. The street is closed to traffic and people are wandering around happily, kids are eating ice creams and going on rides. It's a perfect summer day.

I enjoy driving right now because in the car I am as mobile as anyone else. I sing along to the oldies while reminding myself to check the mirrors and drive responsibly! I feel free.

As I drove along, noticing all those people moving freely on their own steam with no hesitation or help from a cane, crutches or a wheelchair, I got a little lump in my throat, though I succeeded in warding off the sudden onset of depression. I will not stay this way because I cannot. My doctor cannot ethically leave me as I am because it will only get worse if left untreated. I look forward to my upcoming surgery as the first step towards recovery.

Well, I've got the date for my revision surgery: August 9. Same hospital, same doctor, different feeling. This surgery is not elective. If something is indeed loose, letting it be will cause further deterioration of the bone. Not something we want to happen. So I'm going under the knife again.

I really, really want to get my life back. I want to the regular, slightly neurotic, slightly high-maintenance, fairly intelligent, often worrying, full of love for my husband, kids and family, hard-working, house hunting (even though we're not planning to move), constantly thinking about my weight, francophile, etc. etc. person that I was before my surgery. True, I'm still all of those things and more (hear husband groan in background) but I just want to be a regular person again.

I want to go to France and walk, walk, walk. I want to do the laundry. I want to vacuum. I want to take my kids to the amusement park without constantly looking for a bench. I want to replace the worry in my husband's eyes with a twinkle of excitement as we get ready to go to Glasgow for the World Science Fiction Convention next August.

I want the prayers and good wishes of every person who visits this blog.

Last week I went out for coffee with my wonderful cousin. She's 33 and the daughter of my first cousin on my mother's side of the family. I thought we were just getting together for a chat, as we try to do every now and then despite our hectic schedules. She went and got the coffee, sat down and said she had wanted to see me to tell me something important: she too has just been diagnosed with osteoarthritis of the hip.

That confirms the extremely strong hereditary component of this awful disease. When I was a child, my mother blamed her arthritis on poor nutrition during her childhood in czarist Russia. I blamed it on "bad architecture" and the shoes attached together with a bar that I wore at night to correct my pidgeon toedness. But here's my beautiful cousin, in great shape, studying to be a yoga teacher, for pity's sake, and she too has the family affliction. Indeed, she is the same age that I was when I received my own diagnosis.

I remember studying basic genetics in high school and learning about Mendel and his plants. It makes me think of my own family: two sisters, both with OA, each have a daughter. One has OA, the other doesn't. The daughter of the unaffected daughter has OA (like her grandmother). My cousin also has a brother who is 29. So far, he has displayed no symptoms of the disease and my gut tells me that he won't. I certainly hope not, and I hope my two boys don't develop it either.

My cousin is understandably distressed. However, I feel that she is being very proactive by continuing with her yoga, doing special exercises prescribed by the physiatrist, wearing orthotics, benefitting from my experience, etc. If I had known what she knows now, perhaps I would have been in better shape today. I do think, however, that my "coup de grace" came when I had two children. Pregnancy is not kind to the body and it's particularly hard on the hips. I was straight with my cousin. I told her to seriously weigh the pros and cons of having children. Like virtually all parents, my children are the joy of my life, but would I have had them if I had known the effect they would have on my body? I don't know.

At the ripe old age of eleven, my elder son has decided to be a medical researcher. I just might encourage him to study the genetic component of OA.