Wednesday, August 04, 2004
The Power of Words
Today I went for my last therapist appointment before my revision, on August 9. For a good part of the session we talked about how this experience is helping me to learn to assert myself and feel less subject to the real or perceived wrath of others.
My hip situation was not the sole focus of this discussion.
However, I spent the last 15 minutes of the session talking about a very real fear: what the doctor will say as I come out of the anesthetic after surgery. My first experience was so shocking that I am already fearful of a repeat performance. As I recall, as I opened my eyes and focussed on the doctor's face, he said to me--with no preamble whatsoever--"we fractured your femur". No "hello", no "how are you feeling", just the blunt news that something bad (not to mention, something I had no idea could happen) had occurred. Welcome to hell.
My therapist very wisely suggested that I speak to him about what I need to hear first upon regaining consciousness, so as to avoid a similar shock. I promised to send the surgeon a fax to this effect today.
Of course, the minute I left my therapist's office, I could no longer find the words to make this request without doing something that scares me even more: implying, through my words, that I was expecting a second round of bad news; implying that that is what I expect of this surgery. That is what is at the root of my inability to ask him to speak to me first in human, rather than medical words.
I don't feel that I can do this. And that is precisely why I am expressing my fear in a safe place: here.
My hip situation was not the sole focus of this discussion.
However, I spent the last 15 minutes of the session talking about a very real fear: what the doctor will say as I come out of the anesthetic after surgery. My first experience was so shocking that I am already fearful of a repeat performance. As I recall, as I opened my eyes and focussed on the doctor's face, he said to me--with no preamble whatsoever--"we fractured your femur". No "hello", no "how are you feeling", just the blunt news that something bad (not to mention, something I had no idea could happen) had occurred. Welcome to hell.
My therapist very wisely suggested that I speak to him about what I need to hear first upon regaining consciousness, so as to avoid a similar shock. I promised to send the surgeon a fax to this effect today.
Of course, the minute I left my therapist's office, I could no longer find the words to make this request without doing something that scares me even more: implying, through my words, that I was expecting a second round of bad news; implying that that is what I expect of this surgery. That is what is at the root of my inability to ask him to speak to me first in human, rather than medical words.
I don't feel that I can do this. And that is precisely why I am expressing my fear in a safe place: here.
