I've been doing really well in my recovery. Like, really well. My physio is happy with my progress: therefore, I am happy with my progress and the slow build up of butt muscles I've acquired. I have been crutch-less for a few weeks and it feels fantastic. Firstly, they're not always clattering onto my toes and sending the cats scattering. It's like I've lost a mental encumbrance as well as a physical encumbrance. I now walk unassisted on my own two legs just like a normal person. No one gives me pitying-awyoupoorcripple-glances or speaks extra slowly and loudly to me. I'm just a regular, normal person (with a bad-ass scar).
Despite my excellent progress, I was still nervous for my follow-up appointment with the surgeon yesterday. Thankfully Mom came with me. I couldn't walk by myself into the place where I was fatefully told, in heavily accented English: "your hip very bad. You have big, big surgery and not walk for a long, long time."
We arrived at the office for my appointment and I had to wait over an hour to see Dr. Johnston. (In the waiting room, I did get to see my PAO pal Bill who is recovering from his second surgery like a freaking boss. Go Bill!) When I finally saw Dr.Johnston, he too was pleased with my progress: minimal pain, excellent range of movement, normal gait. He told me to book an appointment to see him next May and asked if I had any questions.
Me: "Well, what about booking a surgery date for my other hip?"
Dr: "Oh, were we doing the other hip?"
Me: "Hmmm.... yeah, I think so. That's what I was told. You're the doctor, not me." Okay, I didn't say that last part out loud but I definitely thought it.
Dr: "Oh, ok, I will go double check about that."
Dr. Johnston left the exam room to review my x-rays and his notes. Mom and I rolled our eyes at each other in a doctors, they never know what is up, kind of way.
Upon returning to the exam room, Dr. Johnston says: "I've reviewed your x-rays and I don't think you need surgery on your other hip."
Stunned Sara: "!!!"
"Your hip is dysplastic," he continues, "but mildly so. It's a mild dysplasia as compared to your other hip which was a severe dysplasia. You're right in the grey zone in terms of whether or not we do treatment, but since you aren't symptomatic and your numbers aren't that bad, we can't warrant doing a major, invasive surgery on you. It isn't a surgery we do prophylactically."
I just about kissed my curly-haired surgeon. Mom started flapping. I began grinning like a maniacal three year old receiving a much anticipated sugar fix. I've never been made happier by a doctor's appointment.
To celebrate, Mom and her friend Meredith took me out for sushi. I called Dan on the car ride over to the restaurant.
"Dan, I don't need another surgery!"
"What?"
"I don't need my other hip done!"
"I don't understand. What?"
"I doubt Dr. Johnston actually looked at my other hip before. My hip is ok. I don't need another surgery!!!"
Silence.
This changes everything. I don't have to be gimpy next year; I won't have to lose another summer to immobility and pain. I can hike! I can walk the Stampede grounds! We don't have to plan our lives around a surgery date! We can travel! I could do school full-time! I could be a nursing instructor! We'll have a full income again! I won't be a patient next year! There's always the possibility that my hip will worsen over time and I'll eventually need the surgery; however, that's a future problem for future Sara to deal with if/when the time comes.
All these thoughts course through my head as we eat lunch. I'm continuing to grin like a maniacal, possibly demonic, toddler. Everything is different: I will reclaim a year of my life I thought I had to give up. We finish our order and everyone is still a little hungry, so we order another roll.
How fitting, how perfectly appropriate, that the last item we order is called 'double happiness roll.'
