"Started from the bottom now we here" - Drake
"You gotta risk it to get the biscuit" - Wes, Survivor Season 29, Episode 10
"Time heals all wounds" - Rose Kennedy and Dr. Phil
"This too shall pass" - Wise person of old
All of these equally wise sayings seemed ludicrously impossible and insultingly pedantic last year when I was in the midst of my little realm of pain. It has been almost a year since my left periacetabular osteotomy and as the memories fade it turns out that those sages were right.
My life feels so different than when I started this blog as a very scared, very bored disabled lady. Firstly, my days and my actions are not dictated by pain. I can accomplish so many things I could not dream of doing a year ago. I can: work a full shift without crying (I still cry, obviously, but not because of physical pain); walk to the post office; cook dinner; vacuum; go to the mall; park at the back of the parking lot; pick up a moderately heavy grocery bag; pump moderately heavy iron; golf; shower myself. It sounds a little corny, and I'm sure I will regret saying this, but I felt truly grateful to spring clean the past weekend. After not being able to do anything, participating in the up-keep of our house was empowering.
My scar, once a bright red, angry puckered thing, has faded and smoothed; it doesn't scare me when I see it peeking above my waistband. No longer is my scar this alien shark bite - it's a part of me (and a way to impress residents at the dermatologist's office). I find that whenever I'm idle, my hand rests on my hip while my thumb unconsciously traces the arch of my scar. It's my own personal talisman.
I would like to say that I have learned many profound things because of my journey with this gimpy hip, that I am a changed woman, forever ennobled by my ordeal. I don't know if that's true. I'm still angry this happened to me and interrupted my life. I hate having this worry in the back of my mind that my other hip will need surgery. I wish I could run again. I dislike the ache and twinge that I get and the limits I have to place on myself.
However, I would say that I have been enriched by this experience, both in my character and in my relationships. I have learned to be kinder to myself; to give myself a break. I've always felt this urge to push myself: be smarter; be skinnier; have more friends; be stronger; go further; do more. I've never been a competitive person - just driven. I continually felt disappointed that I could not live up to these expectations I had in my head and be this mystically perfect size two woman. I now have distinct limitations: if I push myself too hard, I could do some serious physical damage. And I'm okay with that. I'm learning to be more gracious towards myself. I'm learning to be okay with being me.
I've learned tolerance, too. Maybe I'm just a terrible person, but sometimes I hear this little voice in my head saying "they're just not trying hard enough" when I see someone really fat, really poor, or really weak. That voice goes: "I would never let that happen to me." I haven't completely silenced my inner judgmental bitch, but I feel much more empathetic. I mean, when I went through my operation, I had it easy: I had a home, money, and support from family and friends. I cannot imagine how difficult life would be without those things; I can never understand how much some people suffer.
I've come out of this experience a better nurse. I know how crappy anemia feels and how scary withdrawal is. I know the humiliations of being dependent on someone to go to the bathroom. I get pain and how it corrodes you. I have experienced crappy nursing firsthand, and I know how much it sucks. More than ever, I strive to be a good nurse and uphold high standards of care.
Finally, my relationship with Dan has grown stronger and better because of my gimpy hip. We were so smug in pre-marital class - the world could rain down drama and we could deal with it. Honestly, when your romantic partner has witnessed your severe constipation, has showered you, has shouldered your feelings of guilt and inadequacy - than other issues, like wedding details or playoff beards, don't feel particularly stressful.
Our wedding really was the 'happily ever after' to this whole saga. I walked down the aisle with my Dad. I did not limp. I did not use a crutch. I was not pushed in a wheelchair. I walked down the aisle with my Dad towards my Dan. I felt so much love. I felt so much joy. I never knew I had the capacity for so much happiness. And I know that February 14 couldn't have been so perfect if I hadn't spent some time being gimpy.
