As I write this, I can only shake my head with exasperation and frustration. Last week, I was enjoying a hike with my yogi friends up to a beautiful waterfall and experienced an amazing opportunity to practice yoga with the sound of water and birds chirping. It was idyllic. It gave me the strength to get through the next several weeks.
Today, I lay in bed flat on my back with instructions not to bend or twist for two weeks. What does that mean in practical terms? My choices are laying down, sitting up to 30 minutes in a perfectly upright chair (no sofa) or walk. I can walk laps in my hallway. If I drop something, I can’t pick it up. I can’t do laundry or dishes (which is not much of a problem). I can’t cough or sneeze comfortably. My stomach hurts and I am frustrated.
At this moment in time, I feel defeated. Tears trickle down. But I know I have to go down this path to get to the other side.
For some of you that don’t know my story, I had bilateral hip revisions in October and December. They were a pretty big deal for me, but I got through them with hope and an in your face attitude of “I’ve got this”. I was feeling amazing and then I began having some tingling in my right glute that chased my hip hope all the way down to the bottom of my foot. Then my big toe stopped moving – almost as if my hope got stuck there and refused to move. Then my other toe stopped moving. It was not my back. “It is your back” said my Hip Healing Surgeon. I bargained for it to not be my back. I was shown by a neurosurgeon where the problem was. I still said, “It’s not my back.” “It is your back!” Denial. And more Denial. Then Hopeful Hippie earned a new name for a short time– that of Anger. Then Acceptance came along and pushed Anger out of the picture.
I am three days post-op laminectomy (spine) which is my third surgery in 8 months. I should be celebrating that my big toes can move again. But I’m still frustrated as three surgeries in 8 months is ridiculous. I am the picture of health. I take my vitamins, drink bone broth, exercise regularly. Yes, I am defeated and I’m tearful as I tell my story, but I know that much of my fatigue and sadness is medicine talking. I know that I will feel better. I know that I will take my name back soon enough– I will be Hopeful Hippie.