In recent weeks, I’ve had a few wonderful women in my life tell me that I ought to begin writing down what I’ve been experiencing over the last 2+ years, as I may not realize how much it could help me move through it. So I’m trying. The most significant aspect of these years has been physical pain. What started as small muscle spasms and low back pain took me through many, many types of treatment, two minor surgeries and one major surgery in May 2019 that resulted in a brand new hip at age 42. I’ve since spent months in continued pain and multiple rehabilitative environments from physical therapy and active release to acupuncture, chiropractic, pelvic floor and more. And nothing much has changed, to-date. I still can’t sit or lay down comfortably. I’ve seen more doctors and spent more money than I ever could have imagined. Only to remain in pain.
I neglected to mention, no one has any idea how any of this happened. How I went from 4-5 days a week of yoga to needing a brand new hip in a matter of about a year. The most recent discovery revealed that my pelvis is rotated. One side is going forward and down, the other side is going back and up. Looking at the X-ray, one could see why I am possibly in such pain. Which came first? The hip or the pelvis? Does it even matter?
Now I’m working with my long-time friend and a great doctor, weekly, to relieve my muscle spasms and seeing a pelvic floor therapist, weekly, to get the pelvis out of rotation. Both doctors seem optimistic about this approach. So I, too, am trying to be optimistic. I have to be. I won’t live like this.
I’m back to yoga but it looks nothing like it used to. I was swimming for awhile because it felt great on my aching body but I missed the community that yoga is for me. Physically, mentally, spiritually. So I’m fighting through the setbacks.
But I guess what these friends have tried to tell me is that by writing about this experience, I may come to realize how much more of my life has been affected by all of this. I haven’t slept well in 2 years and if you’ve ever had newborns, you know what real sleep deprivation can do to a mind and body. When I’m in a particular amount of pain or just exhausted from it all, my fuse is short and I snap easily. I’m also unable to do certain physical activities with my kids and I’m unable to enjoy simple activities with them like sitting on the couch for a movie. It hurts too much. I’ve skipped family gatherings that aren’t close by because the car rides are too uncomfortable. And I’ve acquired a third full-time job. My first is being a parent, the second is my photography business and the new third is constant doctor appointments and at-home exercises. My body is a job now that I have no choice to resign from.
My photography work is also physical and although it hurts sometimes to do it, I have not slowed down at all in that area. In fact, quite the opposite. Business is better than ever. And for that, I’m eternally grateful. It keeps my mind off the pain, fulfills me in so many ways and, thankfully, helps pay the doctor bills.
But I’m not sure I’ve let myself realize how much it really sucks. It’s part of my everyday, from the minute I get out of bed in the morning to the minute I get back in it. And even more so when I’m in it because it’s painful to lay down. It’s all consuming and very aggravating. My husband and children have been so supportive all the way through but I know it’s affected them, as well. They don’t want me to be in this pain any more than I do. For so many reasons.
I want to try to remember to be grateful for a few things through this. The most significant of which is that although it’s consistent pain, it’s not an illness for which there is no cure. I also have zero penchant for painkillers, even avoiding the heavy ones post-surgery, leaving a dangerous addiction off the table. We have the resources to continue to seek out new approaches to getting some relief. And I am determined to find the way through and bring joy back to everyday activities.
For now, I’m putting my faith and my body in the hands of a great team of doctors, some of whom I’ve always called friends and others whom I now call friends. I will let their optimism for my physical healing become my optimism. And perhaps I’ll even keep writing about it in the hopes that the mental healing can also begin.
I will have a hard time posting this because I’m certainly not looking for sympathy and admitting vulnerability or struggle of any kind can be difficult. But perhaps it will help me move through it and maybe someone else has experienced or is experiencing something similar. If so, please hit me up. I’d really love to talk to you.