After
Two years ago, I learned that when I was born, no one noticed my hip dysplasia. When I was 17, I got a bad ankle sprain going up concrete stairs to a violin lesson but my teacher made me stand the entire hour (she was a young woman so maybe she had no physical ailments); that foot is still stiff and creaky. I've never been athletic but threw my body around in college modern dance classes, circus and trapeze ones in my early 20s, and yoga and breakdancing in grad school. My entire life, I was rewarded for being "flexible" but it was not until 11 years ago that I learned that my tissues are very lax, after a car crash where all the impact went up my braking leg that was trying hard to keep me from getting t-boned. That crash likely tore my hip labrum. Years later, after many rounds of PT and other types of care, osteoarthritis began.
I've been conservative with cortisone shots and NSAIDS, and have tried many other things, almost all not covered by insurance. I swim regularly. I have been in escalating pain for years that causes a limp. Everything hurts: sitting, standing, driving, doing dishes, making art, laying down, walking, sleeping or trying to. I try to mask the pain by staying seated during meals with friends when I want to run away screaming. I stay on my feet when my students rush to sit down. I have been unwilling to admit real disability even though my activity, work, and quality of life have been significantly curtailed. I've had physical therapy folks tell me that I can never do yoga again (which doesn't make me that sad; many yoga teachers have fallen into the trap of admiring my "flexibility" and further injured me by pushing my body into extreme poses with their own hands), or that walking is highly dangerous because my pelvis is so unstable (this devastated me; one time walking through the new LaGuardia airport, I worried I would have to ask for a wheelchair because the gates are now so far from the exits). A surgeon told me I had to stop lifting heavy things. Subsequent PTs and doctors have disagreed, saying it's better to exercise because the pain isn't going anywhere, so why not be more fit since it will hurt either way.
Recently I went to a new sports medicine doctor hoping for another shot, and instead he told me the x-rays look terrible and that it's time for surgery. I panicked and scheduled five surgical consults, since my case is not a slam dunk the way many total hip replacements can be. The dysplasia and laxity increase risk of dislocation, and I'm young enough to outlive implants. The first two surgeons said the case is not as urgent as the first doctor made it seem, and that continued injections are fine, even if they destroy my tissue. As the dysplasia specialist said, "Your tissues are already destroyed!" He also said, "Arthritis never killed anyone." A friend reminded me that arthritis causes enough pain that maybe you'd rather die.
The other big piece of the puzzle (aside from aging) is that my work, whether in the studio or the classroom or on the road, is very demanding. I've worked for years to make changes but it's hard not to feel discouraged by invitations I have to decline and travel I have to avoid, the hours doing the most boring exercises every day, the impossibility of converting my sedan bucket seat into a reasonable driving position, how hard it is to live in a multi-story house, and the feeling that it's easier to avoid tedious explanations by staying seated instead of standing up to stretch or pretend to go to the restroom, or by ditching people who won't accept that I cannot walk far or fast anymore.
Surgery is on the horizon though if I am lucky I will have time to plan it. I am already tremendously lucky because I have so many wonderful friends who are willing to support me through the process. I've heard countless times that this is "easy" surgery, "easy" recovery, that I will wonder why I didn't do it sooner. In the last few years I had to be a caregiver for someone who had joint surgery twice and was frustrated by his recalcitrance, but now I feel some of it. I saw how much work it takes to prepare, recover, and how drastically your life changes, even if only temporarily. I also love my soft and flawed and deformed and decaying body and hate the idea of having to take saws, hammers, drills, reamers, scalpels, and god knows what else to it. Is this how trees feel? Or all the paper that I rip up before I piece it together again?
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