I’m having surgery this summer, and I’m scared. Actually, I’m terrified.
I know—so many people have surgery. And I have, too. I have had about eight surgeries in total, including one when I was a day old that saved my life.
But this surgery is different. It will be my first orthopedic-related surgery helping to treat my cerebral palsy.
Tomorrow I have my pre-operation appointment with my orthopedist. I am very anxious and don’t really know what to expect.
About a year ago, when my physical rehabilitation doctor said that surgery might be a good option for me, I was in denial. I didn’t want surgery. To me, that meant that my legs were deeply flawed.
Maybe they are, and maybe it’s time for me to accept it. I don’t know. What I do know is that I have had chronic pain for five, almost six years, and I am tired. Physically tired, emotionally tired. I’m tired of fighting my own body. I’m tired of always trying to find solutions to this seemingly endless pain. I’m tired of my parents stressing out because of me. Chronic pain is an exhausting cycle.
And yes, recovery from surgery will be grueling, but my hope is that it will be worth it.
I am nervous, though. I am undergoing a procedure called a derotational femoral osteotomy. My femur will be rotated outward and my hamstrings and adductors will be lengthened.
As children who have CP grow, our bones rotate. This can cause intraversion. In my case, because my tibia and femur are misaligned, my left foot turns in, which often causes me to trip. My derotational femoral osteotomy has two goals: to stop, or at the very least, lessen my chronic pain; and to improve my mobility, including lessening my chances of falling down.
I really hope the surgery will be successful. I have tried therapies and dry needling to stop the pain. I have tried Botox to lessen the falls. My parents have taken me to countless doctors. We have left no stone unturned—except for the biggest boulder still left in our path, so to speak. Surgery.
To be very honest, I’m unsure because I don’t know how my relationship with my legs will change. Although there are times when I hate my legs, I truly don’t. My CP has given me a perspective on life that I am truly blessed to have, and I know that. Also, I skirt the line between appearing “normal” (as much as I despise that word) and looking like I have a disability already. My fear is that if my gait improves, I will be discriminated against because I will not look as though I have a disability.
My surgery will take place over the summer. I will have about eight weeks to recover and undergo intensive therapy before my sophomore year.
This surgery has arisen several complicated feelings for me. I feel flawed. I’m anxious. If the surgery is successful—which I really hope it is—I might struggle with my identity more. And after five years, I don’t really know how to live without chronic pain.
I am looking forward to the possibility of living with less hip pain. But the freedom will be overwhelming. I won’t quite know what to do with myself.
I will be grateful to be free of my pain, and I really hope the surgery will work. However, I am only human, and I am scared.
Whatever happens, though, my surgery will tell a story of what I’ve gone through. I’m up for the challenge. I am thankful for my blessings and with God, I am ready to see how this next chapter will unfold.