Periacetabular Osteotomy (i.e. giving up in order to move on)

It's overwhelming to start at the beginning and explain how in the world I got to the point of agreeing to have my pelvis sawed apart.  My diagnosis was congenital hip dysplasia (oh! there is an explanation for 15 years of hip pain!), which means the socket was too shallow.  The femoral head (ball) was only halfway covered by the acetabulum (socket).  So no matter how much strengthening, stretching, prayer, exercise, rest, turmeric, meditation, yoga, hot tubbing, or margaritas I tried, I could not change the physical structure of my hip.  The amount of daily pain I was in was becoming increasingly restrictive, to the point that walking into the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk was near impossible.

My diagnosis and referral to a hip dysplasia specialist came from a non-surgical rehab specialist (a person whose entire job it basically is to help people avoid surgery through physical therapy)!  This surgery (periacetabular osteotomy) was the only thing that could correct my problem.  I pursued opinions from multiple other sources--both within the typical medical field and alternative medicine.  After repeatedly getting the same answer from varying specialties, I was beginning to come to terms with the idea of this solution.

Up until the day before surgery, I fought repeatedly to have peace about this.  I would wrestle with all the reasons why this was crazy, there was NO WAY I was going to have this done.  Then I'd go through all the alternative options (really, there was only one: continue to lose function and then almost definitely need a complete hip replacement in another few years, which only lasts about 15 years, and has a myriad of other problems for someone of my age, activity level, congenital structural problems, etc).  Really, for the past 2 or 3 months, this was a daily process of wrestling with being in denial that I couldn't fix myself.  There was literally nothing I could do--no exercise or training regimen that would whip this slacker body of mine into shape. 

"Okay.  I have to do this.  There is no other option."
"That's crazy!  There is no way I can go through that."
"But it would be worth it to be able to walk again, right?"
"There has GOT to be some essential oil or pyramid sales nutritional drink that would fix this."
"Stop complaining.  Buck up. Get on with it."
"Nuh-uh.  I'm gonna yoga the heck outta this."
"Face the facts.  You've tried EVERYTHING else.  It's gonna be a year of recovery, and then you'll be back to fully functional.  Quit whining."



I had dozens (hundreds?) of people praying for me as I went into surgery.  The day before, I met with the anesthetist to discuss sedation.  I was thrilled to find out that I didn't have to go under general anesthesia--so much of the miserable first 24 hours after my back surgery last year had to do with coming out of GA.  He said this surgeon preferred his patients to have a spinal block, which meant I'd just be paralyzed from the waist down.  Then he said that I could choose my level of sedation.  Wait--what?!  Like choose whether I want to be knocked out or not?  What lunatic would want to remember any of that surgery?

Okay well I guess there were too many people praying for peace, because sometime between my pre-op appointment on Monday and starting the IV on Tuesday, I came to a place of utter surrender. I had strength to quit my kicking and screaming, stopped my internal fight of feeling like I was being dragged by my heels, and accepted it.  "Let's do this! If I really truly can't just exercise more or rest more or stretch more, whatever, then FIX ME ALREADY!!!"

So I went in to the operating room mostly awake, listening to the nurses confirm my vitals and answering "yes" when the surgeon asked if I was ready for this.  The anesthetist had told me that the surgeon didn't want me asking questions, and that he would sedate me more if I was talking.  I was anticipating a bone saw, but I wasn't prepared for the mallet.  The ischium and pubis were broken with a mallet and chisel, and the ilium was sawed through.  I guess I asked about that, or maybe that was just my mental limit, because I don't remember the rest. I was out when they repositioned the joint, and  I was out when they put the screws in (just in the ilium, by the way! they just leave the breaks in the other 2 bones to heal without stabilization--what!?!). 



It's not like I'm a fearless unflappable daredevil.  Reading back over what I just wrote makes me absolutely sick to my stomach.  Reflecting on it very long makes me want to hurl.  But for some reason, I guess it was important for me to not just mentally give consent for this, but to be physically present and awake for the act of giving up the fight.  I cannot fix myself. 

The resignation continues.  I'm in bed, waiting for my bones to heal.  I cannot speed the process in any way.  This goes against every particle in my being--there is always something to BE DONE!  But now all I can do is just be still and trust in the unhurried work being done by a meticulous Surgeon through the body's wondrous production of osteoblasts--stitching and mending and sculpting and reassembling.