Coming “Home” After a Hip Replacement

Writers capture universal emotions into words. Critics say the great writers of our time live on through their empowering words. When I think of the famous line, “you can never go home again “by Tennessee Williams. I tend to disagree with Mr. Williams for I have just come back home again after a long absence. I do not mean “home” as in the place where I reside, for I have not gone anywhere literally speaking. I refer to “home” as my entire being, the body my inner spirit resides in. In the last few weeks, I have undergone a very difficult total hip replacement surgery. The days that followed I felt as if my spirit had left my body and all that remained was the hollow skeleton alongside the cold metal parts.

Years ago I read somewhere that when one joins the military, you give up all your God given rights and then you earn them back, one by one. Going through joint replacement surgery is very similar, for everyday progress is made very slowly and independence is gained only through hard work. At first even the simplest movement requires immense effort. Daily activities such as bathing, dressing, and getting in and out of bed are impossible without aide. Once muscles remember what movement was like; they slowly come back. Gaining these upper thigh muscles and being able to move with ease comes only after weeks of sweat and perseverance.

To have a part of your body removed and replaced by metal makes you feel less human and more robotic only if you allow it to. For though it is quite painful, it quickly puts life into perceptive. After surgery I felt as though I had been robbed of my entire God given abilities as a human being. I could not move without aide. When I began to walk, I could not simply get up and move. I remember giving my legs the command to move and they stood as still as Roman pillars on an archaic building. With time as my muscles came back to me, I began to move my legs and soon I was walking ever so slowly again. Through the weeks of therapy I progressed from a walker to a cane to walking on my own. I feel as autonomous as a toddler taking her first steps. However, with this newfound independence also came a great deal of inner wisdom. For the little every day movements became small victories as I acquired them.

I began to realize what truly matters in life are the people around you, the support system that stays behind when the surgical doors are shut on them. They are felt alone for hours with only their prayers to comfort them. Once they are reunited with you, they search for ways of helping you deal with your pain and inability to move. This support system, whether it is comprised of one or many, is the essence of recovery. I got up and walked because my husband or daughter was on the other side of the room to surround my body with their arms. It was this one hug that made all the suffering worth it. It was their mere presence day after day that made me realize that although I have one more piece of metal inside my body, I am still the same person with the same hopes and aspirations.

This surgery took me away from my physical “home” because it robbed me of my ability to move; however, it gave me the ability to love life all the more. It gave me the gift of never ever dancing again without first looking up and thanking God. It made me realize that I can never push away my most prized possession, my family, for they are a molded part of my inner core just as the metal hip is. And most of all, it made me realize that I can come back ‘home” again and again because just when you think you’ve left, you realize that you are right where you belong.

Aimee Ferrer Busquet
01-14-01

Letter to Arthur

Dear Arthur,

I guess I should address you as such, for that was the name I’ve called you ever since you invaded my body many years ago. You should know that this letter has been 25 years in the making. For that was when I was told I had you. I was thirteen years old, a young girl just starting to find her place in this world.

With the news, came the relief that everything I had been feeling had a name; Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. I remember feeling shocked how could I have an old person’s disease? There must be some mistake.

Unfortunately, I soon discovered there was no mistake. You were here to stay and I had to learn to deal with your presence in my life. After the initial onset, where you first reared your ugly head and made me lose over two months of my eighth grade school year, I thought that this was no big deal. I certainly didn’t want anyone to know. After all I thought, “What was there to tell, so I take a many aspirins everyday and this doctor injects my fingers regularly?”

In high school you reappeared many times and there were many episodes of days with unexplained high fevers and fatigue followed by daily afternoon low-grade fevers. There was the constant smell of Ben-Gay, my perfume, I used to call it. There were the two years that my after-school activity consisted of my father putting me in traction for an hour everyday. I remember watching the soap opera General Hospital and just allowing the tears to roll down my face until they bounced off my cheeks. There were also the many years of going to the library when all the other girls went to P.E. classes. Here I discovered a world that had a profound effect on me. I submerged myself in words and was fascinated by the profound power they had over me. In the literature, I discovered new worlds, befriended famous literary characters, and lived a wide variety of emotions vicariously through these new friends. In addition, I learned the Dewey Decimal System and to this day still feel most comfortable when surrounded by books. Thanks to you, I found my profession and calling in life.

During my college years, I felt the anti-inflammatory medicine I was taking daily must have sent you on a trip somewhere. You tended to pop up only once in a while and I was so glad to be rid of you, even only for a while. However, you always managed to make a repeat visit after a night of dancing, after a long walk, or an all-day shopping spree. You always reminded me that you were still around especially when I tried to take notes for my lecture courses and my fingers would remain in the same position for a while. Nonetheless, while you continued to peek in and out of my daily young adult life, I managed to graduate, get married, and continue to “live” a normal life.

There are so many things I want to tell you, Arthur. There are so many raw emotions that lie just beneath the surface of my being. Sometimes I’ll hear a song, or watch a movie, or read a poem and I’ll cry uncontrollably. Many times these tears are only a residue of what you leave behind. I must say I really detest you…hate you…and wish I never met you. But more than anything, I resent you for all that you’ve taken away from me. You’ve decided that I can only experience the magic of motherhood once, for a second try would be disastrous. Throughout the years, you have destroyed my hips, my right shoulder, and both jaws.

Well, Arthur, I am writing to tell you that I will not allow you to take anything more from me. I will fight you till the end. I will continue to live my life as if you were not here. You will no longer watch the people that I love suffer because they feel powerless at your hands. You will not have such control over my family and me. After all you are only powerful when we allow you to overcome us. That will not happen. I will live a normal life in spite of you. I will continue to pass the many lessons of living that you have taught me to all whom I meet, especially the children you try to invade. After all I am a better person because of you. You have given me tremendous inner strength and fortitude. You have provided me with the empathy to understand a stranger’s pain and suffering. You have given me the gift of appreciating every dance, every long walk, and every adventurous event in which I can actively participate in and enjoy. I have learned to live around my “bad days” and cherish my good ones. The most important lesson you’ve taught me is to never ever take anything for granted. I have learned so much from you and yet, I realize there are many lessons in my future. But today I am alive and I will “live” life to the fullest, even if you continue to lurk around.

So long for now,
Aimee