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