Recovery is a weird beast. For some, arguably the lucky, all they know of recovery is getting a minor infection, being prescribed some treatment like antibiotics, and the illness goes away. Simple. It’s not until you are exposed to something more serious that it becomes apparent recovery doesn’t necessarily come as a result of diagnosis and treatment. Issues, actions, and outcomes are not necessarily aligned.
For me, this disparity was an isolating revelation. People see the physical pain, the hospital visits, the surgeries, and can understand. It makes sense to them. But what isn’t seen is the silent battle to hold on to part of yourself that is trying to leave. That battle to regain mastery, control, and autonomy of your own body. The mental fortitude required to continue the fight, to get back to where you should be.
If sharing my journey can help anyone feel less isolated, then that would be great.
What happened?
It was a year ago Thursday that I went to an appointment and got what to me was a completely unexpected diagnosis. Having gone to the doctor’s a few weeks prior to request physio, I was suddenly learning that I had osteoarthritis and I needed a hip replacement, on not one but both sides.
In hindsight, it made sense. Pain that actually goes back as long as I can remember. Doctors dismissing all my complaints through my teens, and not a single test was taken. Physio sessions that had done nothing more than provide temporary relief.
A decade ago, while on holiday, it became clear how much I actually struggled walking anything more than short distances. And as it turns out, all the efforts I made to be more active and get stronger were speeding up the degradation of my joints further.
But that’s not what I or anyone close to me expected to find out. The timing was impeccable. That very evening, I was about to go on stage for the press night of Parade, the start of a week-long run.
I tried to carry on. “It’s nothing new.” “It’s just telling me what the situation already has been for some time”. But it was no use. I didn’t have time to process the news. And my wonderful castmates instantly noticed something was wrong.
Throughout the show run, the support everyone at the Theatre provided was amazing. And being able to do something I love and being part of such an incredible show was a brilliant distraction.
But eventually things returned to normal, and I was left in this completely unexpected alien situation. With news I didn’t know how to process. A body that was seemingly now betraying me and not hiding the pain anymore.
Seemingly overnight on that day a year ago, my body had decided it wouldn’t mask pain now that there was a reason. I went from severe pain during bad moments to daily agony. Luckily, one of my work benefits was private healthcare, and I was able to get referred to a specialist quickly.
Within 3 months, I had my first surgery, and I had the 2nd in April just gone. Diagnosis and both operations within a year. Many people would think that’s the end of the story. I’m somewhat walking again…..
But really, this is just the start; I’ve still got far more physical recovery than even I can imagine. Resetting 37 years of compromised body mechanics. Understanding the mental toll of being ignored and ignoring my own body. Re-examining my relationship with pain. There’s a lot to unpack, and half the time I don’t know where to start.
Much of my childhood, mainly because my parents and their friends were of that age, I heard a phrase that stuck with me. It’s not what they meant by it, but I never thought it would be quite so relevant.
Life begins at 40
I have a couple of years to get there yet. But feel free to join me on the journey to find and forge a literal new life.