Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Loose emotions, on the run.

Getting news from the doctor *other than* what I had been used to hearing for years now:
"we know you are in pain... we don't understand pain... we're not sure your pain is all from the joint (even though I said it most certainly is), there isn't much we can do for you..."
"Double Bursitis. Lots of physical therapy, cortisone shots".
This new syndrome, the tremendous confidence Dr. Rath had telling me about it; it all really excited me. I couldn't believe that someone is offering a whole new perspective, and a promising treatment! There is a name for this disease, and there is a cure! Woo-hoo!

I wasn't even ten feet out of the familiar ward (where I have spend many, many days and nights), when I called Robert with the exciting news. He was at the time on the phone with our good friend, so he put me on speaker so that friend could hear, too.

I was so excited!! I said "great news!!" Robert was completely caught up in the excitement with me. "He said that I have this disease which I can't pronounce, and the he can fix it!!!" "OK, It means more surgery, but then I have a chance at the pain going away, and no more pain medicines!!!"
We were giddy with the possibility, the new chance. Our friend on the other phone was right there with us. It was just good vibes everywhere.

Hard to believe that was just yesterday. Wow, just yesterday I was happy with the news of brand new hope, possibility. Just *yesterday*.

Today  I  went  into  a  depression.

The roller coaster.
I want to embrace it as all part of the process, but in my prayers? I pray for only middle ground, with a few ups, and a few dips.
The roller coaster is back.
I put on my seat belt. I invite you to, also.

I am so scared. Am I crazy to agree to go under the knife again????
Seventh time in four and a half years?!
I looked back at a blog, specifically looking for time periods when I knew surgery was close.

The year was 2009. The post that caught me was written on the eve of going in for the PVNS surgery; the one which ultimately didn't happen.
I was scared of dying, and wrote good-bye brachot to my family.

I want to bring you into my heart so you can start carrying me through my fears.
I *know* how much hip surgery hurts. I've been through it before. This time, it'll be both hips at once. Filing down bone, removing damaged tissue, repairing torn cartilage.
New mantra: getting off Fentanyl... getting off Fentanyl...

I want my Mommy. I want to hop on a plane and feel safe curled up in her bed with her.

MM- when you said you wish we lived closer, I yearned for that, too. You are my dear friend, and you are a beautiful, talented mother. Want a job for a week here with us?

I want to go to one of those healing-type hotels where there is a doctor if you need one. They have spas, and only healthy, beautiful food. I'd stay there for a week after surgery. Anyone know of such a place?
Who will take care of my kids?
(Robert mentioned calling an agency for a nanny for a month. We'll plan on that.)

My daughter has her hopes and dreams set on me being able to bike ride with her. She *loves* to ride, but can't ride alone yet. She's nine, and we live in a city. Her brothers aren't interested in hanging out with her much, and Aba works so much. She asked me if I'll be able to ride a bike with her. I said I really really hope so.

My youngest son... he's six. He asked me if this surgery means
that I can finally have another baby.
Robert and I looked at each other...
Poignant. P a i n f u l.

I'll set my sights on bike riding.


  1. It doesn't at all surprise me that you are feeling depressed. If I were you I could imagine feeling depressed, like I'm scared to hope...again, feeling scared...wondering what is going to come next, feeling hopeful but then wanting to deny that hope so as not to be disappointed. All this is just from here looking in. I would imagine your feelings being so much more than I could ever imagine, so much more magnified.

    I pray for you for peace, to be able to accept this new possibility, to be able to live in the moment, that your children can live in the moment with you, that you know you are loved by many, that you know that God loves you.

  2. Sarah, your emotions are so normal and honest. How could you not be both excited at the prospect of curing the problem, and at the same time depressed at having to have yet another surgery? There are convalescent facilities in Israel, and your kupah might actually pay for a brief stay there. I suggest checking in with your kupah (and maybe others) to see what's offered and how much, if anything, it would cost.

  3. Dear Sarah, you are really dear to me,you know? You are so wonderfully strong even when you don't feel you are. On the one hand, going through another operation is extremely scary, on the other, it is so good to hear that the doctor finally knows what disease he is dealing with and how to deal with it. He cured others and he will do all he can for you. Thanks for keeping us all posted. Sophie