Another shot at it

I had an appendectomy the summer I was 27. It was the first time I’d ever experienced a procedure that impeded my mobility. Post-op, I could walk around—carefully—but I was deeply aware that any sudden movement or extra stretch could bring pain.

One incident stands out in my mind: Through connections at the newspaper I worked for, I got permission to do some research in the textiles facility of the LA County Museum of Art. To get there, I had to take an elevator up three floors. Just as the doors were closing, two teenaged boys jumped in with me. And I felt anxiety because I knew I didn’t have full range of motion; I couldn’t defend myself, I couldn’t run. “This is what old age will be like,” I thought.

They got off on the second floor and I went on up to the textiles department to do my research.

I’ve been reminded of that in the past couple of weeks because of the pain in my lumbar region. It affects my ability to reach, to bend, to carry heavy things, sometimes even to walk. I know I walk hunched over, because the muscle spasms have extended up my back on the left side. It’s also arbitrary—sometimes a particular action will trigger agony; other times I’m fine. But I live in fear that it will strike, and that makes me furious, that fear.

The orthopod three weeks ago diagnosed it as bursitis brought on by chronic tendonitis, but Monday when I saw the physical therapist (you can get scheduled for surgery faster than a PT practice can slot you in for treatment) he diagnosed something that feels more precise: the left sacroiliac joint is looser than the one on the right. As a consequence, that ilium is lower, and my left leg seems longer, which affects my gait. He reached this conclusion after asking a lot of questions about my symptoms and probing the affected areas. (The orthopedic surgeon spent about three minutes looking at the X-rays, which did not include anything above the ilio-femoral joint.)

This feels more in line with the pain I’ve been experiencing, so I’m feeling more hopeful about recovery. For some time I’d been carrying the burden of “this is what my life will be like, hunched over in pain, just like I pictured it in the elevator of LACMA, and I don't like it” and it may be that this isn’t, in fact the case.

Now it’s a question of doing the exercises—carefully; nothing that puts all my weight on the left leg—and being aware.

 

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