Control

Control

Oddly enough, when my doctor told me that they would have to “go in” I felt relieved.  My hip has been nagging at me persistently since March, and with one statement I was validated.  The pain I was feeling was not in my head, I was not a wimp.

My relief stopped when my surgeon began to describe at length what he was going to do.  I wanted to slam my hands over my ears and yell, “lalalalala-just do it”, but something about, “we are going to make two incisions, shave off pieces of your bone, and sew the tear together,” has a way of permeating my “la’s”, but the part that bothered me the most, is that I was going to be under.

For about two weeks I stewed on the idea of being “out” and completely and totally out of control and coming to hours later with no idea what had happened to my body. The fact that this is what bothered me the most speaks volumes about my control freak tendencies. 

My sister drove me to the hospital before the sun came up, and joined me in the room and a posse of nurses prepped me for surgery.  I was nervous, and when the anesthesiologist came in to dope me up I went into a tirade about my concerns.  He put something into my IV and I went drunk-it was like throwing back 6 shots drunk.  Then I was out.

I woke up with massive bandages surrounding my hip and waist. I had no clue what went down and what was under my bandages.  I was vaguely bothered, but I wanted three things:  to see my sister, to get out of there, and to eat guacamole. 

I got wheeled to her car and loaded up.  My sister asked me what I wanted to eat, I demanded guacamole.  She assumed I was drunk.  I probably still was. 

She accommodated my request and made me a massive bowl of guacamole once home, and I ate the whole thing, even swished my fingers around the rim to get every last bit of it.  And I was happy.  I drugged out, full of guac, and happy.

It wasn’t until now, thinking about it, that I realize what scared me the most about the surgery wasn’t the procedure itself, it was being out of control, and that once I let go of it, I was able to see what I really wanted.  Which apparently in that instance was guacamole, but I’m curious about what else I would want if I gave myself permission to let go and want it.