We have the technology

We live in a culture that values self-improvement. Some of our desire to be better people is loving and valid—we go to therapy to improve our relationships, we go to school and college to expand our knowledge, and we go to the gym to strengthen our bodies. Kelli Anne Drinkwater, in discussing body positivity and living with joy in a body that media and patriarchy have deemed unacceptable says that reclaiming your body “can be one of the most gorgeous acts of self-love.” 

Sometimes, in order to reclaim our bodies, we need to rebuild them. 

This Tuesday, June 21, I am getting a hip replacement. I won’t get into the graphic process of reconstructing the joint that allows me to walk upright (I nearly passed out hearing the explanation & looking at black & white drawings), but I do want to explore what this allows me to reclaim.

A new hip will change the space I take up in the world.

As you might guess, I see getting a new hip both as a literal and a metaphorical experience. And I am not sure I fully distinguish the difference between the two.

I will walk because I don’t need to run

I have been a runner for about seven years. After this surgery, I will retire from recreational running (though running for trains and from bears is still allowed). I will miss the accomplishment and, to some extent, punishment of running. I will miss the races and bragging rights. But it wasn’t running that damaged my hip—it was sitting. The last two years of staying in one place, in front of my computer, not allowing myself to run away, did more damage than all the miles I pounded into the pavement.

With a new hip, I will be able to leave, to go where I want under my own power. And there is no urgency—I don’t have anything to prove to anyone. 

At the beginning of the year, perhaps in an intuitive nod to my damaged hip, I wrote about the metaphor of walking and how important it is to not only my physical well-being but also my emotional and professional health. Walking is about taking control of one’s own direction, at one’s own pace, without breaking a sweat.

I have earned the luxury of walking. 

I will take those steps

One of the most physically difficult things for me to do right now is climb stairs. While I’m done climbing the corporate ladder, I am ready to ascend personally, not to heaven quite yet (though from what I can tell, that staircase is an escalator anyway), but to my own goals.

I’ve been afraid to step up for a while now, but with a new hip, I will be able to step into my marriage, my family, and my writing. I will step, without pain or fear or hesitation, into who I am as a creator, teacher, and purpose-driven person.

I will get up & I will get down

I feel the most pain when I stand up from my desk, which, in my mind, means I need to do it more.

And sitting down on the floor feels like a logic puzzle—I know what shape I need to make but have to visualize all the different possible bends and folds it will take to get there.

With a new hip, I will move intuitively from one place to the next. And I will know that I can easily rearrange myself if I need to find a better shape or a more comfortable fit.

I will stand on my own two feet

The most unsettling thing about my damaged hip is that, because the top of my femur is jammed up into the socket, my left leg is noticeably shorter than my right. Granted, it is only a few millimeters shorter, but I can feel the difference when I stand. My balance is wobbly, and I am unsure on my feet.

With a new hip, I will root to rise, keep both feet on the ground, regain my firm footing, and find my mountain pose.

My secret subtitle for this blog is “Crouching Tiger, Kicking Asser” which perhaps over-states my confidence going into Tuesday. Of course, I am nervous about the surgery and, if I had my druthers, I would prefer not to go through it.

It’s hard to look forward to being cut open, having my pain removed, and enduring process of the healing. But I am ready to reclaim my power and the bionics of this new joint.