maybe it's my head what needs operatin'

Yesterday was a long day of working things out at the hospital, doing all the advance work for surgery on May 16th, one week from today.  Yes, back surgery in 7 days and I couldn't be more delighted.  Seriously.  I mean it.  People think I'm being sarcastic, but honestly, if you've ever had a an infected tooth and prayed for a root canal and an end to the pain, then I think you must know what I mean.  

Or maybe that's just me.  

I hate pain and will do anything to obliterate it.  Which is interesting since for me it was SO important to have a natural childbirth which, luckily and thanks to my youth at the time possibly and everything lining up just right, I was able to manage.  Twelve hours of increasingly, unimaginably excruciating pain, like an earthquake happening to little old me, tectonic plates grinding apart.  Just twelve hours of that, and I was high as a kite for days (and not from the demerol administered during the critical sewing-things-back-up phase).  Nope, I was 24, I survived a 12-hour-labor and safely delivered a gorgeous 9-pound baby boy into a sunny patch on the birthing room bed.  Hear me roar.  Childbirth, in my opinion, is a pain that should be felt whenever possible, safety of the mother and child of course coming first.  That one pain and maybe only that one, when it comes to physical pain.  

Childbirth and heartache: the only two kinds of pain I endorse.

For the rest, all the other physical pain, give me whatever it takes to knock that shit down, so I can keep living my life.  

The whole surgery thing came together pretty quickly, really.  Just last Thursday I was talking to my doctor on the phone, discussing my upcoming epidural #3 for the disc in my back that's been herniated since December and causing me no end of unendorsed, completely mind-boggling, life-arresting pain.  I was concerned about the quantity of pain medication I required to get through a day, wondered whether there was any other way to deal with the pain, and wondered what would happen after this third epidural.  He said that well, then we'd start talking about surgery.  And I asked if there was any reason we couldn't start talking about surgery sooner, instead of waiting two weeks after Shot 3 especially given that Shots 1 and 2 were so minimally helpful.  He said, sure, I don't see why not, let me send down a referral.  And boom, there I found myself in Redwood City yesterday ("Climate Best by Government Test," their odd motto, not quite as catchy as Reno's "Biggest Little City in the World").  

I was in love with my surgeon before I even laid eyes on him, thanks to the Bio the nurse put in my hands as she was leading me to the consult room.  I know, that's what I said: a bio?  Of course I'm in love.  Duh.  And then to read these words:

Being a physician is only one facet of my life.  I am a husband, a father, a son, an artist, an athlete, a traveler, a chef, a connoisseur, and a friend.

Or this sentence:

In the freezing winter months of Anatomy, I met the love of my life, and eventually was married to my Anatomy lab partner.

Freaking ridiculous.  And then I met him and he's a knock-out, plus he was clear, funny, had thoughtfully printed out for me ahead-of-time all of my MRI images, pointed out that I have mild scoliosis (uh, never knew that despite almost half-a-century occupying this skeleton), and generally gave me enormous confidence in his hands.  His hands into which I will be placing myself in 7 days, hands which will make a small incision in my back, insert tubes, remove as little bone as possible, and free that poor nerve that has been pinched and pissed off since December or longer.

Everyone on the staff in Neurology in Redwood City was kind and funny and caring, went out of their way to get us through all of the pre-op appointments yesterday so we wouldn't make another trip before surgery day.  All in all, an excellent experience.  And I'm being operating on so much sooner than I thought.  

But here's the kicker, and the part that makes me wonder if there is something more wrong with my brain than with my spine.

It took the nurse a long time to get me on board with this; I had to ask Joe for help because I really wasn't understanding what was happening exactly.  I had this idea in my head that I'd have surgery on Wednesday and be back at work on Monday.  I have so much to do, so many deadlines, big projects that rely on me to move them forward.  And still the nurse kept asking me how many weeks off I thought I'd need, so she could write me a note for Disability.  And I kept not getting it, until Joe intervened and convinced me to let her write me a doctor's note excusing me from work from the date of surgery + 6 weeks. Holy crap!

Look at those dates -- that's a month and half.  The last time I took a month and a half off work was 24+ years ago when I birthed The Kid. The longest I've been off since then is probably 3 1/2 weeks when we went trekking in Nepal in 2000 -- in part to celebrate my recovery from surgery #1 to correct the very same herniated disc, a year beforehand.  I don't get a third chance on this disc, Mr. Foxy Doctor says.  If I fuck it up again, then we're talking fusion.  And THAT I really do not want.  

So I'm left with a set of decisions.  How do I handle this possibility?  I'm taking the Doctor's Note in to work with me today, to share with HR and my boss.  It's not the greatest time for me to be taking time off, but then again there is no great time to be gone in the never-ending rush-rush of the organization I work for, in its constant scramble for the money it takes to operate a job training program for over 100 young people in Marin and Sonoma Counties.  And maybe, I tell myself, maybe it's just this rush-rush that's landed me where I am today, this constant feeling that I can never take a sick day, that I can never stop, that I have to tote this bale, carry this back-breaking load day-in, day-out, no stopping, no days off.  

Maybe it's time I took a stand, put my health first, took the 6 weeks off?

The thought both delights and horrifies me.  It makes me a little sick how my workload will be shoved onto my boss's desk, my workload that my hire was designed to take off hers.  It makes me a little sick to consider that I can't possibly take the 6 weeks off I may need to heal this back of mine and then turn around, 6 days later, and get on a plane for Bali for 2 1/2 weeks of vacation time.

My sister's been reading and writing about Rod Stryker.  I was inspired by her desire, shared with me last week:

 I am in thriving health and my creativity sustains me emotionally and financially.

Man, this is so what I want, too.  And maybe the way to get there, the way to find some balance and heal my back once and for all, is by accessing this time off that the surgery is making possible for me.  With my herniated disc corrected, maybe the time off would allow enough time for slow and steady physical therapy, for a slow and thoughtful return to a yoga practice that builds core strength and minimizes back-bending for the moment.  I could write and stare at the garden and watch the summer unfold, but what about work and what about Bali? 

I think for some, the choice would be clear.  Take the time.  Work will always be there.  And it's not my problem to figure out how to do it all.  But me, I'm unsure what to do.  I think it would be best to take the time, but I just don't know how to put myself first in that big a way. Maybe, just maybe, it's time I learned.  Maybe, just maybe, that's what this is all about.

If you have thought on what I should do, use the Comments to let me know.  What would you do if it were you?

XX

Comments

[ELSA]

Prima linda,
in my own experience of surgeries, not taking enough rest and recovering well took me back to the O.R. for a second intervention which took even longer for my body to heal and regain strength, you need your prana, you owe it to your body to get it repaired and healing in tranquility, guilt free, worry free and enjoying the time off. So best wishes for a smooth and total recovery, think less and let others do the thinking for a change. Love and kisses.