Chapter Fifeteen: When a Nice Sunset Might be Your Last

My parents came to my hospital room the next day. My mom looked like she was going to cry. My dad looked like he was surprised to see me still breathing. My ex never did visit me at the hospital, although she was notified. She kept an update on my condition through my friends. I knew that I faced surgery to repair my hip. The impact was so sever that the femoral head of my leg actually protruded through the acetabulum [hip joint]. My pain was dulled with self-administered morphine injections through my I.V. line. I didn't like the way the morphine made me feel in general, but it was an effective pain reducer. The most pain I felt was when I once tried to sneeze. I took a deep inhale and started to cough, but the pain I experienced from my broken ribs felt as though the blood in my entire body had suddenly turn into needles. I caught the sneeze before its completion. It would be several months before I'd allow myself to cough.

There was a lot of discomfort; the hip injury and traction device limited my lateral movement, the catheter that was inserted through my broken rib cage to re-inflate my lung along with the foley catheter [for urination] felt strange and quite unnatural, the I.V. tube that needed to be flushed and occasionally reinserted was a nuisance and the torn rotator cuff in my right shoulder painfully limited my motion. There wasn't much I could do without experiencing severe pain.

The food was good, the nurses were friendly and professional; likewise for the medical technicians that performed the tests that were ordered. The doctor that stitched up my forehead would occasionally drop in to check his handiwork. He was young, probably an intern. Sometimes I imagined him riding in on a skateboard. Eventually I met the Doctor that would perform the surgery to install the metal chain and screws that would bind my hip joint back together. He was confident and very professional. He even gave me the option of not doing anything at all; to let the hip heal as it was and hope for the best. But my parents had dropped off some information that they had obtained over the internet outlining my sort of injury and the surgical techniques used to repair the damage. I knew I needed the surgery if I had any chance of walking again. Walking had always been my favorite form of exercise, there was no question that I'd go for the surgery. I remember staring out of my hospital room window watching people walk to and from their vehicles located in the parking structure below [I was on the fourth floor]. Would I need a walker or a cane for the rest of my life? According to the surgical info I had, 20 % of the hip repair surgeries performed "go badly". Would I ever walk again?
The thought of surgery always terrified me. What if something went wrong? What if the surgeon hiccuped and accidentally severed something he wasn't supposed to sever? I had a lot of anxiety about the procedure right up until the night before my surgery. I was staring out of the hospital window at a beautiful fiery red and orange sunset over the hills of Palos Verdes when I said a little prayer. I prayed "God, if I die on the operating table, your will be done. But if I somehow make it through and get back on my feet, please show me a path to being a positive and productive person who can help other people." You know what? All the anxiety I had about my surgery completely disappeared. I had absolutely no worries. I had made my peace with God.

Next up: Whatever Works for You, Doc.