Spiritual Overhaul

Last year I went into the shop for some major mechanical work. One of my lower ball joints had worn out and needed replacement. I didn’t want to suffer the downtime but it became increasingly difficult to limp along ignoring the need for repair. So, one cold February day as I slept comfortably amid the racket of saws and hammers and chisels and drills, a surgeon removed my damaged right hip and replaced it with a two-pound chromium cobalt and titanium assembly. That marked for me the end of one journey and the beginning of another.

My hip had been deformed by a childhood illness, Legg-Calve-Perthis Disease. An unexplained disruption of blood flow to the hip joint had caused temporary bone death and the resulting deformity. After several years on crutches I was able to lead a nearly normal life. What was not normal was living with the knowledge that my hip would wear out prematurely and need to be replaced, maybe soon.

My anxiety filled pre-surgical journey began at the age of ten and lasted forty-six years. I spent those years avoiding heavy lifting, running, jumping, and any strenuous activity that might accelerate the deterioration of my hip. I was excused from physical education in school and never participated in any sports.

By the age of forty it seemed my hip might last the rest of my life. But shortly afterward I began to experience a dull ache while lying in bed or sitting in one position for extended periods of time. Sharper pain began to occur after I stood for more than an hour or turned a corner too quickly. Aspirin, Ibuprophen and bed rest took care of the problem for many years but eventually the discomfort became nearly unbearable and I went in search of a surgeon.

The thought of hip replacement surgery filled me with terror. I had seen a video tape of the procedure years earlier. It was gruesome. What frightened me most was imagining that I might not wake up from general anesthesia. I feared death. I didn’t feel like the surgery would restore my health. I felt like it would kill me.

I interviewed surgeons, looking for the right one. I had to trust that each had the required skill. What I was searching for was a doctor who displayed confidence sufficient to overcome my fears. I found him at last and moved to the next step, making peace with God.

This proved to be difficult; I did not know God. I had allowed my relationship with the God of my boyhood to wither and die. So I looked to the example of my friend Matthew who had died of cancer three years earlier. When doctors told him he had only months to live he dedicated himself to discovering the God he had never really known. He used every resource at hand including frequent visits with the pastor of a nearby church. The night before he passed away Matthew called me to say goodbye. He said he did not know if he truly had found and understood God but that seeking God had filled him with a deep sense of faith and peace.

That conversation encouraged me to believe that I might also find faith in the process of seeking God. I bought a Bible and read it, both Old and New Testaments. I completed several Bible study courses and read of how Christianity interpreted the Scriptures. I began praying regularly in the way suggested by my 12-Step program, asking God only to help me understand His will for me and the power to carry that out.

As the date grew closer I became less and less afraid. I came to accept that I had no control over the outcome of my surgery. My role would be just to do what I was told and to accept the results. I still was not confident that I would awaken from surgery but now I viewed that prospect as only one of many possible outcomes, all equally acceptable and completely out of my hands.

One week before entering the hospital I walked alone on a forest trail and talked with God as I had come to understand Him. I turned my fears and my life over to God and told Him that I trusted Him to determine the outcome. The only thing that still concerned me, I shared with Him, was how I would manage to strengthen my legs and learn to walk again while confined indoors during the coldest and snowiest part of winter. As soon as I had expressed the concern I turned that over to Him as well.

On the way home, just as I was about to turn onto my street, I passed a neighbor’s driveway. There, as a cold rain began to fall, I found an expensive computerized treadmill with a sign taped to it reading, "FREE, IT WORKS." The neighbor helped to transport it to my house and as he was leaving I told him about my conversation with God. He smiled and said, "Well son, that’s how it works."

My post-operative journey began on a snowy February morning. The surgery did not go as planned. The one and one half-hour procedure stretched into three hours as the surgeon encountered unexpected complications. My hip deformity was more severe than anticipated, requiring substitution of the planned high-tech ceramic ball component with a more traditional chromium cobalt metal ball.

I awakened to pain more intense than any I had ever experienced. It was caused by nerve damage that morphine and oxicotin could not affect. It interfered with my ability to perform rehab exercises. I spent much longer in bed and on crutches than expected. The surgeon explained that my complications seemed related to damage to the nerves and muscles of my leg caused by polio decades earlier.

Gradually the pain was replaced by numbness in my leg and foot, followed eventually by just a constant sensation of electric tingling. It took over a year to progress to the point most patients reach only months after surgery. But today I walk without a cane and with no pain.

How do I feel about enduring surgery and the complications that followed? I feel grateful. My experience brought me closer to God and it taught me patience, acceptance, hope and faith. I learned to accept needed help from others without feeling shame or resentment. I learned that, whether or not things go the way I wish, they still work out in the end. I learned to accept love and care from family and friends without interpreting their attention as expressions of pity.

I learned that I am powerless to control my fate, and that that is OK. Life happens. I deal with that by seeking the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. I find that serenity, courage and wisdom in my relationship with the God of my understanding. That relationship grows through continuing to surrender my own will, seeking to know God’s will for me and accepting it.