An open letter

Dear Left Hip,

I am lying in bed, on a heating pad, after taking as much Ibuprofen as I could stomach, to try to calm you. I am counting down the days until a new, less damaged, more stable hip takes your place. I have purchased the necessary medical equipment (including the LOVELY bedside commode) and am losing sleep over what it will be like. I am eager to be free of pain. But losing you is bitter sweet.

I am not sure whether it is your fault, or mine, that you ended up dislocated with a tendon knotted in you, making you malformed. Maybe it was because I was trying to enter the world butt-first. Or, maybe, I was butt first because you were a mess. I guess that we'll never know for sure. I am lucky, I think, that I don't remember the first surgery to try and correct our problem. At two months old, it was probably traumatic for us both. And then living life in a body cast for months... well, that couldn't have been pleasant, particularly with diapers involved.

I also don't remember why, when we were 9, it was decided that more surgery needed to be performed. I don't remember having pain, or being limited. But, clearly there was some major work to be done. To try and help us, they cut bones in half, screwed bone together, and left us with some cool metal gear in there. Do you remember all the work we had to do to get well? Two weeks in the hospital, three months on crutches. Now that I'm a parent, I can't imagine going through that with my child. We were lucky we had so much support. Mom stayed every night in the hospital, and do you remember that Papa came by every day with a gift? Dad took care of everything at home, and aunts and uncles came to read to us. I also remember that I missed the last 6 weeks of fourth grade, but my teacher came to visit, and brought a Garfield balloon. I drew a lot of pictures. And we had to do a lot of practice on those crutches to manage stairs. It was terrifying, but I daresay we became experts. And we recovered.

After that, we were a little more limited. The metal plate would be dangerous to fall on, so I had to protect you with a lot of padding when I went ice skating, and I wasn't allowed to ski. I didn't like to sleep on my left side anymore (my former favorite sleeping position) because somehow I could feel the pressure of the plate in there.

When the time came to remove all your hardware, we spent a few more nights in the hospital after a much easier surgery. And after that, we were essentially free. My family was told I would likely need a replacement one day, but that always seemed so far away.

For years, I didn't think about you much. From time to time, I'd be asked about the scars, and would be briefly reminded of what we had been through. I finally tried skiing (and found it was not my forte). You did your job, despite it all. I remember the first time that I was aware that you were not "just a normal hip" was in college, when I went through a two week period of pain. It scared me, but as quickly as the pain came, it left.

In the ten years since, we have seen a lot of life together. We've traveled, walked miles and miles along beaches and forest paths. We tried snowboarding (also not my forte), and climbed mountains. We've carried a child, in my womb and out, so many places.

I appreciate that you have carried me. It is not with spite that I have decided to replace you. But, rather, with gratitude. Though we struggled, I learned a lot along the way. Thank you for all you have given.