This fucking hip.
Four years ago I had hip surgery for a torn labrum, and while that issue was corrected, I’ve been pretty much in a post-surgical nightmare ever since. A new problem immediately emerged, nerve pain that runs down the front of my thigh – and I’ve been getting the run around for the last four years – juggling hip surgeons, physical therapists, osteopathic manual manipulations, pain clinics, orthopedic surgeons, physiatrists, x-rays, MRIs, more pain clinics, more physical therapists, more orthopedic surgeons …. and the saga continues. I’m getting an EMG soon and the current hope (there have been others in the past – so lets not get too excited here) is that the nerve pain is originating from some sort of obstruction from scar tissue or a ligament or something pushing on my lateral subcutaneous femoral nerve and I can get that nervy bitch just zapped off the map so I don’t feel that shit anymore. The downside is that I would also lose sensation in that area on my outer thigh. I’m at a point where there is no question in my mind – I’d absolutely rather feel nothing than feel electrical fire tearing apart my thigh every time I take a step.
After 4 years of trial and error, I know I should not be getting my hopes up at all – yet I am so excited for the possibility of comfortably numb.
The timing of this hypothetical/potential medical cure strikes me as a little weird.
I’ve heard over and over about how depression often manifests as numbness. Feeling nothing – no highs, no lows, but I’ve never experienced it. For me, depression has always very much felt like something. Something awful. Worthlessness piled on top of anxiety on top of shame and hopelessness and loss. It has always felt like something that could not be continued – like it was an inferno that wouldn’t just tear a small piece of me apart, but would quickly consume my entire being whole.
So it seems almost interesting, in a scientific sort of way, that lately I’ve been feeling that nothingness I’ve heard so much about. Just….blank. Just – wake – eat – sleep – avoid talking – avoid doing – avoid being – sleep – sleep – sleep – repeat.
It’s kinda bad.
But, knowing what I know, I find myself grateful in this nothingness. I know nothingness is not the most healthy state of being – yet it still feels like relief. Like I am not frantically trying to put the fire out that is about to overtake me. Like I am not nearing the point of submitting to the smoke and the flames that surround me.
When you’ve got major depressive disorder, or a nerve disorder, nothingness can feel like floating on a raft, like hanging in a hammock.