It’s Only a Hip Operation…So, Why Am I Crying?
By Paul Kidwell
I recently had my left hip replaced at the hands of a Boston surgeon who has perfected a “minimally-invasive” procedure that reduces the insult to the flesh that past procedures did not allow. After decades of playing competitive sports – and playing them hard – the pounding, contorting and wrenching of this joint in every imaginable position had reached its finality and I became a victim of the sins of my athletic past. I was left with no cartilage in the hip joint, encroaching arthritis, a pronounced limp and a mostly useless joint that need replacing.
I knew there would be some pretty severe post-surgical pain, and the rehab would be long and hard. I was also prepared for the physical aches and soreness, but what surprised me was how unprepared I was for what this experience would do to me emotionally. It was during my first day home from the hospital that I realized how fragile this surgical procedure left me; laying bare some poignant personal truths about myself, and maybe insights into all men. As each step made me wince with pain, for some inexplicable reason it also left me sad, weepy and constantly on the verge of tears.
A quick Google search told me that what I was feeling is fairly common among people recovering from surgery. An esteemed group of doctors, medical professionals, and psychologists have researched this topic and published numerous academic articles and papers. The consensus indicates that people are impacted at levels that correspond directly with the severity of the surgery. Getting a knee “scoped” may not unearth the same emotions that a hip replacement or coronary bypass procedure might, particularly for a middle-aged man, like me, who for maybe the first time is looking at his life through the cross-hairs of mortality. It came as no surprise to me that this surgery would reach some of those internal emotions that lie mostly dormant inside men. It was more than that. How I felt was not just the result of an interruption of my life’s trajectory, it had to be something more that made me feel vulnerable and exposed.
“You needed to be touched,” she said. That unadorned suggestion came from Dr. Kathryn Hayward, founder of Odyssey Journey, which is a Boston-based “integrative medicine program without walls.” Dr. Hayward was my former primary care physician specializing in internal medicine at Mass General Hospital when we first met nearly 12 years ago. And I recalled her approach to medicine – especially her bedside manner – being different than all the other doctors I had experienced. She had one foot in traditional medicine with other firmly planted in alternative medical practices, so if anyone would understand my present state, it would be her. To focus on “touch” was not that much of a surprise to me as I remembered that during regular check-ups when I was her patient, she would place her hand on my arm or hand when discussing a specific medical issue. I also recollect the calm and trust that her touch would evoke in me.
Unfortunately, men have been socialized as caretakers and “do-ers of deeds.” For better or worse, this is how we are raised and the expectations heaped upon us as we evolve towards manhood are that we will rise to meet the demands of any occasion. It’s not such a bad trait to have and male stereotypes aside of the controlling, unfeeling man who does for others without thinking of himself and never allowing anyone to reciprocate by extending a gesture of kindness; I’d rather be a giver than a taker any day. There is something noble about having this kind of heart that “breaks for others” and a personal instinct to help rather then be helped. Maybe it goes beyond just being gallant and self-sacrificing, to a point where it comfortably lands in the camp of manly behaviors that may help define us as a gender. Of course, the emotional physics of this situation where we continually extend ourselves on behalf of others can cause an unhealthy deficit of nurturing that we also need to help complete us. What’s often missing in men is the equal and opposite reaction of “being touched” by others.
All this doing without letting others do for you sets up road blocks to reciprocal overtures of compassion that may help us balance the scales. And during my recent recovery from surgery it became clear that I needed to count on the kindness of others in order to weather the rigors of post-operative healing. The physical limitations of my surgery left me hobbling around on two crutches with little flexibility in my left leg, and an inability to drive and perform most daily living activities. To navigate my own physical recovery, I would have to make an incredible personal adjustment and let others care for me, which meant relying on my wife and son to assist in those many areas of my life where I normally take care of myself.
I am happy to say that I do my fair share of “stuff” around the house to help support my family, so what was undertaken by my wife and son during my convalescence was no small feat, and I was pleased to see them pitch in without complaint. There are lots of moving parts in most families today and a collaborative effort is needed to keep everything afloat. As I expected, things got done without my help, and I was not surprised at being moved to tears by their measure of love. What did stun me; however, was the impact their actual physical touch had on me. My son holding me steady, lifting me out of the wheelchair, and guiding my legs as I tried to inch into the car the day I left the hospital. Once I got home the biggest challenge was to try and make me comfortable as well as ensure that I did not remain sedentary. Instinctively my wife was adjusting pillows beneath my injured leg, packing ice around my hip, and interrupting my comfort and encouraging me to walk around the first floor of our home and take small trips outside in the neighborhood. During each interaction, I felt the warmth of their hands on my body and although I was unaware at the time, the heat of their touch nourished me. Dr. Hayward was right. A body in need deserves touch and this connection has the potential to stir emotions whose existence we were unaware. In my case, it kept me close to the precipice of crying for over a month (at this writing I am approaching six weeks post-op and remain tethered to a short leash that keeps me mostly vulnerable to unannounced crying); putting me in touch with this need and allowing me to think about the other men who perhaps also have this desire, but cannot find the roadmap to reach fulfillment.
And so we look across that great divide of need and we continue to touch others. After all, we are men and there are hearts that need mending, souls to affect, and emotional fences to repair. And as I stretch to reach others I notice the great distance I have to travel and against all odds; against all logic, I wonder who will make such a long trip to reach me. Who will find it in their heart to understand my needs and make sure that the circle does not go unbroken, but return that dish full and complete. Yes, I want to be that guy who touches people in meaningful ways and affects their lives. It’s not only my job, but it’s a job I am exceedingly good at and am happy to take up this mantle of responsibility reaching into those areas of personal hurt and indigence. Through the years I have learned the importance of my nonverbal presence and the power of touch, and that the essence of life is expressed not in ideas, but in reaching and affecting. But I also need to be that guy who has his own void to fill, so I need people who walk through my life to stop and touch me. I know now that I cannot make my own way without their tenderness and compassion. I want them to know that I am standing here…waiting.
