My second periacetabular osteotomy is scheduled for June 6th. Once again, Dr. Chris Peters will perform the surgery, and it will be at the University of Utah Medical Center. I am determined to try to be better about blogging in the hospital, so that I can be more detailed about what the experience is like. This is after all, a blog meant not only to be read by my friends and family, but to be read by other individuals with hip dysplasia who have to have this surgery (there just really isn't all that much information out there!).
Last time I was nervous. This time, I just dread it. I remember what it was like, and I didn't like it. But then, no one likes having to ask their mother to put their socks on for them, or call their brother at three in the morning to help them get out of bed so that they can go to the bathroom. It's just not fun. It's painful, and it's really frustrating. I have not recovered 100% from the last surgery,which I expected. My left leg is still numb from nerve damage, which is also to be expected.
So why am I going ahead and having the next surgery??
Well...because the surgery is fairly new, we don't really know the ong term effects. However, doctors believe that if I have this surgery, I am less likely to have arthiritis (which a couple doctors told me I might very well have by age fourty without the PAO's) and I am less likely to need total hip replacements (which have to be replaced again and again). Apparently it is more difficult to recover from a PAO than from a total hip replacement, but in the long run, it's a much better deal, especially for young people who wish to continue to be active...like me. (Disclaimer: I don't know this for sure, that's just what I've heard and read.) Hip replacements are significantly more restrictive than PAO's, even though the recovery time is longer. And here's the other thing - I want to be a mom. And pregnancy with little bitty hips, stricken with hip dysplasia...now, that just doesn't sound like very much fun, does it? When I used to babysit kids, holding small children on my hip hurt after only twenty minutes, sometimes even five. I don't want to be a mom who can't hold her kids, has arthiritis, and desperately needs hip replacements far too early in life. And while it's inconvenient timing, this is the most convenient it's going to get, and in the long run, I believe that it will be for the best.
So...I have six weeks and six days to get in a whole lot of living - walking, dancing, playing, working, and so forth before surgery. And let me tell you something - I plan on using every single day.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Never on the Sidelines
In my last entry, I talked about how important it is to not let any challenges get in the way of living life to the fullest. And I believe that very fully.
At this point in my life, I am unable to dance. I still have my technique, but I have lost a large amount of my flexibility, as well as my strength. I can't even do the splits anymore - something that was easy and painless only a few month ago.
While I danced before training at Mann Dance Academy, I consider it "my studio" - not in the sense that I own it, but in the sense that it's like home to me. I trained there for ten years, and for much of that, spent between twenty and forty hours a week there. Last night, at the college, Mann Dance Academy had their Solos and Ensambles Show. This performance serves as a preparation for those competing at Cathy Roe's Ultimate Dance Competition. It's really beneficial to have a performance under your belt before you compete, and naturally, the more performances the better. (I love performing. Being on stage and giving everything I've got to an audience is one of the best feelings in the world.)
Obviously, I was unable to perform in this show - not as a dancer, anyway. But I did help out in other ways. I ran the light and sound boards in the booth, which is also something I enjoy doing. The experience was bittersweet. I miss dancing, and I wanted to be on stage dancing, the way I've been doing for so many years in the past. But it was nice to still be involved in the show.
Even though I wasn't able to do something that fills me with so much life and joy, I was still able to be a part of it in another way, and that was really nice. Sometimes that's how life works - we aren't able to do exactly what we want, the way that we want to do it, but we are still able to involve ourselves in some way, and that also brings us joy and fulfillment and satisfaction.
And now I have to give a shout out to a couple of my girls.
One of my students I will simply call H. She is a young teenager, and is a talented dancer. This year, she asked me to choreograph her solo, which I was more than happy to do. She selected the song Breath of Life to be her piece (taken from the soundtrack of Snow White and the Huntsman). The genre she wanted was contemporary. As soon as I heard the piece, choreographic possibilities exploded inside of my brain. Concepts and ideas flooded me, and I was so excited to be able to work with H. She is extremely talented, and works hard (hence the talent). She is also a lovable, fun, bright individual, and was a pleasure to work with.
I decided to push her limits. When I was choreographing I told her I was going to make the dance challenging (what's the point if it's easy?), but that if by competition time there were some things she hadn't quite gotten the hang of, that I would adjust and simplify them.
The dance is incredibly athletic. It requires a lot of strength and endurance, and I was hard on her. I wasn't sure if H. would be able to execute the dance for competition, since by the end of a run she was tired and lacked energy. But she did it.
I watched the dance carefully to see what she had done with it - if she had simplified it on her own, if she would execute it with the energy it needed, if she would tell the story - if she would satisfy the vision in my head.
That's what happens to artists. They have a vision in their heads, and they want very much for it to be met. With visual artists, they solely control whether or not their vision is completed and materialized. But with performing arts a director/choreographer, is taking her vision and giving it to someone else, and while she can work incredibly hard to help the performer achieve the vision, ultimately, that choreographer has to let go and leave her work in the hands of the performer. This is actually hard to do. Because you want your vision to be materialized in it's fullest, not just partially, or even mostly.
Last night, H. materialized my vision. She gave me the power I wanted. She exceeded my expectations. He entire body was filled with energy, so much so that there was even tangible energy coming out of her fingertips.
Before the show, she and I had been talking about some things. I told H. that when she performed she had to take every emotion in her body and let it fill the dance. I told her to take all of the passion, every frustration, every hope, everything inside of her and let it be the driving force. She did it.
I love it when a performer can produce the magical creation inside of my head. I was so incredibly proud of her, and wish her the best of luck at competition.
My other dancer is J. J. chose "You Take Me the Way I Am" by Ingrid Michaelson. This dance is a direct contrast from H.'s piece. It is in no way intense, and isn't all that athletic. It's a sweet, somewhat playful piece, and the movement is meant to be much more casual and happy-go-lucky. I found it more challenging to choreograph this piece, because I am a more intense dancer. I like dancing with strong, powerful emotions driving me.
Still, I enjoyed this piece. J. is so much fun to work with. She is delightful and funny. She is intelligent and she also works hard, and I was very pleased with her work as well.
Again, I wondered what J. would do with the piece I gave her. Would she give me my vision?
Here's where things differed a little, and I was pleasantly surprised. J. did not meet my vision. But she gave me something else. Something extremely interesting, that I thoroughly enjoyed - something that a choreographer cannot give a performer. When J. performed the dance, I saw her personality. She wasn't some dancer, performing some random dance that some random choreographer had given her. She was just J. And that was beautiful. J.'s personality exploded out of her in the dance, and it was delightful to watch. She didn't give me my vision - but I think she gave me something just as valuable, if not more so. I loved that who J. is was so excellently projected.
I am very proud of my two dancers and wish them the best of luck at regionals this weekend. I miss not being able to dance. I wanted so badly to be on stage with them, but I am so grateful that I am able to participate in dance in other ways - that I can extend my passion for dance to others, and still create. I am thankful that I was able to operate the light and sound boards yesterday so that I could still be an active participant in the show.
Sometimes life throws things at us that we would rather not have. But with it come other opportunities for growth and fulfillment and joy. Just because we can't do the things we want to doesn't mean that we have to sit on the sidelines and let other people live our dreams for us. We can always still contribute. No joy. No fulfillment. No light comes from sitting on the sidelines. The sidelines are a gloomy place.
So why sit there? Get up and do something with your life. Make something happen. Find something that fills you with joy and light - something that makes you fill fulfilled and alive - something that not only fills your entire soul, but cannot be contained by it, and explodes out of you in every direction.
At this point in my life, I am unable to dance. I still have my technique, but I have lost a large amount of my flexibility, as well as my strength. I can't even do the splits anymore - something that was easy and painless only a few month ago.
While I danced before training at Mann Dance Academy, I consider it "my studio" - not in the sense that I own it, but in the sense that it's like home to me. I trained there for ten years, and for much of that, spent between twenty and forty hours a week there. Last night, at the college, Mann Dance Academy had their Solos and Ensambles Show. This performance serves as a preparation for those competing at Cathy Roe's Ultimate Dance Competition. It's really beneficial to have a performance under your belt before you compete, and naturally, the more performances the better. (I love performing. Being on stage and giving everything I've got to an audience is one of the best feelings in the world.)
Obviously, I was unable to perform in this show - not as a dancer, anyway. But I did help out in other ways. I ran the light and sound boards in the booth, which is also something I enjoy doing. The experience was bittersweet. I miss dancing, and I wanted to be on stage dancing, the way I've been doing for so many years in the past. But it was nice to still be involved in the show.
Even though I wasn't able to do something that fills me with so much life and joy, I was still able to be a part of it in another way, and that was really nice. Sometimes that's how life works - we aren't able to do exactly what we want, the way that we want to do it, but we are still able to involve ourselves in some way, and that also brings us joy and fulfillment and satisfaction.
And now I have to give a shout out to a couple of my girls.
One of my students I will simply call H. She is a young teenager, and is a talented dancer. This year, she asked me to choreograph her solo, which I was more than happy to do. She selected the song Breath of Life to be her piece (taken from the soundtrack of Snow White and the Huntsman). The genre she wanted was contemporary. As soon as I heard the piece, choreographic possibilities exploded inside of my brain. Concepts and ideas flooded me, and I was so excited to be able to work with H. She is extremely talented, and works hard (hence the talent). She is also a lovable, fun, bright individual, and was a pleasure to work with.
I decided to push her limits. When I was choreographing I told her I was going to make the dance challenging (what's the point if it's easy?), but that if by competition time there were some things she hadn't quite gotten the hang of, that I would adjust and simplify them.
The dance is incredibly athletic. It requires a lot of strength and endurance, and I was hard on her. I wasn't sure if H. would be able to execute the dance for competition, since by the end of a run she was tired and lacked energy. But she did it.
I watched the dance carefully to see what she had done with it - if she had simplified it on her own, if she would execute it with the energy it needed, if she would tell the story - if she would satisfy the vision in my head.
That's what happens to artists. They have a vision in their heads, and they want very much for it to be met. With visual artists, they solely control whether or not their vision is completed and materialized. But with performing arts a director/choreographer, is taking her vision and giving it to someone else, and while she can work incredibly hard to help the performer achieve the vision, ultimately, that choreographer has to let go and leave her work in the hands of the performer. This is actually hard to do. Because you want your vision to be materialized in it's fullest, not just partially, or even mostly.
Last night, H. materialized my vision. She gave me the power I wanted. She exceeded my expectations. He entire body was filled with energy, so much so that there was even tangible energy coming out of her fingertips.
Before the show, she and I had been talking about some things. I told H. that when she performed she had to take every emotion in her body and let it fill the dance. I told her to take all of the passion, every frustration, every hope, everything inside of her and let it be the driving force. She did it.
I love it when a performer can produce the magical creation inside of my head. I was so incredibly proud of her, and wish her the best of luck at competition.
My other dancer is J. J. chose "You Take Me the Way I Am" by Ingrid Michaelson. This dance is a direct contrast from H.'s piece. It is in no way intense, and isn't all that athletic. It's a sweet, somewhat playful piece, and the movement is meant to be much more casual and happy-go-lucky. I found it more challenging to choreograph this piece, because I am a more intense dancer. I like dancing with strong, powerful emotions driving me.
Still, I enjoyed this piece. J. is so much fun to work with. She is delightful and funny. She is intelligent and she also works hard, and I was very pleased with her work as well.
Again, I wondered what J. would do with the piece I gave her. Would she give me my vision?
Here's where things differed a little, and I was pleasantly surprised. J. did not meet my vision. But she gave me something else. Something extremely interesting, that I thoroughly enjoyed - something that a choreographer cannot give a performer. When J. performed the dance, I saw her personality. She wasn't some dancer, performing some random dance that some random choreographer had given her. She was just J. And that was beautiful. J.'s personality exploded out of her in the dance, and it was delightful to watch. She didn't give me my vision - but I think she gave me something just as valuable, if not more so. I loved that who J. is was so excellently projected.
I am very proud of my two dancers and wish them the best of luck at regionals this weekend. I miss not being able to dance. I wanted so badly to be on stage with them, but I am so grateful that I am able to participate in dance in other ways - that I can extend my passion for dance to others, and still create. I am thankful that I was able to operate the light and sound boards yesterday so that I could still be an active participant in the show.
Sometimes life throws things at us that we would rather not have. But with it come other opportunities for growth and fulfillment and joy. Just because we can't do the things we want to doesn't mean that we have to sit on the sidelines and let other people live our dreams for us. We can always still contribute. No joy. No fulfillment. No light comes from sitting on the sidelines. The sidelines are a gloomy place.
So why sit there? Get up and do something with your life. Make something happen. Find something that fills you with joy and light - something that makes you fill fulfilled and alive - something that not only fills your entire soul, but cannot be contained by it, and explodes out of you in every direction.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Maggie
I only have to go to physical therapy once a week now instead of twice a week. I am making good progress, according to my physical therapist. I am getting stronger. (I'm not boasting, I'm quoting her.) Before, she could barely touch me or move me, and I was in a large amount of pain. And while I'm still in pain a lot, the pain is not only less frequent, but less intense. My hip still pops quite a bit, and once in a while (two nights ago, for example), I will wake up in the middle of the night with a piercing pain in my hip. It feels like repeatedly getting a shot with the needle they used to give me an MRI arthrogram. Thankfully, like I said earlier, the pain is less frequent and less intense, and I am very grateful for that.
Outside of my hips, life just keeps going. And that's the good thing. I do not believe that someone should decide not to do something, or just sit around because they happen to have some kind of disability, or health problem. Sure, things are limiting. But people can still learn and grow and be successful.
One of the people that taught me this is a remarkable young woman named Maggie Dingwall. She passed away the day before my surgery, at the age of seventeen. Maggie Dingwall battled cystic fibrosis. We met when we were nine or ten years old. We danced together. Imagine. A girl with cystic fibrosis dancing multiple hours a week, working just as hard as the rest of us, if not harder. I was one of the first people at the dance studio who knew she had cystic fibrosis. Understandably, at that age, she didn't really want people to know about it, and she swore me to secrecy. As she got older, she realized that it wasn't anything to be ashamed of.
I want to be like Maggie when I grow up. I want to be the hard worker that she was. I want to be just as strong, and optimistic. Maggie never asked for pity. She never expected people to treat her better than everyone else. She took the cards she was dealt and created a life more full of living than anyone I have ever met. I have tried to emulate her. I started going to school full time three weeks after surgery, walker, and then cane, in tow. I choreographed and assistant stage managed San Juan College's production of "You Can't Take it with You". And now, I'm back at work, running up and down stairs, carrying platforms and flying in curtains and electrics. That's the point. Don't let things hold you back. Maybe you can't do everything you want to do. But you can do something. And you can make a good life for yourself. Create a life for yourself that is as full of living as you can make it.
Because of my surgery, and where it fell in conjunction with Maggie's death, I didn't get to go to her memorial service. I never really got to say goodbye. People don't think I think about her. But I do. I think about her a lot. I try to emulate her strength, and her positive, resilient nature. And truth is, I miss her. I think everyone who got to know her does.
Her motto was "just breathe". It's something that everyone, not only people with CF can apply to their lives. Life happens. Sometimes we get dealt rotten cards. Sometimes things happen that just aren't fair. Someitmes life is cruel and heartwrenching. But if we "just breathe". If we just keep going. If we just relax and do the best we can, we make it so much farther. Things work out, in their own way.
So here's the challenge:
Outside of my hips, life just keeps going. And that's the good thing. I do not believe that someone should decide not to do something, or just sit around because they happen to have some kind of disability, or health problem. Sure, things are limiting. But people can still learn and grow and be successful.
One of the people that taught me this is a remarkable young woman named Maggie Dingwall. She passed away the day before my surgery, at the age of seventeen. Maggie Dingwall battled cystic fibrosis. We met when we were nine or ten years old. We danced together. Imagine. A girl with cystic fibrosis dancing multiple hours a week, working just as hard as the rest of us, if not harder. I was one of the first people at the dance studio who knew she had cystic fibrosis. Understandably, at that age, she didn't really want people to know about it, and she swore me to secrecy. As she got older, she realized that it wasn't anything to be ashamed of.
I want to be like Maggie when I grow up. I want to be the hard worker that she was. I want to be just as strong, and optimistic. Maggie never asked for pity. She never expected people to treat her better than everyone else. She took the cards she was dealt and created a life more full of living than anyone I have ever met. I have tried to emulate her. I started going to school full time three weeks after surgery, walker, and then cane, in tow. I choreographed and assistant stage managed San Juan College's production of "You Can't Take it with You". And now, I'm back at work, running up and down stairs, carrying platforms and flying in curtains and electrics. That's the point. Don't let things hold you back. Maybe you can't do everything you want to do. But you can do something. And you can make a good life for yourself. Create a life for yourself that is as full of living as you can make it.
Because of my surgery, and where it fell in conjunction with Maggie's death, I didn't get to go to her memorial service. I never really got to say goodbye. People don't think I think about her. But I do. I think about her a lot. I try to emulate her strength, and her positive, resilient nature. And truth is, I miss her. I think everyone who got to know her does.
Her motto was "just breathe". It's something that everyone, not only people with CF can apply to their lives. Life happens. Sometimes we get dealt rotten cards. Sometimes things happen that just aren't fair. Someitmes life is cruel and heartwrenching. But if we "just breathe". If we just keep going. If we just relax and do the best we can, we make it so much farther. Things work out, in their own way.
So here's the challenge:
- Create a life full of living
- Be positive
- Be resilient
- Just breathe
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