I hobbled through Croatia, London, Greece, and the bike paths of my home city, Santa Monica. The more I walked, the more the ache in my left hip deepened, as though something foreign had taken residence there. For twelve years, I dealt with this “hip issue,” enduring rounds of physical therapy, massage, yoga—anything that might help.
Finally, just before a planned trip to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, I saw an orthopedist. His diagnosis? A torn labrum in my left hip. I looked at him, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but he remained stone-faced. “What’s the next step?” I asked. He replied that I wasn’t a candidate for surgery but could consider a cortisone injection to reduce inflammation for the trip.
So, I did just that—and managed to hike the trail relatively pain-free.
As the years passed, I kept up my active lifestyle: yoga, walking, spinning, hiking, swimming, dancing. Movement had always been my medicine. But slowly, I noticed limitations creeping in—not from the torn ACL in my right knee (a pandemic-era accident, another story for another time), but from my left hip.
I needed a block to bend in yoga. My left foot turned outward on the spin bike. Getting into the car sometimes hurt. A five-mile beach walk turned into three, and hiking became too much. Swimming became my favorite refuge.
The tipping point came during a yoga retreat in Croatia when someone remarked, “You look like you’re walking with a stick up your ass.” Ouch.
Back home, I consulted a new orthopedist who confirmed my hip was riddled with arthritis. “You need a hip replacement. What are you waiting for?”
As a holistic healer and someone who delivered her children naturally, surgery wasn’t exactly appealing. I tried everything else – deep tissue massage, acupuncture with electrostimulation—finding only fleeting relief. Eventually, I realized that life shouldn’t be limited, no matter my age.
I found my perfect surgeon, a Standford-educated expert with glowing recommendations. I prepared mentally and physically, diving into educational manuals, courses, and conversations with those who’d undergone similar procedures.
The Surgery and the Aftermath
The surgery itself was straightforward, but the real challenge began afterward. Pre-op, I swallowed five pills for various purposes, though I barely knew what they were for. IV antibiotics and anti-nausea meds flowed into my system. Post-op, I faced a dizzying list of prescriptions: Tramadol for pain, Lyrica for nerve discomfort, Mobic for inflammation, Dexamethasone for swelling.
As someone sensitive to medications, I felt overwhelmed. The nurse couldn’t answer my questions, and the hospital doctor only emphasized aspirin for blood clot prevention. I negotiated my way through the list, opting for the essentials and leaving the rest.
By the first night, I was off most pain meds, sticking to Tylenol, aspirin, and Dexamethasone. But at 4:00 a.m., a sharp, radiating stomach pain jolted me awake—likely from the aspirin. The dosage was adjusted, and I finally felt comfortable incorporating my trusted natural remedies: herbal enzymes, blood-moving Chinese herbs, arnica, and melatonin.
Lessons Learned
The ten bottles of unused pharmaceuticals reminded me of a larger issue: the disconnect between patients and their care. Protocol-driven medicine doesn’t always consider individual needs. It’s not that the medications don’t help some—they do. But shouldn’t there be a conversation before prescribing a laundry list of drugs?
This experience taught me the importance of being proactive in my healthcare. Here’s what I recommend:
- Consult your pharmacist: They can explain interactions and side effects.
- Ask your doctor or PA questions: Understand why each medication is prescribed.
- Do your research: Knowledge empowers you to make informed decisions.
- Incorporate natural remedies : from a trained Dr. of Chinese Medicine, Naturopath or
- Functional Medicine Doctor.
In the end, healing is a partnership between you and your healthcare team. Don’t be afraid to take the lead.
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