Four Weeks Later… reflections and shadow walking

It’s been four weeks since the operation – I can’t quite believe it. Because each day has roughly the same routine, time feels like it’s both going slowly, yet the days are going past quickly. A strange phenomenological displacement of the usual experience of time when I’m busy, and the day is filled with activities mostly to do with work and thinking. So to be so focused on body, and a body that is functioning differently, changing slowly, creates a new dis- and re-location of the inner body clock.

Going back through my previous blog posts, I was looking at the one I posted just before the operation Getting Up, Walking Slow. I’m really glad I did this, as it’s showing the progress I’m already making. As it’s a slow process, and healing is happening in small degrees, it’s hard to step back and see the overall difference. But watching the video of how slowly I was walking then, and the struggles to get up from the sofa, I really see that already things have changed. Using two crutches, I’m able to walk much faster and with more ease than before. And getting out of the chair (higher than the sofa so easier anyway), is happening much swifter and in one movement, rather than the extravagant series of micro-movements I was doing before. Certainly the crutches make a difference, but it’s also the case that the right hip is feeling much less stiff and painful from before. There’s still some of this, but it’s in a different place. As I’ve been doing more walking and exercising, I’m aware of the difference between the right (operated) hip and the left. The left was the worse one, and has been bad for a much longer time than the right, but now after a 20 minute walk, I feel the pain around the whole area of that hip, and getting up after sitting for a while leads to stiffness. Whilst the right leg feels much freer, without the same pain as before. When the pain is there, it’s situated in the muscles, particularly the gluts, which is where the surgeon cut through to do the replacement. Whilst there is still some pulling in the groin, it’s much less than before. I can also lift the right leg higher, and certainly higher and with more ease than the left (though it was better than the left before the op). This means that when I’m walking up and down the stairs, my right leg is my ‘good’ leg, and leads, even though it’s the one that was operated on.

What I’m aware of is the need to build up my muscles more than has been happening. This is partly because of relative inactivity since the operation, but also that these muscles weren’t being engaged properly before, as adjustments were made to to cope with the arthritis, and also with the other hip. In particular, I’m aware that my hamstrings are very underused. I can feel this in the exercise of sitting, and lifting my foot up so the thigh comes off the chair. I’m still doing this by pulling from the groin, rather than pushing from the hamstrings. So I’m going to have to work at locating and engaging these muscles further in order to strengthen the leg. This is very important as when I have the other operation, which will be bigger as more needs to be done to the left side, I need the right to be as strong as possible to support it in the post-op recovery period.

I was a bit disappointed with the amount of physiotherapy we had in the hospital. This had nothing to do with the physios themselves who were brilliant, but I guess with the cuts to the NHS, they were very over-stretched and could only spend a short time with each of us every day, and the main goal of this seemed to be to ensure we could walk and climb stairs in order to be discharged. We weren’t given much in the way of exercises to do at home beyond this, and no follow-up physio sessions. So I was feeling a bit lost as to what the best things to do to strengthen the muscles. Luckily, my friend Sandra Reeve, who’s a wonderful movement artist and teacher who’d had a hip replacement a couple of years ago, sent me through a very leaflet with exercises that also work on strengthening the core muscles, drawing on aspects of Pilates. This has been very helpful, and given me a system of exercises to do each day. I’ve also been finding other suggestions for exercises on the internet. Having a structure of exercises, eg do 5 of these 3 times a day, is very useful, and has been helping to focus on particular muscle groups.

A big leap came yesterday, when I went out of the house for the first time on my own. The sun was shining, and I really felt the need to be outside. With some trepidation, I made it out of the door, and down the steps. These steps had been a problem, as one of them is very steep, and meant I couldn’t manage to get in or out on my own. But then I found these half steps and have two of them next to each other, which means I can get in and out myself, though it’s on a slope, so still have to be careful. I just need to get a grab rail put on the wall as well, and will feel feel pretty secure. But going outside on my own, and walking down the road and back again, felt such freedom. It was sunny and hot, and I bumped into several neighbours to have a chat. I walked about 10 minutes, and sat down on a bench for 10 minutes in the sun, before walking back. So not too far or long, but it was great, and I’ll try to do a little more every day. I felt every little uneven surface in the pavement, each small area of slope, which needed adjustment to walking and use of crutches. Again, satipatthana (mindfulness) helped with staying aware and engaged with each step, whilst also experiencing sky and fresh air.

Thinking of the previous post Getting Up, Walking Slow https://bodystory.art.blog/2019/08/04/getting-up-walking-slow/ with an image of ‘my three feet’ using the walking stick, I took this shadow selfie of me with ‘my four feet’ using the two crutches. I like this image, thinking about reflections, of the doubled body displayed on the street, standing straighter, walking faster, enjoying the sun, four weeks after the operation. Although I think I’ll need both crutches longer than others (in the leaflets, it seems that most people go down to to one stick by four weeks, but I can’t yet because of the other hip being so bad), I’ll need to hang on to being patient for a while longer, and let the muscles get stronger. So one month down, and just two more to go before the second op!

Walking on Knives

In 2000, I choreographed a piece of dance theatre based on themes and ideas from the story of the Little Mermaid. I called the performance ‘Walking on Knives’, as in the story, when the mermaid gave up her tail to get legs, she experienced terrible pain through her middle, and ‘every step she took was like walking on knives’. Little did I know that a year later I would start experiencing pain in my hips that would make me feel like I was walking on knives, and that this would become my everyday reality. Having lived with increasing pain and lack of mobility for 18 years, I am finally having a double hip replacement on August 8th at the RDE hospital in Exeter.

I feel nervous – not so much about the operation, that’ll be done with an epidural and sedation, and is in the hands of the surgeon. But about afterwards – how will I feel? Will there be pain? Will I be able to move? How long before I stand up? How different will it be? The surgeon is correcting the dysplasia in my hips, and adjusting my legs to be the same length. So when I first stand up, it will be with a new, unfamiliar body. I have no idea what it will be like to live and move in that body. I also have no memory of what it is like to not be in pain. How will it be to have an absence of pain, an absence of stiffness, an absence of limping? What is the experience of absence?

As I move through this experience, I want to try to feel a sense of creativity in the unravelling of the story and my body. So this blog will also be a place to share poetry and other forms of art, perhaps even performance, a little further down the line of healing. For me, as a performer, having spent years tuning into my body, and the relationship of body to mind, this process is not just medical, or social, it is one of identity, and of (re?)discovery. It is also about the experience of time, and how time is experienced differently during the process. Now, in m pre-op life, my sense of time is concerned with how long it takes me to get from one side of the room to the other, or how long the daily struggle of putting on trousers and socks will last. Post-op, time may be experienced differently, as I move differently, think differently.

In anticipation, I’ve written a poem drawing on themes and ideas from the story of the little mermaid, through my interpretation of her experience, and mine. It’s left deliberately unfinished, open, at the end in the last line, because I don’t know what the experience will be after the operation. Will I feel freedom, movement, fluidity, and an absence of pain? Or will it still feel like walking on knives?

Walking on Knives


A glimpse.
It becomes a gaze.
How beautiful he is and moves.
He hears her but cannot see,
Cannot touch.
Yet his eyes beseech her,
Desire her,
Fasten her with a hook
That draws her to the surface
Of another world.
Give up the tail
Give up the voice
Give up the known life.
Pain, pain, pain rips through her middle
As the singular is sliced in two.
A woman is born and emerges to hope.
 
And every step she took
Was like walking on knives.
 
 
Tailless, the unfamiliar feet
Touch the dry texture of stone and wood.
Balance is harder on two than one,
Trying to float in sky, not water,
Chained to the earth.
Singing inside -
Never heard.
Bleeding from the middle –
Never seen.
Dancing and smiling –
Never loved.
A sacrifice formed vainly from vanity,
Hopelessly from desire.
 
And every step she took
Was like walking on knives.
 
 
The story shapes a mirror
That presents my own body and song.
Looking down into and beyond the water’s surface,
Deep into the dark green world beneath
I see her face.
We look at each other,
Reflections
Glimpsed through shadows.
And we still believe
Still hope
Still love.
The water that floats and breathes
Shows glints of the harsh sky above
Which silences and bleeds.
 
And every step we take
Is like walking on knives.
 

I move into the beckoning water,
Feeling its gentle resistance around me.
I can swirl and extend and bend
In a way not possible on the dryness of land.
Who needs two legs, anyway.
Fusion of limbs forms a tail
Which swishes and guides
And moves with pleasure
As I sing sweetly of freedom.
 
And every step I take