My Post-surgery Hell (Part Two)

I’ve been home from the hospital almost six weeks now, after my 10-level spinal fusion surgery, but vividly recall that first drive home. Every pothole in the road was like somebody stabbing me in the back. Every bump sent shock waves through my spine. My wife Laura drove 25 miles an hour all the way home, driving everyone behind us crazy, but she didn’t care.

When I got home my 26-year-old son Trey was waiting to help me out of the car. He carefully grabbed my legs and swung them around to the ground, and then said, “Ok, Pop, just take a minute and then we’ll getcha outta the car.” He and Laura slowly helped me stand up.

I had a walker and gingerly shuffled to the door. They grabbed a couple pillows and put them behind me in my recliner, and then with one on one side and one on the other, slowly helped me sit.

Trey then pulled the lever so I could put my feet up. Yeah, it was that difficult; I couldn’t even move an inch without help, and a great amount of pain.

Everything hurt; my every move brought searing pain. Thus, I tried NOT to move. My grandkids asked, “How ya feeling, Poppy?” The only way I could think of to respond is to say, “I’m frozen, I can’t move.”

And the first few days, that’s what I was: FROZEN. I mean, I barely moved my head. Going to the bathroom was a huge deal: I had to get Trey and Laura to help me stand up, and then they would walk behind me to make sure I didn’t fall. I would shuffle my feet down the hall and into the bathroom, and then they both would help me sit.

But the nights were the worst. They’d help me into bed, propping a pillow up under my left side because that’s the only way I could even get a little comfortable.

After an hour I’d be so sore I thought I was dying, so I’d have to wake Laura up to help me get to the recliner. She’d keep her phone off silent and I would call her an hour or so later, telling her I was “dying and needed to move.”

So she’d get outta bed and start the whole process all over again. It was terrible. I felt so guilty, and she didn’t sleep for two weeks.

One week after I got home I had my first visit with the doctor. My body was still trying to expel the anesthesia, which was greatly affecting me emotionally. I cried all the time, including at the doctor’s office. She saw how much of a mess I was in and increased my medication.

I suffered through every day and cried my way through every night for the first couple of weeks, but then something amazing happened.

I sent a text to my boss, Dr. Brad Ausbury, at Global University, a distance education Bible and Theology College, where I serve as the Director of Student Success. It was a Wednesday, the day Global has an in-house chapel service.

“Brad, can you guys pray for me in chapel? I’m not doing well at all.” I went on to tell him I thought I was losing my mind, and I meant every word of it.

At some point that day, however, I turned a corner. My pain calmed a little, but the main difference was MENTAL. My mind settled down, and I felt I somehow gained a sense of calm. It didn’t make sense, but then I remembered Philippians 4:7:

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (NIV).

That was the peace that didn’t make any sense. Wow.

A week later I started physical therapy, and was told to do that 5 days a week. As of this writing, I only have one week left, and I have progressed quite far. A couple of weeks after I started PT, I got a wild idea, and left my walker in the entryway, and just started walking with my cane only.

The walker is still in the entry, and I literally never use it now. I ditched the walker weeks before anyone thought I would.

There is still a tremendous amount of pain, but I push myself a little more each day. Even standing up is a problem sometimes, but I am slowly progressing.

They told me it would be a one-year recovery process, and of course I get anxious and want all this to disappear. But Laura said something to me a few days after I got home that I’ve never forgotten:

“Sweetheart, it will be one year of hell for a better rest-of-our-lives.”

And that’s what gets me through. That, along with prayer, music of all different sorts, reading the Bible and continuing my work in encouraging people. Even with all the pain I’m in right now, even with the searing back pain and leg pain I’m feeling as I write this, I live to lift others up.

That’s what gets me through.

To all my friends and family who continue to pray for me, who continue to reach out to me through text and instant message, thank you! You will truly never know how much that means to me.

Thank you for reading. May the Lord richly bless you. “May the Lord smile on you and be gracious to you. May the Lord show you His favor and give you His peace” (Numbers 6:25-26 NLT).