The Rise of A Phoenix

Chapter Seven- A Hair Trigger, A Prayer, and Disaster

The hair trigger came when Prof, who was my former housemate Gary, showed up at Mon Valley Hospital.

Why is he here? It can't be good. Or is it?, I thought to myself. There were only a few reasons that I could remember for him to be there, and only one of them was good. The only good reason was the one I was hoping for- that he finally got to have the surgery that would let him walk again.

“ Hey, Prof! Baby, what brings you up here? You could have just called if you missed me. Seriously, why are you here? I can think of at least three reasons and only one of them is good.”

“Brit, today's the day. I'm dancing with the scalpels. Zero hour's nine AM.”

“Oh my God. I'd hug you but I can't move quite yet. Prof, that's amazing news, babe. Go get it done and give it hell. You've got this, you earned it. Piece of cake. Godspeed, my friend, godspeed. Love you.” I looked away so he wouldn't see me cry. But, he heard it.

“Why are you crying? This is good because it's like I told you, all I want is to be able to be me again. Remember?”

“Happy tears, Prof, happy tears. I know how badly you wanted it, I watched you preparing for it, the day is finally here and it's happening. I'll be praying for you, especially when you get the epidural because that's the hard part. If the anesthesiologist misses the mark, you end up paralyzed from that one. Just saying. Margin of error is extremely small. They're putting the needle into the space between your L4 and L5 vertebrae and that space is extremely small and narrow.”

“Thanks. It's nice to know that someone who loves me cares. It's really hard because my niece is so busy and she's not close.”

“I know. I was there when she tried to sell your house out from underneath you. That one, I will never understand.”

I watched him roll down the hallway to the surgical waiting room and made the sign of the cross.

Please Lord, bless Dr. Pressman and his surgical team. May you bless their hands and scalpels and guide them through to success. In Jesus Name, Amen.

I thought about my own future, and the possible hip replacement surgery on the horizon and it almost brought me to tears because I made the surgeon put it on hold until I had finished my last semester of school for my English degrees. Now that I had my degrees,

I knew I had to go through with the surgery and it scared me because I was worried about losing my ability to walk. They wanted to do the surgery three years ago but I said I wasn't sure I was ready for it. Seeing my former housemate face his knee surgery with courage and grace reminded me that I could too.

I realized then that it wasn't fear stopping me, but the lack of control. I couldn't surrender completely. I made a promise to Hemingway then.

Baby, I love you and miss you. Thank you for the little time we had together. It was too short but I wouldn't change a thing. I promise to live every day as if it's my last day, and I'm giving you and God my heart again because I'm tired of doing this alone and I can't anymore. Help me face my surgery with grace and courage, not fear. Amen.

I had the date of my surgery circled in red on the calendar hanging over the desk in my office. A month and a half separated the two dates from each other. That span of time seemed to be a very large mountain, but I knew it wasn't.

At times, knowledge of that almost brought me to my knees in fear, but the hope that this one would be the last time I'd be on the operating table drove me through the preparation and work beforehand.

Of course, that's what I said when I had the rod put in my right hip. The sad reality was that I'd never be able to quit having things done to my body. There would never be one last time. Such was life being disabled because the doctors would fix one thing and another would break. The proof was on my body in surgical scarring.

Most obvious were the shunt valve scars on my head and chest.

Next obvious were the hip scars. I hated it. I wanted to be done.

I had originally thought that I would have to have surgery to bring my children into the world and that would be my next time on the table. All I wanted was to feel joy. I was just exhausted mentally. With Hemingway gone, happiness seemed too far away.

I laid there and waited for the Vicodin to kick in. It finally did and I drifted to sleep. My notebook was laying there on the table. I stared at it before I closed my eyes.

I woke up around five AM with hip pain so intense I could barely lay flat. I was used to this process. When the pain hit, it hit me hard. The thing that was unsettling was that it wasn't my right hip, it was the left one.“Oh…dear Lord, it's February nine years ago all over again! Someone help me! Meredith!” I screamed.

Meredith crossed the threshold of the doorway after three sharp taps of the door, to which I couldn't respond because of the mounting pain in my hips making normal breathing and speech patterns impossible.

“Brittany, breathe. You have to settle this down naturally before you can actually speak.” Meredith said.

“ It's…way…too…intense. I…Call …Dr. Hennessy. If what I think is wrong is…wrong, then I'm going to Pittsburgh. Y'all misdiagnosed me three times…and…ahh!” One pained breath left my lips after that, but no words.