It’s the last Sunday before the big day. In just two short days I’ll wake up in the morning, drive to my venue, put on that gown, and smile at my parents as they watch one of the most important days of my life…the day I have an L5/S1 lumbar fusion surgery, obviously.
My name is Candice. I’m 31, single, and about to have my second lumbar fusion in less than two years. So far, my life hasn’t gone according to the plan. I realize having a “plan” is laughable. No one gets to pick the exact course of their life. I believe that when things come together what feels like control as the driving factor was mostly just luck. Of course we all make decisions, efforts, and steps in our lives to help nudge things in a particular direction. But, let’s be honest. Most of life is going with the flow of the unknown river you’ve been placed on. You get a paddle to try and steer around rocks and other hazards, but in truth it’s the current, the rapids, the sharp turns that shape our lives the most; those elements over which we have no control. And so I sit here, very late on Sunday night, July 18th, 2021, absolutely terrified for the next whitewater obstacle I’m expected to navigate.
In December of 2019 I had an L4/L5 lumbar fusion. After spending most of my 20s in increasing pain and inability to function like a normal, young person, I, along with my doctors, decided that the last chance to regain my most basic daily living would be to undergo surgery. Nobody expects to have a major, life changing surgery like this at age 29. However, it had to happen. So on December 16th, 2019, I made the best choice of my life and went ahead with my first lumbar fusion. Recovery was excruciating. I was in the midst of battling with a deep depression prior to surgery, and that, in combination with coming off the narcotic pain killers, was one of the scariest experiences I’ve gone through. However, I made it to the other side. I went back to work just a few short weeks before COVID truly set in. On a Friday in mid-March my surgeon finally cleared me for all activities. I had a whole list: kickboxing classes, join an adult soccer league, tap dance classes, get back in my figure skates and step out onto the ice. And suddenly the pain free freedom I had waited so long for was stopped in its tracks. COVID shut down everything that following Monday. The list I had made on my phone full of goals for activities was halted. Trapped as just a dream until further notice, I wasn’t able to test out my new body. The surgery had been a rousing success. I wanted to go to the movies and out to dinner. Afterall, I could actually sit now for the length of a meal without having to leave early to go home and lay down! I wanted to try all the sports and classes I’d watched get stripped away from my life slowly over the last decade.
Despite having to put a lot of activities on hold, I was still gifted my life back. I could walk, sit, stand, go to work, lean over the sink to spit after brushing my teeth, pick up my purse off the floor, and even reach over to flush the toilet without having to hold on to the counter first. Imagine how bad things must have been for me to jump for joy over the fact that I could now actually sneeze properly again without fear that I would throw my back out leaving me to crawl to the bathroom on all fours. Things I used to take for granted had now been returned to me and I would never take them for granted again. Having my body back was like going back in time to the age I really was. Suddenly my age, my mind, and my body all matched. Things were aligning as they should have been all along. My world no longer revolved around whether my back could tolerate any given activity. I worked exceptionally hard at PT and was simply waiting for COVID to lift and get me to the final list of goals.
In October of 2020, with COVID restrictions still hanging over everyone’s heads, I had sudden nerve pain down my left thigh. It came on out of the clear blue on a Sunday night. I didn’t think much of it until, within the week, it was impacting my ability to walk without a significant limp. Coworkers were concerned, asking if I’d injured myself. After a trip to my PCP, I came full circle back to the Spine Center. Meeting with a rehab physician, with the assumption this was a problem stemming from my surgical site, I was shocked to hear the problem was actually coming from one level down at L5/S1. When the doctor told me that I immediately burst into tears. No way. That can’t be true. I can’t have ANOTHER disc problem. Assured that this was almost certainly going to resolve on its own, I was skeptical, but went on my way. By December, the nerve pain and leg weakness had indeed resolved. I saw my surgeon for my year follow up, thanked him in tears for giving me my life back, and was officially discharged from his care. As you might imagine, the story didn’t get wrapped up in a bow all neat and tidy. In January I had what I call a “nerve episode”. I experienced such severe nerve pain all the way down my left leg that I strongly considered going to the ER or calling 911. Although I was able to suffer through it doing all I could (Tylenol, Advil, heat, ice, changing positions, taking hot baths, lidocaine patches, etc), I ended up needing a steroid injection in the L5/S1 problem area. The doctor told me this was unusual to have such a bad flare up after the initial problem seemed to have resolved on its own, but he was still adamant it would be very unusual for this to get to the point of another major surgery. I’ll spare you the next six months and skip to the part we all know. With all other treatment options exhausted and failed, I spent another sob filled doctor’s appointment back with my surgeon giving me the news: an L5/S1 fusion is our only choice at this juncture.
And you are now caught up to present day. There are plenty of details I left out for the sake of (attempted) brevity, and I’m happy to elaborate on anything in the future. This blog post opens with a joke about marriage. Instead of a white wedding gown, I will be putting on a standard issue hospital gown, front to back, and waving goodbye to my parents as I’m wheeled off into the operating room…a far cry from being driven off to my honeymoon in Bora Bora. This blog is meant to express how different my life looks from how I imagined and hoped it would be by now. It’s also meant to help others in similar struggles. For now, the blog will concentrate on my surgery and the recovery process. When I had my first surgery, it was difficult to find posts from young people who’d gone through the same experience. I vowed if I ever had to do this again that I would blog about the whole process. If this helps just one, young person facing this same medical life step, then it’s worth it to write about my own experience.
There will be plenty of time to write about why my 30s don’t look anything like the previous generation’s, and not just because I’ve had two major surgeries at such a young age. I hope to cover dating, career decisions, other health struggles, moving away from home, managing feelings of loneliness, losing friends and making new ones, and so many other items. My hope is that I can create content that’s accessible and relatable. I certainly have plenty of topics stockpiled, and a lot of free time coming up in the 2 months of immediate recovery. Because, after all, this isn’t your mother’s 30s.
-C
Not your mother's 30s 