Tomorrow, I’m Getting My Hip Replaced
A farewell to my femur
Dear battered, beloved, bone,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for pushing you too far, not listening when you screamed for rest, and disregarding your pleas to be gentle.
I thought it wasn’t a big deal, that everything would be fine—I was wrong.
None of this is your fault. I promise you, it’s not.
You did nothing but support me, literally. You’re the best bipedal buddy a mammal could ever ask for.
Thank you for everything: every step, every tall, proud moment of standing up, for myself and others. Seriously, thank you.
Amicable Ambling
From birth to now, I would be nowhere without you.
No sidewalks traversed,
No stairs climbed,
No beaches sauntered,
No roads run,
No mountains ascended,
No seas flippered,
No bike paths pedaled,
No karate tournaments kicked,
No rock walls heel-hooked,
No rugs cut,
No trampolines bounced,
No dancefloors wiggled,
No hills rollerbladed,
No balls punted,
No surfboards stabilized,
No rocking toddlers,
No pilates push-backs,
No barbell deadlifts,
No slackline balances,
None of it—nothing.
The Regret—And The Joys
On one hand, I’m sad that we’ve arrived at scalpel’s edge. I did not want it to come to this. I never meant to hurt you, and thinking the harm I’ve caused despite your endless support makes me want to cry.
I love you.
On the other hand, I don’t know if I’d trade away any of those moments of exploring the world together. We’ve done some amazing stuff, traveling to numerous countries, being unbounded, active, and, yes, perhaps a little reckless.
In hindsight, teaching an American Ninja Warrior class at a rock climbing gym with 50ft walls may not have been the ideal setting for protecting joint health. But I don’t think any of the fellow Sunrise Savages would have wanted it to be different. Yes, we took a few scetchy landings. But the energy and exuberance of it all was hard not to love.
Early Warning Signs
I can’t help but wonder if any of this was preventable: the cartilage breakdown, the stress fracture, the arthritis.
I’m haunted by moments I could have listened better:
I remember dropping into a split to show off my flexibility, only to hear a pop in my hamstring that turned into a yearlong ache.
I remember running barefoot in Patagonia, through the most majestic scenery on Earth, while ignoring sharp pain in my hip with each passing stride.
I remember hanging upside down for so long that one leg became numb as my hip socket stretched well beyond a safe range of motion.
I remember asking someone at a fitness conference—over ten years ago—what to do with a hurting hip. He said that pain is often the price of doing the things you love. He left me with these haunting words: What are you willing to tolerate?
Who Is To Blame—Does It Really Matter?
I am reminded of the iconic line from the film Top Gun. “Son, your ego is writing checks your body can't cash.”
Damn. That one stings. Time to balance the check-book. I guess the body really does keep the score.
It's upsetting to think that my hubris might be culpable for this situation. Like most young people, I felt a degree of invincibility.
My body always sprang back from previous ailments; why not this one, too? For where is the line between use and abuse?
Could I have known I was crossing the invisible threshold where my body could no longer regenerate, no longer handle the stress?
I’m not sure.
Like tyring to figure out which piece of food was responsible for that nasty stomache bug—BTW, who gave me COVID?—such exercises are often futile.
The mind is grasping for logic and certainty, but what if the answer is “Who knows?” and “Does it really matter?”
Stumbling Into Something Better
As Maya Angelou famously said, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”
I did not know better (althought I tell myself I should have.) Therefore, I’m choosing to forgive myself.
“Better” is one of those funny words, full of the grace of relativity. Better than what?
Better than pounding you into a pulp? Ok, I can do that. Deal!
I don’t know exactly what it will be like between the two of us from now on. But I do hope it’s better.
In fact, I hope this begins a new chapter. Our journey is not over. Based upon my rough calculations, we’re only halfway done. (Inshallah.)
Respecting The Presence of Pain
Recovery will be an enforced slowing-down—a rich ground for insight. I’m already in awe of my own body's healing capacity. What will have to do tomorrow is absolutely remarkable: Cut it open, saw a bone out, insert a titanium rod, sow it up and let the body take over from there.
It’s truly modern magic meeting ancient alchemy.
I need to allow that to happen at its own pace. Healing cannot be forced.
One of my mentors, Dr. Paul Chek, always talked about pain not merely as a physical symptom, but as a "teacher" or messenger. Pain is a wake-up call to pay attention to neglected areas of life, forcing a shift towards conscious awareness, acceptance, and growth rather than denial.
A few months ago I started wearing a bracelet that says “WAKE UP”. It’s a reminder to zoom out, move beyond my egocentric perspective, and stay conscious of pain—not as an annoyance, but as a guide to what needs care.
Would The Buddah Get A Hip Replacement?
I’m imagining what a Buddhist teacher might say: “This is not a crisis, it's just the truth becoming undeniable.” The hip was always changing; now the change is surgical and sudden. The resistance to this, "my body shouldn't break down," is where suffering is manufactured.
Then, there’s the even bigger question: Is this hip even mine? Do “I” own it? If my new metal and plastic components become part of my functioning body, is it now mine?
I guess this is all part of holding the body lightly: cared for, attended to, but not grasped as self. What an important lesson. I’ll keep studying.
I Am Not My Body—But It’s Mine To Love
Unsurprisingly, I have historically over-identified with my body: “I am flexible,” “I am an athlete,” “I am someone who doesn't need surgery.” All true, but none of these is the whole story.
The truth is that I am…in-formation (hence the name of this Substack).
This replacement is an invitation to return to this orientation: unfolding, unfinished, still being sculpted.
If walking is truly a “semi-controlled falling,” I guess it’s time to fall forward, together. From a battered bone to a healed hip, one little step at a time.
Love,
Your leader, follower, partner, and caretaker—May we walk as if kissing the Earth with each footfall.
~ Jeff