I’ve lived a very active and athletic lifestyle my whole life. June 20th I’m having a 360 fusion of my L4 and L5 vertebra. A bone that should prevent them from traveling horizontally broke when I was young, and the slippage is past 60%. This is compressing nerves and ruining my life; walking, and even standing are now very painful. I’m experiencing no real physical limitations other than pain with disciplined adherence to movement, mobility, and stability exercises; active stretching; Isometric strength exercises; and myofascial release techniques. I’m maintaining a full range of strength, speed, and flexibility, but it is painful, and this pain has become very detrimental to me psychologically, though I try as many methods to manage my mind as I do to strengthen my body.
I want to condense and organize everything I found to be helpful and how to apply it to your daily life. I never came close to hurting myself, but I found my way into some headspaces where I can understand why someone would. If you’re in constant pain it’s a lot like being lost. Things stop making sense like they used to, and trusting your emotions, intuitions, or thoughts becomes more and more difficult. I made myself a survival guide for the times I would get lost in a depression spirals, and it still helps me find my way out when I need to. Now that I’m on the other side of the fight, I feel I have time and a chance to make something good out of the most difficult time in my life.
While working on the survival-guide I’m also going to journal my recovery so anyone in the future going through a similar fusion will know what to expect.
6/19
Thinking about this surgery I prepared myself for the worst case scenarios. I thought paralyzed would be the worst. I know most people are thinking death, but I’m a firm believer of multiverse theory and death is a nonexperience so I know I’m waking up, but I can’t rule out paralyzed as a possibility. I wonder if Chelsea will stay with me If I get paralyzed. Probably I think, but I also feel, that wouldn’t be fair to her. She’s an amazing woman who deserves a fully capable partner. What would really suck, like suicidal suck, I think, is having back surgery but the pain stays, like phantom pain that never leaves. I shiver at the thought. What never even occurs to me as an option before the Doc brings it up is retrograde ejaculation.
Retrograde ejaculation occurs when semen enters the bladder instead of emerging through the penis during orgasm. Although you still reach sexual climax, you might ejaculate very little or no semen. This is sometimes called a dry orgasm. Retrograde ejaculation isn’t harmful, but it can cause male infertility.Oct 26, 2016
Thanks for the extra nightmare sauce on the terror burrito, I think. All jokes aside, she does a great job educating me, but my nerves are growing incremental the closer they get to slicing me open. Especially when she tells me to stop lifting, forever, more than 50lbs by myself. Being an athlete is a big part of the personal identity I’ve created; I want it back.
Here’s the skinny of what they’re doing to me tomorrow. One surgeon is gonna slice my belly open vertically, splitting the fascia but not the muscle ideally. Then she’s gonna push all my organs, blood vessels, and insides to one side and the back surgeon steps in. Next, they’ll take a plastic spacer encased in titanium and wedge it in between my 4th and 5th lumbar vertebra, while fixing it into place by screwing it in with what appear to me to be enormous lag bolts. Titanium is porous and lets the bone grow into and through it. They’ll be injecting the area with a special protein that encourages rapid bone growth and this is how your vertebra will fuse themselves together.
I do bloodwork and the other normal pre-op biz, but for the first time, they want me to see a psychologist. I’ve been thinking I should talk to someone about all this for a long time but never prioritized; it so I’m a little excited. I’m addicted to self-improvement and improving my mental landscape is just as rewarding as my physical one. I don’t get to dig as deep as I’d like but at one point he asks Chelsea how she’s been affected by my years of chronic pain and limitations. I expect her to talk about my low libido, or lack of energy, or depression that can’t help but hurt her to see. She doesn’t mention any of this. “I haven’t really been that affected by it, he’s done a great job of keeping it from affecting me actually. I think what I feel the most is pride. I’m so proud of the way he’s handled it and everything he’s done to manage his pain.” Both of us are tearing up at this and it’s one of the happiest and most tender moments I’ve had in months.
When you’re emotions and brain chemistry are phucked it’s impossible to tell how you’re handling the situation. And if you ask someone they’re kind of obligated to say you’re doing great, but unprompted, with no preparation or time to think, she answers proud. When you’re in shambles, struggling to get through something that’s ruining your life and trying hard, and someone who knows you best in the whole world volunteers that you’re doing a great job; it’s more meaningful and powerful than you can imagine. It’s a little flash of nirvana, a release from the guilt and shame you feel about being so flawed and broken.
I really like talking to the psychologist; I plan to do it again.
Our last appointment is with Dr Guyer, my surgeon, and our visit is brief but he says after 6 months I can whatever I want. “Whatever he wants,!” Chelsea exclaims. “That’s right,” Guyer responds. “Come on doc, even MMA?!” she’s imploring him to say no. She loves me so much the thought of me being hurt in any way is hard for her. Asymmetrically I’m ecstatic that I’ll be athletic again. I plan to protect my renovated spine to the best of my abilities while still enjoying an active lifestyle, but I don’t think I’m able to assuage Chelsea’s fears.
After we finish our stack of appointments we have a bomb dinner at Whiskey and Cake, which has the best cocktail happy hour I’ve seen in a year but I can’t drink the day before surgery. “Le sigh,” I think in a French accent. Food is great though and it’s nice to enjoy a little mini celebration at the finish line of what’s been a long and torturous journey. It’s only an hour later when I realize the journeys just beginning as I recall the post-surgery struggles I’ve spent 5 hours being educated about. “Le Sigh,” I think again. We’re so exhausted we sleep like rocks at the bottom of the ocean.
Steven Boulet Music 
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