Back Surgery vs. Giving Birth: A Tale of Two Experiences

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She didn’t need to ask what happened; anyone who’s given birth knows the drill.

“Which doctor are you seeing?” she inquired. “I had Dr. Thompson for my knee surgery last year, but Sarah really liked Dr. Collins when she had her shoulder done.”

“Dr. Love,” I replied, tearing into my crispy fried chicken. “I’ve heard he’s pretty generous with the pain meds.” Her eyebrows shot up as she made a mental note.

Just like that, I was welcomed into an unexpected club: The Old and Broken. Our light-hearted chats about diaper bags and baby bottles have gradually shifted to discussions about hernias and unwanted facial hair. One by one, we’ve transitioned from young, vibrant mothers to women whose cabinets are stocked with all sorts of “fix this” and “remove that.”

And boy, did that reality hit me when I checked into the hospital for surgery. As I slipped into the gown, the familiar mix of industrial detergent, stale smells, and anxiety brought back memories of having my three kids. The actual delivery? Not something I wanted to relive. But the postpartum experience was lovely—warm cookies every afternoon, friendly visitors with flowers and baby gifts filling the room. It felt like a sisterhood on the maternity floor.

Back surgery? Not so much. I found myself crammed into a section of the hospital that felt like the Tower of London, surrounded by grumpy old men who didn’t even bother to close their doors, lounging in their undies. It was a whole new level of disregard that practically made my eyes bleed.

Instead of a warm atmosphere, I was immersed in a cacophony of coughing and beeping machines. My fellow patients and I shuffled down the corridor, clutching our IV poles like Moses parting the Red Sea. The harsh fluorescent lights transformed us into something resembling zombies, completely unfazed by the occasional draft brushing against our exposed backsides. Our mantra? “They’ve seen worse.”

Maternity patients are treated like celebrities. Anything we wanted was delivered with a bright bow on top. This time, though, I found myself arguing with food service because they only brought one meal at a time. “But I’m an emotional eater!” I pleaded with the gruff woman on the other end of the line before she hung up on me.

Forget about photographers capturing the moment; this was an experience I wanted to erase from memory as quickly as possible. No gifts, just nurses walking in with meds and asking why I was crying.

Eventually, I reached my breaking point.

“Where do you think you’re going?”
My night nurse materialized out of nowhere, blocking my path.
“Please! I have friends in maternity! They’ll remember me!”
“Ma’am, I know what you’re trying to do. You think you’re the only newbie we’ve had here? The maternity ward is just for women who’ve delivered babies.”
“But you don’t get it. I don’t belong here! I’m not ready for this!”
“Oh, you’ll be just fine, hun!” she chirped, patting my shoulder and guiding me back to bed. “Now lie down, roll over, and let’s see if you’ve regained feeling in your rear.”

When it was finally time for me to leave, I wheeled down to the lobby clutching my stack of prescriptions and suitcase. A strange sense of relief washed over me.

“How are you feeling, dear?” my mother-in-law asked as I slid into her car.
“Well, my lady parts aren’t torn to shreds, and I’m looking forward to a full eight hours of sleep tonight.”
She nodded knowingly as we drove off. Because sometimes, you see the silver lining from the back side of the mountain.

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Summary:

This article explores the stark differences between giving birth and recovering from back surgery. The author shares personal experiences, highlighting the camaraderie and support found in the maternity ward compared to the stark reality of post-surgery recovery, ultimately finding humor and relief in both situations.