My body was my anchor

All throughout my life, I have experienced my life physically. Much of it was through martial arts training, weight lifting and any numbers of sports. For me, being active is to be alive, being strong was to be useful.

My deepest fear was to be an invalid and I had to face it when I started feeling pain down my left leg.

Old age, I thought, but no. That was definitely a problem.

The first incident was during karate camp in September 2024. Out of nowhere, I felt a surge of pain and I had to stop training altogether. My teacher looked at me with a puzzled look on his face, for a moment, it felt like he didn’t recognize me.

A friend of mine snapped, cracked and popped my leg into place and I was able to finish the training but the whole camp came to a halt for me.

The second was in December 2024. Returning home after a night out, as I step out of my car, I simply fell to the ground, no sensation in my leg. Confusion and fear settled in.

At the turn of the new year, we went hunting for answers. Turned out that I had a second herniated disc (L3-L4) that was pretty large. My pre-existing hernia (L4-L5) was still there from years ago and did not get worse.

A disectomy would be enough. No spinal fusion. I had a solid muscle structure. I live an active life. That helped.

I heard terror stories from spinal surgeries and while waiting to go under and get operated on, I felt like a small child wanting comfort. That image of being the strong man, the father, the leader, crumbled. I was scared to become useless.

Luckily, all went great. I walked out the next morning, with somewhat of a limp but no wheelchairs, no crutches. Just strolled out the hospital and got home and got myself a burger.

The real work starts here.

Surgery removes symptoms. Rehab put you back together.

I had a shoulder surgery about 10 years ago and I thought that experience would prepare me for this one.

Not at all.

Not being able to move feels deeper compared to not moving an arm.

I didn’t take a break. I still worked. I continued giving karate classes. I still drove my kid to and from school.

I should have taken a break but I wanted to maintain as much of my life as I could.

It took its toll.

The frustration.

The loss of patience.

Feeling my body broken.

An anchor made out of wood.

I remember one particular moment. I was with my PT and I was beyond angry. If you could see my aura, it would be black. “You should speak to a therapist”, he said. “You need to deal with this grief.”

That hit hard. Grief of what?

My old self.

The hardest was when I saw a semblance of my old self. One session when I would lift heavier weights or able to do more, only to be reminded that my body wasn’t ready.

My body has changed, that much was clear. Chasing an old image of myself was exhausting. I needed to rebuild from where I currently was.

It was difficult to accept. It still is, but it was necessary in order to move on.

Readaptation rebuilds

As the pain subsided, I started to walk a bit straighter, less of a limp. I was starting to understand this new body. What ached and what didn’t. What it could do and what it shouldn’t.

Through these lessons, I started managing my movement. Less sitting, more walking. Cutting long drives down to manageable bits. Changing positions in flights and even choosing the seat to allow for space to stretch and release the tension. And on particularly long days, lying down for a while would do wonders.

This gave me some room to work on other things. I looked at my nutrition and aimed to lose at least 5 kgs (I have now lost 7 kgs) to reduce the load on my back.

Now, I know when to stop. When in class, I know how to listen to the signs and slow down. It’s always difficult because I want to do more, I want to keep up. But I chose to slow down or even stop, so that I can keep training.