Extracts from "Six Months in the life of a Hippy"

I had my first hip operation in August 2001 and was aware that depression following major surgery was quite commonplace. I was blissfully unaware; however, of how the surgery and subsequent temporary loss of mobility would affect me emotionally and I believe that suffering from depression previously accelerated my condition.

I was delighted when the Consultant agreed to perform the first operation on my right hip joint, which was the worse affected. The pain from the arthritis had reached intolerable levels and life had become a constant daily battle of pain and resultant depression. Some days I used to cry all the time, some days I was angry (why me) and others (most terrifying) I was numb, without feeling, devoid of emotion. Those were my lowest moments - I figured that negative emotion was better than none at all. Receiving such good news therefore gave me something positive to focus on and lifted my spirits enormously.

My elevated spirit continued and I was counting down the days, the hours, to the operation. My previous mood swings were much less frequent now and I felt that things were going well, for a change. I went in to hospital, full of enthusiasm and looking forward to being free from pain at long last. The operation itself was successful. The first few days afterwards was a seemingly endless whirl of blood tests, Consultant rounds, physiotherapy, learning to use crutches, and pain management. So much so that I did not have time to pay much attention to what was going on inside my head. I remember waking one morning, about four or five days after the surgery and I felt a little down, a little blue and just generally under the weather. I did not pay much attention as I thought this was to be expected, having recently had major surgery. I was therefore unaware that the black walls of my depression tunnel were forming in my mind until it was too late. I was so pre-occupied with my physical recovery that my mental state was not the utmost priority. It was therefore some weeks after the operation when I became aware of the extent of the deterioration of my mind.

I woke up one morning and I really did not want to get out of bed. True, it was a struggle anyway, but this time it was different. My heart was not in it and what's more I did not even care. I lay there, thinking that I should make the effort to get up, but then I thought "why". I felt peculiar, kind of grey and distant, in a fog almost. I was so tired, but not the kind of tired that sleep could cure. Weary would be a better description. Thinking required too much effort and I felt empty and afraid. Lying there, I realised that I was staring down a very long tunnel in my mind. The walls were black and the light at the end was feeble. **** **** ****! I started to cry, but not the healing kind of tears. These were the hopeless kind, never-ending and full of despair. For what seemed an age my face was wet, followed by dry with sore eyes, followed again by wet and so on ad infinitum. In between tears I tried to sleep but I was unable to - I felt old, beaten by Life. And dead inside - far worse than any physical pain. The sheer effort of battling for recovery and the stress prior to the surgery had become too much. My old friend, Depression, had once again taken up residence in my mind. Plenty of luggage too, so it was there for the long haul.

I knew that I would need to see my GP for help, but it was such an effort, as I could not even walk properly yet. I was aware, somewhere in the back of my mind that I would need to go sooner rather than later as the tunnel walls were closing in fast and soon there would be no light. Only dark and that terrified me. I recall sitting in the waiting room at the surgery, staring straight ahead and feeling nothing. My partner came with me, as I was unable to drive, due not only to physical limitations but also very poor concentration. My GP was, as ever, brilliant, very understanding and listened. I do not recall what I said, but I remember the endless drone of my voice in my head, wishing that I would be quiet. Talking was hard - it required too much thought and concentration. I was quite severely depressed by this time, as I had not noticed the early warning signs. The condition had been exacerbated by external factors, being pain and loss of sleep. Oh, and loss of mobility and independence. I had been very active in the community prior to the surgery and was now reduced to staring at four walls. Even my favourite satellite TV channels became mindless after a while. All these factors had reduced my mind to the usual chaotic state I experience when I am depressed. The journal diary I had been keeping since just before entering hospital was so important as it was helping me to keep a grip on reality, a tenuous one, but a grip all the same. Madness was descending, trying to take over from Chaos. I felt that I was on the edge of sanity. Chaos and Madness in my head, threatening to forever shut out the dim light. Somehow, I had to find the strength to fight.

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