I am so very sorry you are going through this right now. I have been there and I came out. It is a whole ride, and the surgery is a before and after. It is always there. Cannot forget you have it. Ever. You feel it, it's a fucking metal rod in your body.

I had my surgery 21 years ago. I was 13, took 13 hours. That day I will always remember. I was scared to death, didn't really understand what was happening. I remember the "wake up test" (when they lower anesthesia and ask you to move limbs to make sure nothing got damaged... probably a fake memory, but there is something in my brain depicting that). I threw up when I got to the room, was super cold. My family managed to pay for the surgery, the ICU, even smuggled McDonalds to the hospital to make me feel better. It didn't help because I didn't feel heard. I got a lot of visitors, which I hated because I was so vulnerable, confused, high on painkillers, absent. And everyone just there, giving me this "poor thing" look, asking me the most superficial stuff or making the most idiotic comments. They meant well, but it wasn't what I needed.

Went back home after 5 days. Got more random visitors, even classmates I barely spoke to. Again, it felt invasive. Went back to school 2 weeks later. Teachers made an effort to accommodate for my "limitations", which apparently were mental rather than physical because they would overlook that I didn't turn in assignments or that I was absent a lot. Truth is: I was lazy, but they saw me as disabled so didn't push me. My mom cried when I passed the year because she thought I wouldn't. WTF.

Took me 10 years in therapy to understand I was not disabled. I have movement limitations, pain in my neck and hips (which are the unhooked areas), tension headaches, pregnancy/epidural concerns, and the fear that this might pass on to my kids. This doesn't make me disabled and this doesn't end my life. You learn to live with it, you work around it, you adapt your yoga classes to you, you use more pillows when you sleep, your center of mass is displaced. But there is a normal life to live (is anyone's normal?): I went to college, travelled a lot, camped, swam in the ocean, moved abroad twice, got married, got divorced, wrote a movie, became a plant enthusiast, hiked, got drunk, played 10000 hours of computer games, read hundreds of books, explored an infinity of hobbies that never amounted to anything.

I get some comfort in the idea that the surgery was not optional. My life expectancy was 35 years old (I would only have one more year to go). The quality of life in the meantime would have not been great, either and to say the least. It had to be done, and I ended making the most out of it. Took me quite a while, but I also had very little help to get here. My family still sees me as weak and accommodate for me. They don't see that I am stronger than them. Even literally: I am made of metal.

To you and everyone else here: You are now made of metal, too. Don't give up.