Life has a way of forcing pauses. This time, mine came with titanium.

Since May 2025, my spine issues have escalated. After my first surgery last June 27, the disc extrusion came back — more painful, more stubborn. On November 4, 2025, I underwent spine fusion surgery. It wasn’t part of the plan, but it became the only way forward.

What was supposed to be a 5–6 hour operation stretched past ten. I lost more blood than expected — more than what could safely be transfused. In the middle of it all, Dr. Dadz made a difficult call: to stop at two levels instead of the recommended three.
That decision saved my life.

The next morning, he said softly, “Ate, I couldn’t put you through that.” He meant the risk — more blood loss, a possible ICU stay, a longer, harder recovery. His eyes said what words couldn’t: compassion, restraint, and the kind of integrity that comes from valuing a patient’s life over surgical completion.

The first few days after surgery were rough. I was sore, weak, and pale. Because of the blood loss, my cardiologist ordered IV potassium and electrolytes round the clock. My heart had to be closely monitored. Dr. Ebba reviewed my first ECGs and shook his head, saying they were “baliktad.” I didn’t know what that meant, but his tone told me it wasn’t good.

By Thursday, everything normalized — labs, ECGs, energy slowly returning. More tests on Friday confirmed I was clear to go home.

When a friend called, I told her, half-laughing, half-grateful:
“I’m a new person — I now have titanium in my spine and blood from people I’ve never met.”

Today is November 9. I’m home, sore but healing. The incisions are small yet sting with every move. I can’t take strong painkillers because I’m allergic to NSAIDs, so it’s paracetamol and tramadol for now. It’s manageable.

This marks the start of a new recovery chapter — hopefully the last spine surgery of my life.

To Dr. Dadz, thank you — not just for straightening my spine, but for saving my life. I’d entrust it to you again and again, though I hope your endoscope and I have officially reached our lifetime quota. It’s time for me to stay far, far away from your gadgets and steel instruments.

For now, I’m learning to rest — really rest — something I’ve never been good at. Diving, writing, even work can wait. My body needs peace before it can chase depth again.

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A personal update from Maire Karabel — a reflection on resilience, recovery, and the road back after spine fusion surgery. A pivot from diving into healing.