Exactly one week ago I was sophisticatedely hacked in to by three surgeons and a robot. I know, it sounds like the start of a bad joke but it’s not. It is true to life ~ I could not even joke about my cystoscopy/stint application/hysterectomy/appendectomy procedure if I wanted to. Before I entered the ice-cold operating room, I was quizzed at least four times as to what procedures I was having done. By Person #3, I was beginning to wonder if the test was for me or if they really knew what they were going in there to do. Needless to say, the operation(s) went well. Almost five hours later, I did not wake up too well to a very sore midsection which looks (to this day) very much like Frankenstein’s forehead.
This is the first day I’ve sat down to write thank you notes to my friends and family near and far who have prayed for me and sent me well wishes in the form of food or flowers. I think I really looked at my phone for the first time two or three days ago. I am still not ready to fully dive into all you have to offer, dear World. My texts and emails can wait. I do not need to know what cool tech gadget is all abuzz on Twitter nor do I need access to the beautiful photographs on Flipboard.
I have not been this dependent or helpless since I was a child. As I lay on the couch or on the bed, I hear hands at the sink washing the dishes, I hear feet walking to put clothes into the washer…they are not my hands and they are not my feet. I have called my brother, Les, for help. I have taken food from friends , and gladly so, knowing what a relief it would be for Otis. It is an odd feeling for me, this helplessness. Knowing there are a billion things to be done but in order for this surgery to be worth it, I must sit tight. I must ask for help and I cannot be impatient with my own healing.
It has been so long since I have sat with my own thoughts in peace, being in pain and bedridden is actually somewhat of a blessing. Some of the thoughts are substantial and I feel an end to this pain; there is a sense of distinct clarity to my healing and it feels good (but I want to be cautious with those thoughts so as not to jinx them). Other thoughts are not as serious and when I speak them out loud, probably drive those around me a little batty. For example, for a good part of the day, I was plagued with a burning question about the new show Blacklist on NBC: Is James Spader the FBI agent’s father?? World, can you do me a solid and tell me that one?
So dear World, this is a check-in letter. I am enjoying my time to heal and accepting the reality I will never, ever be a candidate for Mrs. World with these wicked scars (ssshhhh…no need to remind me of my height, you cruel, cruel people). This has been a rough and tumble few years for my family and I. I take these scars on as a symbol of our journey towards healing. To find the right doctor, to find the cure for some is an impossibility. So the lesson here is to keep on keeping, to believe in miracles, and have faith. And be grateful when you are one of the ones who is given hope and a better tomorrow.
I have no idea when my doctor will clear me. Despite the fact I was gutted, I don’t think I can be a recluse for as long as I would like. The life we have is only possible courtesy our employment. I hope when I have to get back out there, World, you remind me what it was like when I wanted nothing more than to hear the sounds of my husband and children chattering in the next room. Or that when things get busy and chaotic, you remind me to be helpless, to call out for help, to want to do nothing. Because sometimes, nothing is good. It is necessary for peace and healing to occur.
Perhaps this was not as riveting as Miley Cyrus’ open letter (to whomever) but I hope this makes more sense (and won’t spur on cringes or hate mail like hers apparently do).