Mixed up

I'm a bundle of emotions today.

I'm so thankful that I'm healing well, but I am already becoming impatient with the process and want to be well.

I can't lift my nephews, can barely push them on the swings at the park, or hold my youngest nephew's hand as we cross the street. If he falls or pulls too hard against me, I can feel it deep in my belly. Not a comfortable sensation.

And football season has started, and for the first time in many years I won't debate, tease, push Dad's buttons as we talk football, Broncos, the prospects of the season. I miss his passion, his frustration, his quiet determination as we watched games together. Will I enjoy football in the same way? How long will football make me miss him?

And fall is approaching with slow determination. Each night is a tiny bit cooler, and the days are slowly cooling, too. Soon these will be hints of color in the trees, and the hills will start to show the changing of the seasons. I love fall! It is my favorite season, but this year the prospect of it's beauty is making miss Dad.

So, joy and sorrow, light and heavy, sickness and health. A snapshot of life. Sometimes I just want to be and not have to think or feel. I know that won't happen. It just would be nice. This week, the events of my summer, all that has happened, feels heavy. It feels like a lot to carry around. For today, I'll try to just leave it in that basket by my bed and go back to my book. I think I can disappear there for an hour or so.

Saturday

It's a quiet day. Tim is off helping some friends, and then he's going on a bike ride. What have I been doing today?

Well, healing, of course!

I'm being such a good patient. Really, I am. I'm resting, reading, watching TV ... and that's about it. Ok, so every once in a while, I'm loading the dishwasher, picking a few tomatoes, or cooking myself breakfast. But really, I'm mostly doing nothing. It's kind of like a vacation - just at home. Good thing the scenery here is beautiful; otherwise, I might feel ripped off. ;-)

I'm getting better and better. My surgeon said I'm healing "perfectly", and that was good news indeed. I have much less pain than I would have thought, and I am feeling much better than I thought I would (granted, I'm doing practically nothing).

Finally.

All good news.

Fall comes

I miss my dad.

As surgery approached, and fear rose within me, I missed him.

As I laid in my hospital bed, and visitors came and went, I missed him.

And now, as I gain my strength, and heal from my surgery, I miss my dad.

As my tomatoes ripen and I harvest herbs, as my late summer flowers bloom and bloom, I miss my dad.

As the nights slowly cool, and I know fall is coming with the changing of the leaves, my favorite season, the most beautiful to my eye, which he also loved, and loved to share with people, I miss him.

I miss asking him for prayer.
I miss telling him little details about my life.
I miss sitting together, watching Zachary and Ethan play.
I miss the sound of his voice affirming me.
I miss the touch of his rough hands.
I miss his laughter as he would tell of his trips.

I miss my dad.

The day

Waking up from the blackness of general anesthesia is like that deep breath of surprise when you first find out startling news.

Inhale.

A long beat.

Then you know where you are.

In recovery, with nurses and a doctor standing all around me, so much noise, lots going on.

My name, they always remember to ask what you want to be called.

And this unbelievable pain. An axe in my belly! I just want to cry, but I'm not quite conscious enough for that. Minutes pass of procedure, movement, efforts to help me. A male nurse named Dennis who just emanates this body heat, has the gentlest touch, is a visceral comfort. An angel?

What's your pain level now? Now? And now?

Then finally, the epidural begins to work and I can think about something other than my pain. With the driest of voice, I whisper, "What did they do?" fully remembering that I went into the operation with everything from a simple appendectomy to a full hysterectomy as possibilities, knowing that they would do a freeze slide to see if I had cancer.

"What did they do?"

Someone kind tells me, "They took out one ovary and your appendix, honey."

I start to cry, and another nurse rushes over. "Is she still in pain?"

"No," her comrade says, "look at the smile on her face."

That smile must be pretty big. Everyone who walks by comments. The doctor returns to check on me, and doesn't even ask if the epidural is working. "Oh, she's smiling," and walks away.

And I ask for Tim, and they say he can't come back. So I lie there thankful, so thankful, and quiet tears run down my face. Thankful not just for me, but for him, for my sisters, my family.

I find out later I had a "hemorrhagic ovary" that had adhesed to my uterus, appendix, and colon. Yuck. They removed the ovary and appendix, and I stayed in the hospital 4 nights.

Much to say about that, but later...

I'm home, I'm resting, I'm healing - just perfectly according to my surgeon. When looking at my incision site, one nurse exclaimed, "Now that's what that is supposed to look like!" and smiled.

Bilbo Baggins

I, uh, I h-have things to do. I've put this off for far too long. I regret to announce — this is The End. I am going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Don't read anything morbid into that. I just think it's funny.

Love you all! I'll be back soon.

Yoyo

Fear, worry, crying, a million phone calls, waiting, talking, confusion. A yoyo of a day. Roller-coaster. Whirlwind.


That pretty much sums up yesterday. There's a million details I could share in telling the story, but very long story short, there may or may not be more wrong than anyone initially thought. Conflicting test results. It will all have to wait until after surgery. Then we'll know - hopefully no more "we're just not sure".

We're more afraid than we were, but not much more. We did an awful lot of processing yesterday. I'm certainly more anxious than I was yesterday. Just another day of waiting? Who knows.

But I'll take deep breaths, each one giving back to God this whole situation. A deep breath, and I'll pray for his protection, submitting myself to his will. Another deep breath, and I'll think of the verses with which he's filled my mind.

And each time that cold fear creeps into my stomach, I'll breath, pray, think, and wait.

Under the knife

The big day is tomorrow - my surgery. I am so ready for it. I just want to get on with the business of getting better, rather than this limbo state in which I have to be so careful about what I do, what I lift. Yes! To feel better, and I am sure I will with time and healing!

So I'm on clear liquids today, and "evacuating my colon".

Too much information? Too bad! ;-)

It isn't quite as bad as I thought it would be, so all of you who have yet to have the joy of your first colonoscopy, don't worry too much about it. It probably won't be as bad as you think, either.

I've chosen the yarn for my "sicky project" - a gray vest. I love wearing vests in the winter, and I have this absolutely lovely alpaca yarn that I can't make a sweater out of because - come to find out - I'm allergic to alpaca. I can wear it if it isn't touching my skin, though, so a vest will be perfect. It is quite a fine gauge yarn, so it will take me a while, but I'll get cracking. Something to look forward to. :-)

In other good news, I found the cutest bed rest pillow at Target so I can sit-up in bed without too much effort. And to top off my summer, I've lost 12 lbs.! Unfortunately, it hasn't been because of exercise and fun activities, but once I'm well, I'll get back to those things and lose even more!

So I'm looking a little trimmer, I've got my ducks n a row for tomorrow, and I'm ready to heal-up and get moving again.