Let There Be Light

Since my surgery, I have had a bouquet of remarks from all kinds of medical staff about my attitude. I hear on almost a daily basis praise of inspiration and grace... but do I really deserve that?

Sure, I know I am a good patient. I never complain when my toothbrush doesn't get rinsed out and sits in my spit-container all night. I never complain when my meal is smothered in gravy, leaving barely a gasp left from the meat underneath. I never complain about not being able to get out of my bed. I never complain about my lotion being left just a centimeter out of my reach. BUT all of this, by no means, equates to such praise of character.

I have been intentionally convincing myself as the days shorten that there must be some very unwilling souls in this place. It must be hard to work with so many non-compliant patients. However, it wasn't until just a second ago that I realized that it wasn't truly the case. In chatting it up with my day-nurse, as I do quite frequently, I learned that these patients were no different than me, physically. Most were "flap" patients on bed rest at different stages of their protocol. Most had family and friends that came to visit with fists full of homemade goodies and fresh flowers. But there was a difference. My nurse pointed out to me something so obvious, something that I have known all along. Something that I never knew to be such a gift. It is the outlook that I create for myself and the actions that I make because of it all.

Starting to understand a little bit of what is complimented towards me, I feel a bit shy, like the first time a boy ever told me I was pretty. That is the kind of feeling I have about it... boy, I am strange. I now surrender to the notion that I do see the light in things more frequently and at a greater wavelength than others, but does that truly make me inspirational? I think that it makes me in tuned and close to seeing the natural way that life makes present... and I suppose I AM proud of that. There, I admitted it.

I am proud of myself.
__________________________________________________________________

The countdown begins... less than 3 weeks to go and only a few more days of flat bed rest.
__________________________________________________________________

Let there be light.

No BUTTS About It

My surgery went surprisingly well. After everything that I've been struggling with since March, I was sort of in the habit of expecting the worse. However, after only a 2 hour surgery, nearly 30 staples, and lots of care I was now on the road to recovery.

There was far less infection than the doc thought. This was good because it meant that he didn't have to use my hamstring, I had enough butt tissue for him to just swing it over like a party favor and staple the whole thing closed. There are 2 layers involved: muscle and skin. Both layers contain a lot of internal stitches to keep the whole masterpiece in tact.

The biggest shock of the whole event was that the surgeon found a chunk of ischial bone "floating" around my butt cheek. He successfully removed the bone before he finished me up with 2 drains coming out the side to help with healing and many, many staples. This chunk of bone, recorded to be about the size of a quarter, could have very well been the culprit all along.

How did I not realize that I broke my pelvic bone off?? I know I don't really feel that area, but one could suspect that I would, at the very least, recognize a big bump or fall to cause it. I guess not.

Now, being about a week and a half post-surgery, things are going well. My antibiotics have been discontinued and my PICC line IV was taken out on Thursday. It feels great to have both arms back. I didn't quite realize how inaccessible that PICC made my arm, and I didn't quite realize what a big scar would be left in its place.

It's amazing to think of how much things change in a year. If you don't believe me, check my blog post from a year ago!

Renewed, Uplifted, and Alive

As the dust begins to settle, my eyes are far less squinted and I can faintly make out the silhouettes of the dreams and loved ones that have kept me going. Until now, I didn't quite grasp the depth of the hole that I was in-- a hole that was dark and unwilling to cooperate with time.

Now, however, it is a new day. Physically signified by the lack of night sweats and fatigue. Emotionally by the bold laughter ringing out the door of my vocal cords and resting ever so gently on my tongue, just long enough to embrace the experience. Mentally present is the cerebral overload of things to come-- all of those little adventures get lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

I am renewed.

As I lie here in my hospital bed built for a queen, I smile rather vividly, for the fact that I know the battle is over and I have won. At a time when I felt most defeated, I was actually being coached on the most raw of emotions one could ever imagine... and for that, I am stronger now.

I am uplifted.

Every day spent is a day closer to being whole again. I can feel how close I am to a health that I once knew, and something (gulped with guilt) taken for granted. I vow here and always, from this moment on, to forever remember the little gifts that are handed out and mostly remain unseen.

I am alive.

My roots lie deep into the earth and the sun is, once again, shining for me; creating shadows of memories and things yet to be discovered. I am ready to grow again and take in all that this tiny, little world has in store.

The only regret and shame felt is the notion that one has to feel such pain and loss to truly be able to stand up. I am here to remain tall and proud. I am here to feel it all.