Laura and the Giant Clementine: A Surgery Story

The thing about being a hypochondriac is: Occasionally you’re ACTUALLY sick.

On Valentine’s Day, I had some of the most painful cramps of my life.  Considering it wasn’t even the correct monthly time for said cramps, I contacted my doctor.  Turns out, I hadn’t imagined these symptoms. My uterus, which totally sucks at growing babies (Well, except for that one), is awesome at growing cysts.  A roughly clementine-sized cyst at that.

Although removal was necessary, my local doc assured me it didn’t look serious and the procedure would be minor.  The referral was made and (on the advice of a friend) we trekked to Baltimore to see a specialist in this field. David and I nervously sat in his office, mostly clueless but feeling upbeat.  That is until the smart specialist said the c-word. As in, “Cysts are a general term, but can indicate one of several ailments: Endometriosis, a random abnormality, uterine cancer.” All good feels instantly vanished.

Since I’m a very calm person, I handled everything really well.  I did NOT tell David, “Your next wife needs to be uglier than me.  And not funny. And a terrible cook.” After Elijah woke me from a nap, I did NOT say, “Get used to picturing me with my eyes closed.  Like in a coffin.” (Yeah, I apologized for that one, but he’ll probably still need therapy.) Clearly, I recruited prayer warriors. My soldier sisters.  Their intercessions were the only way I made it to the March 23rd surgery date without being divorced or already dead from an anxiety-induced heart attack. 

In the waiting room on surgery day.  One of us is excited about me going under the knife.

David was certain that my pre or post-procedure antics would land us on Ellen, but he was sorely disappointed.  Besides a few last minute waiting room concerns about vegetarians in heaven and my ashes being appropriately housed in a peanut butter jar, behavior remained fairly low key.  Fogginess and high heart rate coming out of anesthesia were manageable afterwards. Apparently I did tell him upon waking up, “I have a lot of words in my head, I just can’t get them out of my mouth.”  An extrovert’s nightmare. I do remember, during my slow post-op rousing, becoming aware -albeit with eyes closed- of the hospital sounds in the room around me. Of an aid walking past and whispering to nurse by my bed, “She looks like Sleeping Beauty.”  Since then, I’ve learned that anesthesia has amnesic effects and “memories” *can be* suspect. Every memory EXCEPT this one, obviously.

Picture labeled for your convenience.  Sleeping Beauty is the one wearing the CROWN.

But besides my mending Frankenstomach and a few weak, weary days, I recovered quickly.  The hardest thing was abiding by the doctor’s rules and David’s enforcement of those rules.  (See pictured text exchange.) Mainly: Be still to heal. Ugh-Easier said than done. Waiting 2+ weeks for the pathology report wasn’t a walk in the park either.  (Everything was clear.) However, despite my best efforts to the contrary, I did survive.

My FIL quotes this funny expression, which recently gained new relevance for me, “When your neighbor has an operation, it’s a ‘procedure.’  But when YOU have an operation, it’s ‘major surgery.’” Basically, every one of us is self-absorbed. That’s not a judgement per se, as we were ALL born this way: Sinners.  When David and I were in the waiting room for my follow-up appointment, a woman received bad news. She bawled her eyes out, while husband and daughter looked on. Evidence of cancer’s ugly calling card.  Why was I (not her) the lucky patient? Did my people pray harder? Am I a better person? NO-freaking-way. This world is a messy, broken place. Crap happens. Sometimes there isn’t a reason we’ll ever understand.  But we can be kind. We can give others the benefit of the doubt. Who knows WHAT they are going through, what they’ve been through. Even I, the oversharer who tells the closest barista or bank teller my life story, stayed quiet about the cyst.  Simply put, I was terrified. Can you imagine a person handling a similar situation without a great support system, a loving husband and family? I cannot. My operation was minor, but it’s long term effects will be major. Empathy can’t be taught, it HAS to be learned from experience.  Hence Jesus coming to earth as a human. (Read: Hebrews 4:15) Our love, and the motivation behind it, MUST come from a genuine place. We need to honestly care about people. Because, often, their stresses and struggles aren’t so different from our own. And -strangely enough- sharing in weakness, not boasting in strength, is the best place to find common ground.

This was right outside the office door at my follow-up appointment.  Thank you, Jesus!