So who knew you could enjoy doing laundry? But it's been 2 1/2 months since I could wash my own clothes. Finally, a free Saturday to do the ordinary things of housekeeping. And "back to normal" is feeling pretty good right now.
So why the 2 1/2 month vacation? I went in for a "minor" surgery back in March. Actually, it was to look for return of a major serious disease (another story for another day...), but the procedure should have been a day, "bandaid" surgery. The news after the surgery was good, very good. The doctor was very thorough with his laparascope, and found no evidence of the disease. So we came home, rejoicing, and had a quiet afternoon. I had just sent my husband to the computer to send a big email announcing the good news to friends and family who were concerned and praying for me, when I started having a strange pain just under my ribs. Just as he was about to hit "send" to tell our good news, I was calling him to tell him that I felt awful. So after a while, off we go to the emergency room. The doctor was mystified because the procedure had been a simple one that he's done hundreds of times. They ruled out a few things and offered to send me home or let me stay, my choice. I chose to stay because I could tell nothing was getting better, even with some nausea meds they'd given me. So they put me in a room and the doctor said he'd be back at 7 the next morning.
The next few hours are a blur, but I think they were spent with me dozing in a room and my sweet husband standing over me watching. Next thing I was really aware of, I was on a gurney outside an operating room, my doctor pacing, and he said we were waiting for the anesthesiologist to get there. They would do surgery again to figure out what was wrong. He'd gone home, couldn't sleep, and finally scheduled an OR and came back to the hospital, not wanting to wait until morning. I think my vital signs were also getting iffy, so that's where we ended up by about 4 a.m.
I did wake up enough at this point to realize that I had a very worried doctor and my husband was being very chipper, which is a bad sign. He's really a pessimist and a worrier, but when things are really bad, he has this forced optimism that comes out. Sort of opposite day all the time when you live with him, you know? But I think that for all that his habit is to see the glass half empty, when it came to something possibly seriously wrong with me, it's too unthinkable for him to hold his usual view of things. Or he was trying to keep me from being afraid. Suddenly it occurred to me - what if this was something that I wouldn't pull through?
Now I don't know what I would have expected myself to think about in my dying moments, but I surprised myself when it dawned on me that I might be there. I'm very confident of my own relationship with God, and felt no fear. I was trying to recall from all my Bible study whether I would get a chance to intercede for other people after I got to heaven, and I was thinking probably not, although Christ always intercedes for us. So, I had certain loved ones on my mind that I was reminding God real quick that they need to get right with Him, and sort of asking Him if I could maybe stick around to see them safely into the kingdom, but I was really ok if I couldn't as long as He'd hear my final prayer for them. Anyway, not what I would have expected.
So, I obviously woke up, after they discovered that my intestine had been cut during the laparascopy that morning, and repaired it. I had a huge abdominal incision and a nasty tube in my nose pumping my stomach constantly. This was only the beginning of the fun. The tube stayed in for 4+ days. No food or drink for 6 days total. Just IV fluids. Now that is an experience. Interesting thing, though. It was Easter weekend. I had watched a Discovery channel special about Jesus that explored all kinds of things about His life and about crucifixion and things like whether He really could have had sweat like drops of blood. It wasn't a religious program at all, but so many things from it came to my mind during my 6 day fast. Now this doesn't sound like something that everybody will want to run out and experience, but I spent Easter weekend contemplating just what Jesus went through for us, completely voluntarily. He fasted 40 days and nights (I can't even imagine). Did you know that you stop salivating after a while? It takes days to get that back to normal, so eating is challenging and not terribly pleasant even after you start again. (And coffee tasted really bad for a while - I do love my coffee. Kept sending my Mom to find another pot around the hospital to try.) The Discovery channel show talked about how you really can sweat blood if you're going through something of an extremely stressful nature, I mean extremely. Again, He volunteered. So instead of hearing beautiful Easter music and getting to wear a great-looking suit I'd bought, I really contemplated Christ instead. Which had its own strange beauty.
And then there were the blessings that continued to pour in. My 23-year-old autistic nephew (6'2", strong, handsome) brought me a stuffed Easter bunny. People sent and brought flowers until my room gave people hay fever. I had asked for very limited visitors because the nose tube and all... And I was definitely having some bad hair days. But just the right number of friends ignored that and came anyway. It was as if I had a social secretary who knew my needs better than I did - they came at just the right times and with just the right words. My sweet doctor came often, feeling terrible about his part in the problem, but I also knew that he'd saved me after the fact by not going to sleep and staying home. And stuff happens, even when you're a gifted surgeon, I understand that. My kids showed up and encouraged me and brought things that were so typical of each one of them. My mother stayed much of the time, and she could be quiet and just be there without requiring anything of me. And the nurses and aides were incredible - what a calling.
So back to the laundry. Because of the incision, I was told not to lift more than 10 lbs., and was told that pulling wet clothes out of the machine is on the "no" list. Just as I should have been getting better, another setback occurred. And then the dryer broke (now we're into everyday aggravations). So folding warm fragrant clothes is something I guess I've taken for granted. And I'm sure I will again. But for this weekend, I'm celebrating the ordinary.
Send to a friend
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