Weak

Disclaimer: this was written under heavy anesthesia and pain medication

I arrived at the hospital bright and early on Tuesday. The nurses made me change into what are probably the most awfully designed scrubs I've ever seen (it's a good thing I've never been fashionable anyways). I waited and waited and got some blood drawn for labs. They took my vital signs then took me to a large room with many partitioned areas that reminded me of Grey's Anatomy or House. This is where I forgot. Where I forgot that all would be okay. That Jesus had my back. I had never liked those shows growing up; they scared me. Entering this area, I was gripped by the worst fear I have ever experienced. This was real. It was not some dream or a joke. I was about to go through something I could never handle on my own. This fear overwhelmed me and I kept forgetting that it didn't have to. 

I was placed on a bed and introduced to my anesthgiologists. They were all nice, but their deliberate intensity only reminded of how serious this all was. A lot of important people were there to watch because of the rarity of the procedure and I felt like an non consenting test subject. As they began giving me multiple IVs and telling me about my epidural, I teared up. This was the first time my unabridged emotions surfaced for all to see. I was a scared little girl sitting on a table in the middle of the pre-op area. I had forgotten whose daughter I really was and what that meant in combatting fear and other complements of Satan. I had forgotten to look above for my strength and I was really, really scared.

I don't remember much else besides the chilling air of the operating room and one of the anesthesiologists placing a mask over my nose. I had planned to sing Amazing Grace but I didn't even get through one verse before I succumbed to a medically induced slumber for eight hours. When I awoke, it was like all hell broke loose. 

I had previously worried about freaking out and pulling out all my tubes and wires when I woke up, but I quietly regained consciousness into a medicinal regatta of morphine and boluses. I remember tugging at one of the male nurses and telling him that I was in a lot of pain but I immediately knew that I was no longer sick. I knew that I had just undergone a extensive procedure that would require a long recovery, but i knew it was gone and I felt whole. 

They moved me to a room in the ICU where I met my wonderful first, night nurse who reminded me of Theresa Caputo from Long Island Medium(my guilty pleasure). My family was there and I was not in much pain so I thought my horizons looked pretty bright. Little did i know, the first night after surgery would be the absolute worst night of my life. I have never felt more pain and I have never felt more fear. My epidural was not working correctly, so i pretty much felt it all. And it all was much too much for me to handle. Thankfully, my sweet nurse held my hand the entire night and would not let any of the doctors touch me because the smallest nudge caused my entire abdomen to tense up. She coached me through breathing because I started averaging 5 breaths a minute and she coached me through enduring because I was scared.

The next morning, the "pain team" had managed to take care of a lot of the burning in my stomach. I was still far from comfortable, but I could handle myself better than the night before. The first day after surgery was really a blur. I refused to let anyone touch my stomach because it hurt so bad and I am thankful all the doctors forgave me for being a diva about it. 

That night my worst fear came true-not really my worst fear but I absolutely can't stand it-the nurse had to prick my finger to test my blood sugar. I know that's a extremely melodramatic, but it hurts, people! Luckily, the pain I was enduring in the rest of my body totally blocked out the little finger prick. I slept for a few hours before the doctors made their rounds at 4am. They had to take labs but my veins were basically nonexistent due to dehydration. I usually do fine with shots and getting blood drawn the seven times the doctor had to stick me almost made me cry. The rest of the second day was more of the same until I walked for the first time! I took a lap around the entire ICU (which is pretty exciting stuff for me these days.) I also had a lot of visitors. Sweet friends that brought me flowers and decorations for my room. All blessed reminders of how blessed I am. The day ended on a a wonderful note when I got clearance(questionably) to be wheeled outside for fireworks. Due to the location of my hospital, I had a million dollar view! I thought about how different it was from the fourth of july last year-and every other year for that matter- but how amazing it was in it's own way.

Today has been full of more progress! I woke up and the doctor ordered that one of my drainage tubes be clamped (I don't really know what that means but it is good). I still cannot be given tube feedings because my bowels haven't started working yet, but we are getting there! I walked six laps around the ICU without a sweat and the nurse removed my catheter. I was able to get up and go to the bathroom unassisted which seems minor but is a big deal! Moving around on my own is getting much easier and I am thankful for 11 years of travel soccer for teaching me how to push my body.

My mental health and spiritual stability took a dive for a few days. Not because I chose for them to, but because I was still obstinately trying to fight through some of the scariest and most painful moments on my own. I had forgotten Jesus in all this. I had forgotten that it was okay to breakdown and cry. A friend of mine reminded had me of this a few days before the procedure but I did not heed her advice. I had it in my mind that I had to put up a strong and confident exterior that was sometimes contradictory to what was going on in my heart. But here's the kicker; in Christ I can be weak. We are not made to withstand the transgressions of this Fallen world. I was scared out of my mind because of the nightmarish things the surgeons had to do to my body. I was frustrated that I could not glorify God in everything I did because the very human and sinful part of me was getting frustrated with situations and people over which I had no control. The beauty of the Light that I possess by faith is that it is stored a clay jar that emits ever more light when it is broken. So in relying on Jesus in every place I fall short I do not have to lose heart. Even when I feel I have outwardly wasted away, I am being renewed day by day.

What I am listening to:

"Blood" -The Middle East

"The Story I Heard" -Blind Pilot

"Victory" -Trampled By Turtles

"Hit Me With Your Best Shot" -Pat Benatar (I used to listen to this to get pumped up for soccer games)

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." 1 Corinthians 4:7

"Therefore, we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day." 1 Corinthians 4:16