I found out I was wrong about the difficulties with my procedure on the twelfth. My sudden post-surgery illness was not due to a medication miscalculation or reaction, but rather the trauma of the surgery itself. “You had a really blocked-up system,” my urologist frowns at me. Like I did it to be naughty. “Like a cork,” he adds. He tells me it was so bad they did what they could but they had a limited amount of time.
I am shocked they didn’t tell me how bad it would be after the procedure, or give me something I could take for the pain. It would have saved me terror, agony, stress, and a second hospitalization.
Mostly – the fear. I haven’t had pain like that before. I thought something was terribly, unutterably wrong. And then things did get wrong. I am glad I recovered. I have learned a lot.
So now I am in a patient place, waiting for the next test. I am thinking about pain, and fear, and my Buddhist practice. I am going to get to go deeper than many people do.
Meanwhile I am well enough to work. I have several writing assignments, a web site (my new job!), and several sewing plans in the works. Tomorrow I meet with a client about custom garments. I’m tired but I’m doing okay. I get to be careful, to pace myself.
My child, my eldest, is off on a retreat this weekend – she is at a gathering meant to support children of alcoholic families. You can imagine how impressed I am of her, how much I love her for embarking on such a thing. Still, I miss her. She hasn’t been texting us much. I am lucky to get the lion’s share of the messages.
Night time and it’s time for kitties, for snuggling under blankets. For something easy to watch. To drift off to sleep.
Tomorrow is another day!