[For anyone who knows us, this is not in the present – no worries.]
I am sitting in a surgical waiting room for the sixth time during my thirty-three years of marriage to my husband. There have been lots of other waiting-room moments for various other issues, although even with eight children between us it wasn’t much. I know that what I have experienced is nothing compared to how many times some of you have sat waiting for a loved one going through surgeries, cancer treatments, or ongoing medical issues. I am grateful there has not been more for us, and I have great sympathy for those of you who have lived a chunk of your life waiting and hoping to hear good news at the end of the stretch.
The problem with me is, having suddenly lost my dad at a young age (car accident), I tend to think everyone could die on an operating table. Which is not entirely off the mark. That’s why the logical parts of my brain like to communicate with my emotional parts and memory banks, so I end up fighting against that fear. Because of this, it is likely more stressful for me than for some people in my shoes. Even though my logic side knows it is a bit irrational.
As I am waiting, I hear a gal very nonchalantly talking about her loved one to the lady managing the waiting room. She is saying something about how he always takes a long time to wake up after surgery. That already sets the tone. How many surgeries had he been through? It wasn’t just that I sensed that she had been through it a “million” times and this was just another “sit and wait, it’ll be okay” event. Her voice was a little husky and lower and somehow reassuring to listen to. She sounded like she was a person who was always upbeat and unworried and got people laughing in potentially stressful situations. It was like a breath of fresh air. Sunshine filling a room. A rainbow bursting through a cloudy day. I needed to hear someone talking nonchalantly at that moment. It eased my heart a little because my husband’s surgery was well over the projected time it was supposed to take. She reminded my brain that this was not as big a deal as my father-dying-young memory banks like to make it. It let my logic win out and push the memory banks aside. A half hour or so after hearing the soothing, joyful voice, I received a call from one of the surgical staff letting me know it would be a bit longer, but that everything was fine. That calm, joyful person had made that last half hour almost stress free. (I must not be alone in my concern since surgical staffs are great at connecting with the “waiters” these days.)
It is interesting to me how the things that happen to us can alter who we are – or perhaps feed into the parts of who we are. Perhaps I would have been a surgery-fretter whether my dad had died young or not. I will never know. I do know that I will keep trying to be more relaxed and realistic for each next surgery or trial until I have perfected the wait or at least wrestled out the fear – I am getting better. If you are struggling with something, take a deep breath, pray, play, meditate, etc., and get through it. This too shall pass…
Comments