Two Hospital Stays and the Real "Guru"

This past March, my beloved IronMan (who has scarcely been sick a day in his life) found himself in a hospital bed teetering on the fulcrum between possible grave-danger and life for eight long days. His pain was excruciating. He was not allowed to eat or drink, and he had four separate IV sites running multiple hefty antibiotics and fluids through each individual line. Mean (but necessary) potassium (which definitely earned its reputation) had an exclusive IV line. Veins were blown. IV's were removed and re-inserted until there were hardly any new usable sites. Everything surrounding IronMan's care was to prevent emergency surgery that could bring its own new set of extreme challenges and risks. One nurse painstakingly researched all of the ordered meds to make sure they "played well" together in the IV lines, and spent 90 minutes after her shift ended untangling and organizing the lines and thoughtfully placed the bags on a more complex IV pole to help insure something serious wouldn't get mixed up. Round-the-clock vitals were monitored and all that could really be done was to wait. Wait to see how bad this might get. Wait to see if he would be thrust into surgery. Wait to see if the meds were going to work. Wait in the midst of unrelenting physical pain. 

Our lives were disrupted. You cannot prepare for a life-event like this. It just happens to you, and all you can do is your best. YOUR BROKEN-BEST. When IronMan was finally discharged, he was so happy to be going home, but he was not well.  Being out of serious danger and being well are two very different things. Although he was released from needing round-the-clock medical care, he still needed care. Although he was no longer in a hospital room, he was not yet ready to return to his usual daily life. Continual pain nagged that something was still very wrong. After a series of detailed tests, various imaging, and consultations with doctors and surgeons, the decision was made to have elective surgery to remove the problematic area entirely. We were assured that choosing to have a scheduled surgery was far safer than waiting and risking invasive emergency surgery. We were not far enough removed from the trauma of the eight day hospital stay to chance repeating that again, so surgery was scheduled. Each day leading up to surgery felt long. IronMan felt a bit like a ticking time-bomb that could blow at any minute, but he made it. 

We awoke at 3:30 a.m. to make our way to the hospital. The air was heavy and warm and a nearly full moon dispelled the haze in quiet peace. We had our eyes on that beautiful moon all the way to the hospital. It felt so profound that I stopped to take a picture right before we walked through the hospital's revolving doors. As soon as we walked in, it was busy, busy, busy getting prepped right up to the moment IronMan was wheeled away from me. He was nervous about the anesthesia, and even joked with the surgeon prior if they could work something out where he could stay awake for the procedure because he was worried he might not wake up. The answer was clearly no. 😜 This was probably his biggest source of anxiety about the surgery, but God knew that, and sent a little help. Anesthesiologist Traci was the last of the professionals to see him, and after she went through all the details of what she would be doing, she said, "Now, there's one more thing I want to do. I'm going to pray with you." She didn't ask permission. She just did it. Our daughter said she must have been prompted by the Holy Spirit and I couldn't agree more. God had everything completely covered and IronMan knew the person in charge of making sure he would "wake up" was a Jesus-follower who had taken time to pray with him. ❤️

I made my way to the surgical waiting room and found a spot to camp out for a few hours. I ate a few crackers, tried to read a book...then tried to read another book, and a dear friend started texting me. She was my life-saver in the waiting room, and helped me feel a little less alone. She helped me pass the time by sending me pictures of her morning errands and making me laugh. I kept checking the monitor in the waiting room that kept loved ones apprised as to when the surgery would be over and the patient would be in recovery, sent to a room, or sent home. There was a wife in the waiting room that must have had fifteen or twenty people waiting with her. It seemed like groups of people came in waves to talk, laugh, and encourage her. Her husband was having complex heart surgery and a nurse came in the waiting room to update them about every 45 minutes. There was a middle-aged mom working from her computer who was waiting for her daughter's back surgery to conclude. Around the time IronMan's surgery was scheduled to finish, a young mother and son sat down on the other side of the waiting area. The mom was in tears, and her little boy had his Teddy bear. I could tell she was trying to be strong. I heard whispers that there was a motorcycle accident. My phone chimed and I had a text to go to the nurse's station. The nurse put me in a consultation room where I continued to wait. 

I wondered how many people sat at this very same table and received devastating or difficult news. How many people were told their loved one didn't survive or their surgery didn't go as expected? They were sitting in the same chairs around the same table where I was sitting. Perhaps someone would be exactly where I was later in the day and would receive heartbreaking information like the young mother with her son or the wife of the heart patient. The pretty sliding glass doors that closed off the room offered little protection of keeping out such news. It was sobering. I thought of the moon and how it was kind of guiding our way to the hospital. God knows how much IronMan and I both love His moon. It was right there when we walked into the hospital in the early morning hours hovering as a reminder that the One who holds the moon holds us, too. I thought of Traci and how she was prompted to pray, and that sweet prayer was minutes before I kissed IronMan and said, "See you soon! You're going to be okay!" as they wheeled him down the hallway through the folding doors. I thought of IronMan's amazing surgeon, and how he came with glowing recommendations because he was a "guru" in this field (slang according to Webster meaning "trusted expert, master, or go-to guide in a specific area"). I thought, too, that this was not emergency surgery, and the risk of complications was much lower. I thought, prayed, surrendered, and waited. 

The surgeon finally came in. He told me everything went well, but he found some interesting things. Without going into detail, let's just say that without a doubt, this surgery was needed and we are so grateful that IronMan chose to have it and made it to the elective surgery date. Since his hospital stay in March, he had been dealing with daily pain, some days were worse than others, but there was continual pain. He was not well. I felt so relieved that the surgery was over and quickly messaged family and a few close friends to update them. When I was finally cleared to see IronMan in the recovery room, he was extremely groggy. He turned his head towards me, opened his eyes about halfway and whispered in my ear, "I woke up!" 

There were no rooms readily available in the hospital, so it was a long wait in the recovery area before IronMan was given a room of his own. He was so grateful to get there and immediately everything felt different from March. The first thing he was told to do in the room was order something to eat. In March, he could not eat at all. This time, there were still IV's and other tubes and machines, and lots and lots of pain (oh my!), but when you are experiencing pain because you are recovering from the removal of what was making you sick, it is much different than the pain of making the sick thing less inflamed so you can get by. RECOVERY PAIN IS SUFFERING BECAUSE YOU ARE GOING THROUGH THE PROCESS OF TRUE HEALING. Recovery pain is suffering, but you will reach the other side. You will improve. You will be better, and it won't always be this way. You might not be exactly whole, because sometimes the sickness needs removed (whatever that looks like), but you will be better. The March hospital stay felt dark and hard because we didn't understand what was going on in IronMan's body. The hospital stay for surgery felt hopeful and brighter, even though there was pain, because something had been put behind him. With each day, the pain will improve. March was an emergency thrust upon us that derailed our lives for several weeks. The scheduled surgery, although disruptive, was something we could be a little more prepared for. Sometimes, you have to surrender yourself to surgical precision of the body...  and of the soul. To be sure, both are painful. Some surgical precision is more painful than others, and let's face it soul-surgery doesn't have pain meds readily available to help manage it (not for most people anyway). As IronMan was recovering in the hospital, Matthew 9 kept going through my head when the pharisees challenged Jesus disciples, "Why does Jesus eat with such scum?" Those pharisees had all the answers, didn't they? (eye roll) Jesus responded, "Healthy people don't need a doctor, sick people do," and Jesus continued, "I want you to show MERCY, not offer SACRIFICES...I have come to call NOT those who think they are righteous, but those who KNOW they are sinners." (emphasis is mine from Matthew 9:11-13 NLT) If we approach this with transparency and humility, Jesus is talking about ALL OF US here. Remember that the process of true healing is costly, soul or body. There will be suffering and pain, but you won't stay stuck there forever. You will improve and you will get to the other side even if the road is or feels long. There's only ONE soul-surgeon that can be  described as a "guru" because He is THEEEE expert in the field. It is important for me to interject here that this allegory doesn't always feel like it holds up. We have been on the receiving end of horrific news that has no give. We have been years deep in healing of other kinds of trauma, as well, and I suspect that because life can be so life-ey, there will be more before it's all said and done. I do not share this as one who is naive and this certainly is not a platitude. I share this as one who tries to depend on Jesus when life is hard and when there are no answers. This time, the outcome was favorable (and we are so so grateful), but we have lived through when it has not been. Be kind to yourself, because the best you can do is your BROKEN-BEST. Thankfully, by His grace, it is enough. 

Always grace,

Shanda

p.s. Here is a picture of my IronMan (WHO WOKE UP 😄) recovering at home with a Lego to keep him busy at least for a short while.