There were some things about this experience that went more smoothly than the first, and some that went less smoothy. As you likely gathered from some recent blogs, I was already not going into this surgery in the best of spirits. But I was holding it together.
Until the night before.
I recently bought a new android phone and a new MacBook. When I switched from an Apple phone to an Android, I was worried about how they would sync with my other Mac products (iPad and MacBook). The main problem I have had was with texting/messaging. Any time someone sent me a text from iPhone, it would come via iMessage, which meant it came to my computer and my iPad, but not my phone. I knew I would want to be able to send and receive texts before and after surgery, because those little check-ins from friends and family can make such a difference. So Monday night, I tried to figure out the problem and fix it. I found a simple solution, which required my Apple ID. I entered it... and it said the ID wasn't valid. I tried again, and again, and then it got locked. This is the same ID I have used since 2005 when I got my first laptop. I had used it earlier in the week. Why on earth wouldn't it work? Even the security questions that would help me receive the right information were questions I didn't know how to answer (like, "What is your favorite car you have owned?" when I didn't even own a car when I set up the ID in the first place). I was getting so frustrated, I started to cry. Soon tears turned into swearing. "I got a new phone and computer so things would work again, not so they would do this!!" I shouted at Michael. I tried everything, and finally, sobbing, I gave up to go upstairs and get ready for bed.
I can think of one other time in my life when I cried as hard as I did that Monday night. I felt like if I could just cry hard enough, or loudly enough, or deeply enough, then all the pain inside me would find a way out. Of course, it occurred to me, I wasn't crying about technology. I did want to receive those text messages that wouldn't come through, but much more than that, my uncooperative technology was only the catalyst unleashing a year's worth of struggle and frustration with this stupid disease. I said to Michael as I stomped around getting ready for bed, "This night was not supposed to go like this." I had plans of relaxing, enjoying time with family and then just being with Michael, being able to cuddle and enjoy human touch for the last time in a few weeks. (I remember last time how hard it was not to be able to share any physical affection because of the pain.) Now instead of enjoying some quiet and peaceful time, I was as upset as I have ever been, crying, yelling, swearing, and more crying.
Poor Michael. He wasn't sure exactly how to handle this rare side of me. I said all I needed was for him to hold me and let me cry, which he did splendidly. Soon enough, I was able to fall asleep.
And soon thereafter, it was time to wake up, to get the hospital by 5:45. To my surprise, I found myself to be in much higher spirits in the morning, and I realized how incredibly cleansing and necessary my intense cry had been. I needed everything in my heart to get out somehow. In his letter to the Romans, Paul writes, "the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words" (8:26). I have always loved that image, but this was perhaps the first time I really experienced it. I have struggled with prayer during all of this, which is why I have been so grateful for all the prayers other people are praying for me. I simply haven't known what prayers to pray. I have tried praying for peace and acceptance, for a speedy recovery, etc., but none of it has felt very genuine. It wasn't until I was able to offer my prayer in sighs too deep for words, with the help of the Holy Spirit, that I was truly able to find any peace about this.
Tuesday morning, I felt fine, even in high spirits. In my hospital room afterward, I felt good, like I really had accepted this reality. I have seen only a glimpse of my new boob, but I had no emotional reaction to it. It just... was. And despite still feeling a fair amount of physical pain, the pain in my heart has subsided dramatically.
Thank you, Holy Spirit. You've done it for me again.
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| This is one the stained glass windows in the Taize sanctuary in France. |
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