Learning to Love Yourself No Matter What

One of the problems with being a writer is that I use words as therapy. By writing my thoughts and feelings, I can often make sense of the world around me. I can deal with my stress or grief or anxiety by blogging. But what happens when something is too personal to share?

Earlier this week, I was scheduled to have a minor outpatient procedure. It was something I decided was private and was happy to keep it that way. (No, it was not a nose job. I happen to have the best nose of all the Fields children.)

Gary took the day off to drive me to the surgical center. Miranda spent the night with her cousins and her aunt took her to school that morning. My mom was scheduled to pick her up that afternoon. Logistically, everything was worked out to the smallest detail. I was ready to go.

The only problem was that I had been battling a cold since Thanksgiving. Mostly just a cough, but there was some wheezing, too. Enough to keep me up at night and cause a lot of discomfort.  I told the surgical staff and they were not too worried. In my mind, the antibiotics that I was going to get post-op would also work on my cold and by today or tomorrow, I would be healing and the cold would be just a memory.

So I talked to the nurse. I talked to the doctor. I had on my hospital gown. I removed all my jewelry. My hair was in a less-than-fashionable hair net. I was good to go.

They wheeled me back to the procedure room. The anesthesiologist explained that he was going to use a slight muscle relaxant on me and then he would put me under. I would not wake during the procedure and there was no reason to be scared. The next time I saw his face, it would be all over.

Except that was not the case. I am not sure how long I was out before they realized that my cough was too extreme. Even sedated, I was coughing and bucking. (I swear they said, "bucking"...I could not have come up with that word if I tried.)

The team went to get Gary from the waiting room. They consulted with him. He agreed that if there was ANY chance that my life was in danger or that I could be harmed in any way, it was time to wake me up and we would do the procedure another time. So that is what they did.

When I awoke, I was being wheeled back into recovery. The nurse looked at me with such compassion and said they were unable to do the procedure. There was too much risk that my cough might have been bronchitis that would turn into pneumonia if I was under for too long. Everyone agreed it was safest to stop.

I started to cry. Big, fat, wet tears. I felt like my body failed me. The last time I had anesthesia, it was to deliver my daughter still. This little surgery that I elected to have, brought it all back. Yet another outcome that was not how it was supposed to be.

I  was angry and sad and still sedated so I am sure I was not making any sense. And I did not care. 

Gary held my hand and patiently explained it all to me. The doctor and nurse and everyone else on staff also went over everything again and again. We called my primary and got me in later that day. Turned out I did have bronchitis and even with a nebulizer treatment, antibiotics and an inhaler, I am still sick today. Although I am planning to leave the house for a little pre-Hanukkah party at the local mall, so things are looking up.

My surgery is rescheduled for the end of the month. The doctor is coming in on a day off to be there for me. My family and friends will surely rally around me once more - this time when I am healthy and mentally and physically ready to undergo a procedure.

My body did not fail me - I did not fail me - things just happen. I should know that by now.

We really can't control what happens to us in this life. But we can control how we deal with the highs and the lows.

This was not my best week. But I am here. Alive. Relatively healthy and insanely loved. I am not sure I can ask for more than that. And I know that next week will be better. Thank goodness for that.

Always look for the silver lining