Perspective is everything. Tell the average woman that she needs to have a total hysterectomy, and she’ll brace herself for a daunting surgery, recovery and life change. Tell the average woman that she probably has cancer and will need major exploratory surgery and then wake her up from surgery and tell her there is no cancer and all she had was a hysterectomy, and she’ll think it’s a breeze!
At least this is true in my case. The recovery process has been so much less than I had anticipated when considering a much more significant surgery and potential outcome. Still, recovery has its ups and downs, and since so many of you have asked, I thought I’d share how things are going.
The Best Part of Recovery
- I’m getting some much needed rest. This is what I do. I rest. I take it easy. I nap when I feel like it, read when I feel like it and do nothing I don’t much feel like doing. When does life ever afford that luxury?
- I’m not freezing cold all the time. For those of you who have traveled with me on mission trips to tropical climates where I could still be quite comfortable in a sweater on a balmy day, you’ll be glad to know that my internal thermometer ain’t what it used to be. Someone has turned up the heat, and I’m determined to discover the culprit!
- I have lots of help. My parents, sisters, children, husband and large network of friends and acquaintances have bent over backwards, jumped through hoops and gone the extra mile (and then some) to allow me time to recover and take care of my family. Thank you. You know who you are!!!
The Worst Part of Recovery
- I’m getting some much needed rest. Okay, enough already. How many naps can a woman take? I can only make two trips up and down our stairs each day, and I’m ready to graduate to at least three.
- I’m not freezing cold all the time. As much as I dislike being cold, the fluctuation of body temperature here is discomfiting. I move from the arctic to the equator within the confines of my own bedroom and within mere moments. No wonder I need a nap.
- I have lots of help. I love and treasure and owe an incredible debt to every helper who has carted my children from place to place, carried meals up the stairs and my dirty dishes back down. But it will feel good to do something for myself again. I’m much better at giving help than receiving it.
I hope you’ve enjoyed your introduction to the real Karen True…the one who appreciates her blessings and then turns right around to find fault with them. The one who has received so much but is quite apt at looking a gift horse in the mouth. There’s really more to this story than I’d like to admit, but since this blog is meant to be a transparent look into this “True Story” of mine, I guess I’d better spill it.
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas Eve
On, Monday, December 21, I had surgery and woke up to the best possible news. No cancer. Delight and disbelief blended into a brew of utter wonder and awe. All I could speak or think were words of deepest gratitude. At least for three days.
By Thursday, I was ready to go home. The doctors had agreed with me on Wednesday and anticipated that I’d be dismissed early the next morning, which happened to be Christmas Eve. I longed to be home with my children and woke Thursday morning ready to put on some real clothes and be wheeled to the exit. I was more than happy to see the doctor on her early morning rounds until she announced that my hemoglobin levels were dangerously low and that I would need a transfusion before I could leave.
I managed to navigate this bump in the road until hours passed without a transfusion in sight. Six hours to be exact. The patient was losing patience as the hours ticked away. The transfusion didn’t arrive until 1 p.m.. My nurse hooked up the IV, and the vein almost immediately began swelling. Several veins had already blown from previous IV’s, so we couldn’t risk losing this one. The IV would have to be slowed to a trickle. The two hour transfusion turned into four, and there was no way I could muster the stamina for the four hour ride home.
So for two more hours, I sulked, cried and lamented the fact that I was stuck in the hosptial for Christmas Eve. Gerry brought up the live stream of our church’s Christmas Eve service, but I couldn’t muster up enough Christmas joy to engage. I received a couple of text messages from friends who were in the service and who were celebrating the incredible gift of healing I’d been given. They didn’t know that the Grinch was stealing my Christmas.
The Not so Pretty True Story
The IV bag was finally drained by 5 p.m. My dismissal papers were completed, and I was ready to go even though we’d be spending the night in a hotel rather than in our home. A nurse from the lab came to draw blood and informed me that she’d have the results of the hemoglobin test within two hours. TWO HOURS! I shot a not-so-Christmasy look at my poor husband who wisely said, “Let’s go for a walk.” I put on my real clothes just to show everyone that I was leaving this hospital on the night before Christmas. (Can I just say here that I’m not proud of this story?)
We walked downstairs to see a giant gingerbread house on display in the lobby. The place was nearly deserted. We passed only two people in the halls. One was a woman who was on the phone. I overheard a bit of her conversation in passing. “The cancer has spread to her brain. It’s everywhere. There’s nothing else they can do.” The next person whose path we crossed was a teenage girl. She exited a restroom and lowered her head in an attempt to hide her red and swollen eyes. With that, I lost all resolve to letting the Grinch have his way with my Christmas Eve.
I’d received all I had asked for this week and then some. I was one of a very few who would leave MD Anderson with a non-malignant diagnosis. I’d received the love, support and prayers of hundreds of people. More than 900 of you checked in on the blog in a single day to see how I was doing. You flooded every inbox we have with messages that overwhelmed us with blessing. No one had been given a better Christmas present than me, and you’d think that I’d have found something to on Christmas Eve besides throwing a pity party.
All things Bright & Beautiful
So there you have it. The “True Story.” It’s not pretty, but it is what it is. I hope you’ll leave a comment below to console me a little. Thankfully, God still “makes everything beautiful in His time,” and that’s not the end of the story.
God had met with me so many times in the halls at MD Anderson. He’d come with a clean bill of health earlier in the week. On Christmas Eve, He came as the “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isa. 9:6) And right there, within the span of a handful of days, He reminded me again of what my story is all about.
Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits-who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases. (Ps. 103:1-3)
I”m grateful for the healing, but what I really need is the forgiveness. Forget not all His benefits indeed.
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