The Doctor called Wednesday afternoon, and this time I was able to pick up the phone. I knew what was on the other end… the date and time of the surgery. October 31st at 12:30, arrival time for pre-op at 10:30 and won’t be home until late in the evening. After the school parties, the parade and trick or treating. When I hung up the phone, I immediately felt the surge of anxiety pulse through my heart as I thought of my children. All mothers have this direct line of consciousness when faced with a glitch in their plans, a bump in their road, a ripple that throws off the ebb and flow of parenting.
Well now THAT day I surely have nothing going on! Good grief. As I frantically started on the trail of canceling, coordinating, and covering… I had unraveled my mind into a fried up frenzy.
Halloween of all days?
And I have less than one week to pull my house and kids together in preparation for this day and the recovery days to follow? Oh Lord.
I have issues with things being ‘undone’. It’s just my anxiety hard at work- needing things in ‘place’, while I spiral out of place. This is how I operate and how I deal with letting go. I will do everything in my power to make it all right, before it all may go wrong… Being prepared, gives me some sort of comfort- knowing I’ve done all I could do, until the very moment I could do no more.
So the last few days, I have been relentless in pursuing a plan. I need a plan. Without a plan, I cannot focus on the most important thing…
Cutting this tumor out of me.
Add to the madness, the kids have been home from school the past two days while I attempt to do such things. No quiet time to compose myself, to put order in my head and in my home, and in my heart. The pace of motherhood never settles, and the persistent interruptions of my children RIGHT in front of me, lent a mighty hand in stirring the dust and dirt of exhaustion all around.
Off to the mini-golf “mommy and son” event. Swim team practices, a jiujitsu tournament out of town, friends coming over, running after a lost cat, doing homework, parent teacher conferences…and on and on.
Being a parent never stops, even when you are screaming for it to. So you go, and do, and help, and feed and drive and make meetings and appointments and follow through on every responsibility your precious children rely on.
I am doing just that.
But in the wee hours of the night…
I worry. And to be honest, I’m scared.
I don’t want this. I am mad and depressed that I have to endure yet another surgery, recovery, healing…risk.
She will be cutting around my ear. Rounding about facial nerves and the salivary gland and brushing by some pretty important ‘stuff’ in there. And I try so hard to not go there.
The what ifs.
But I do. They spiral in and out when I least expect them. Punching my peace with a chilling blow.
What if this SUPER pregnant surgeon finally gives in to all the hormonal and physical ailments that simply drop her to the floor on the morning of my surgery? What if her water breaks? How on EARTH will she do such an extensive surgery with her baby kicking left and right and pushing here and there. Good Lord, I could barely teach children music at that point in my pregnancy. She is doing major surgery! What if those Braxton Hicks contractions emerge while she is navigating around say, an artery? What if she wakes up that day, feeling like total crap and her blood sugar drops and her hands are all shaky and quivering as she blinks over and over again, trying to keep the tears from falling into her microscopic lenses, quickly filling up with the mist of estrogen fog… she grits her teeth and squeezes the scalpel with all her might, while counting the tics and the tocks of her motherhood time clock as her surgical mask drips with sweat. What if she has to pee? I mean, three hours is a very very very long time when you are nearing the end.
I will pray for her. Oh how I will pray for her. Oh yes, she needs prayer. The poor woman needs prayer.
What if my nerves get caught up in the cutting and my face is paralyzed? My gland is punctured? My ear is mangled? My jaw can’t open? What if I go into some weird shock or can’t wake up? What if she finds something worse when she goes in? What if I am in severe pain when I wake up? Or worse, I am so drugged up it lasts for days? What if my head and face are swollen, bruised and bloody? What if an infection occurs? What if I can’t eat for a week or two or three? What if the scar is ghastly? What if she shaves my head? Will I be wrapped in layers of bandages like a mummy? What if I can’t twist my neck? What if I grind on it and exacerbate the wound and she goes into labor and has the baby and disappears forever without re-stitching me back up? And on and on they roll in, and out, and in, and out.
What if something…
The 20% comes crashing in.
I’ve been in this place of constant questioning a thousand times before. I have. And I know. God’s got this. No matter the outcome. He’s got this. The Author has already wrote this chapter.
So I take my worries and my fear and place it in the only hands I trust…
I have to.
Have you ever been there? At the end of all you can control? I’m sure you have. We all have been there.
There is simply nothing else you can possibly do on your own.
Once again, I will place my life, my kids, my husband, and my story in His Hands.
It’s all God’s anyway.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.