Simplifying… me

Most hospital memories tend to conjure up a host of negative emotions: individuals feel like a slab of meat on a metal tray, poked, prodded, and covered indiscreetly with a two-sizes-too-small paper gown.  However, whether it was the strong narcotics, a pain pill-induced euphoria, or simply the unbelievable amount of relief post-surgery, my hospital experience can only be described as feeling like I spent a day at the spa.  Here’s how it went down:

 

First, we began with the check-in.  The sweet elderly woman who pulled up my file and clicked a few keys on the computer keyboard was warm, soft-spoken, and reassuring to me as my teeth began to chatter from the nerves.  She must have sensed my anxiety levels increasing and was able to complete the admission process in record time so that my husband and I could find a couch to sit on in the waiting room.  And the wait was less than five minutes.  We hadn’t even warmed our seats up before another delightful elderly woman was guiding us to the hospital room where I would be hanging out until my surgery.

 

Immediately, and I mean immediately, a nurse’s assistant welcomed me, gave me a hospital gown and footies for my feet, and closed the curtain so that I could get dressed appropriately.  When she returned, my teeth were once again chattering – from both nerves and being cold – and promptly, before taking my temp and blood pressure – she hooked me up to a gown warmer, and then covered me with a blanket.  Seriously, a tube was inserted into my hospital gown that inflated it with hot air.  I was in hospital heaven instantly – oh so cozy…and puffy.

 

A few minutes later a nurse entered our little slice of heaven and wrapped my calves in what I can only describe as leg warmers.  Of course, there is a medical term for them as their job was to put pressure on my legs throughout the surgery, keeping the blood pumping and reducing the likelihood of clotting.  Regardless of the official term, those leg warmers kept me nice and comfortable.

 

There was, of course, a brief moment of discomfort when the nurse, apologetically, had to administer the I.V.  I knew it pained her as much as it pained me to interrupt what had, thus far, been the most relaxing experience I’ve had in a long time.  However, it was necessary as the whole point in my being there was for medical purposes and not pampering. 

 

Joel and I chatted for a while, laughing mostly at my ballooning hospital gown.  Before we knew it, the anesthesiologist was knocking on the door to wheel me into the O.R.  He reiterated most of what he had explained to me on the phone call the night before, and then he injected something amazing in my I.V.  What I mean by amazing is that, instantaneously, I felt tingly all over – he told me that I would feel good.  “Good” is putting in mildly.  For all of five seconds I felt super happy and numb.  I remember looking up at Joel who was smiling from ear to ear, thinking to myself, “Joel is nervous right now.”  And then…blackout.  I don’t remember one thing from that moment on.  Joel told me later that he kissed me on the forehead and walked out of the room with me, but I have no recollection.  I was on a flight to La-La Land by that point.

 

Post-surgery, I can’t say that I felt like a million bucks, but the nurses and my husband waited on me hand and foot.  If I looked the slightest bit uncomfortable someone was right there to ease my pain or fluff my pillow.  (I should also make it clear that I was still slightly woozy from the drugs, and my memory comes in bits and pieces.)  I think the doctor came by for a visit, but what he said sounded all gargled up to me.  Later, Joel filled me in on the details. 

 

I have to confess I was a little greatly nervous about what I was going to behold when I finally got up to look in the mirror.  Vain, I know, but I was genuinely concerned that my present appearance might scare a few children, not to mention myself.  I was pleasantly surprised.  There was no bruising, only minor swelling, my hair still had some bounce in it, and aside from the sling I had to wear – attached to both ears that held the gauze under my nose – I didn’t look too shabby (again…I was on drugs).  Once dressed, another sweet, elderly woman came by with a wheel chair and wheeled me out to my car.  Joel was waiting for me and helped lift me up into the front passenger side.  The kind wheel chair woman said a bunch of really nice things, all of which I don’t remember, we said farewell, and my Knight in Shining Armor drove me home.

 

I have been sleeping off the drugs ever since.

 

Before I conclude this post, I wanted to share, from a brief moment of clarity, a quick thought triggered by a comment that a friend of mine posted after “My Nose Job”.  Ever since reading her words, I have been thinking a little more deeply about the work that God is doing in me.  Here is what she said:

 

“This post did make me think though that often God does such intricate delicate work on us… on the inside… but is it noticeable on the outside? To think that if God does a work on the inside that would help us to breathe more deeply… rest more completely… and observe with more sensitivity. It would have to be noticeable on the outside!”

 

Don’t we just love to pick apart our outward appearance!  I am so guilty of doing that!  I don’t like this and I don’t like that.  I wish I looked like “so-and-so”.  On and on it goes.  During my adolescent years, and briefly in my twenties, I struggled to embrace the nose God gave me.  I hated my profile and wished with all my heart I looked like my best friend, who was gorgeous.  I was never content.  Then slowly, in time, as God began to do an incredible work in the deepest most intimate part of my life, I came to accept the person (both inward and outward) that God had made, as a whole.  I began to breathe more deeply, rest more completely, and observe others and their struggles and pain, with more sensitivity.  It’s not about the outside.  It’s not about the nose, the hair, or the complexion.  Looking fabulous isn’t going to bring the assurance and peace that we crave so desperately.  Knowing who we were meant to be, however, will give us the confidence and grace to walk proud and tall, no matter how big or small our noses may be.

 

I am very grateful for my day at the health spa.  I truly feel like a brand new woman now that those darn polyps are gone.  Just as the surgeon removed the unsightly and debilitating growths from inside my nose and sinuses, God wants to remove the things inside of me/us that keep us from breathing deeply the truths of His word.  And the work God does on the inside doesn’t just stay on the inside.  It manifests itself on the outside of us as well.  We radiate.  We shine.  We stand out.  We reflect the goodness of God, His character, and His love.  As I write this I’m breathing through my nose, and I feel great.  But I am also breathing the sweet air of contentment which only comes from God.

 

I know I’ve shared a lot.  Some of it probably doesn’t even flow well.  You’ll have to forgive me.  I’m still recovering from surgery.  I truly hope that just as God is doing a work in me, you too are seeing God’s handiwork in your own life.  May we all, no matter what we look like or think we look like, do as my friend articulated so well, “breathe more deeply, rest more completely, and observe with more sensitivity.”  Whatever God does, may it truly be noticeable on the outside!

 

I’m going to head downstairs now and enjoy a hot bowl of homemade soup that our neighbor brought by a little while ago.  Then, I’m going to rest a little more.  And maybe the next time I write something it will actually make sense!

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