Unexpected Benefits
October 18, 2009
Last week my sister called me. Mom was in the hospital and the doctors were saying that any family who wanted to see her needed to come quickly. D and I were on the next flight out that evening and the plane ride was the first time I had sat upright in a chair since my surgery. The next two days were spent primarily at the hospital at Mom’s bedside or in the waiting room. Following her passing on Tuesday morning I, along with my siblings, moved through all the process of preparing for Mom’s burial and service.
Between all the flights and the car rides and the meetings and the errands there was a whole lot of sitting and walking and none of it fared well on my incisions. There was pain and stiffness and bleeding. And through it all I was and remain so deeply thankful to the bone that I hadn’t had my surgery a week later than I did or that Mom was taken ill a week early than she was. I would have managed to get on that plane no matter what but as it turned out my healing was far enough along that with D’s help and my family’s understanding, I was able to be there for an important time in the life of my family.
I was suppose to have the remaining stitches taken out last week but instead I was in Portland with family and so I’m having them taken out tomorrow and I’m more than ready. I think the skin around the suture thread is ready too. It’s basically showing signs of being irritated by the whole thing and so am I. I’m done. I realized last week how much of our physical recovery from an injury or surgery depends upon our emotional and spiritual strength and when those are used up or focused in another direction, we’re left with limited reserves in which to draw our strength. A broken heart and broken body make for a whole lot of weariness and I really feel like the only way I got through last week was because I was held and cared for by D, by a circle of support and prayers over on Facebook, and by God. I’m so thankful.
I don’t have much more to say but to share a couple memories from this past week that relate to the journey I’ve been on. Both are about my mom.
Mom didn’t like the idea of me having surgery. Not the first time. Not the second time. She was worried something would happen to me. My mom can worry with the best of them and so we talked about it quite a bit. I wanted so much to not cause her any worry but at the same time I felt like this was something I needed to do as soon as I could and so I offered her what assurances I could about having a great surgeon, about staying at an excellent surgical care center, about doing my research, but none of it helped ease her worry. “You look wonderful already Honey.” “Are you sure you need to do this?” “Is there something less extreme you could have done?” I finally told her I felt like I needed to do this thing; that I believed all the physical pain and discomfort would be worth it in the end if it allowed me to finally let go of the emotional pain I’d experienced as an overweight child and adult. I told her the surgery was an important step for me to let go of the past and move forward. A couple days later she called me and while she was still worried and would be glad when all this was over, she understood why i was doing it.
Several days before Mom went to the hospital I received another in a series of get-well cards from her. Inside the card were two ads, clipped from some cheap catalog or magazine. One was for “Zip Away” Cellulite Cream and the other was for a pair of underpants (black and white color options) that had plastic buttocks inserts in them. Mom scrawled a note in the card that read “These would have seemed the cheaper way to go! It was so good to talk to you the other day and hear how happy you are with your new body. I love you very much, Mommy.” I will, as you can imagine, save the card and the two clippings forever and each time I look at them, I’ll smile over my mom’s sarcastic sense of humor and at her love for me.
The last story I want to share happened on Sunday night when I saw Mom for the first time after a frantic drive from the airport to the hospital. I walked into the room where she was peacefully laying with her eyes closed and holding her hand I told her I was there and I loved her. She said something about me traveling so close to my surgery (still worrying) and then she reached up her hand, took hold of my upper arm, and said, “My girl has small arms” before flashing me a weak smile.
When I was a little girl my weight was a constant tension between my mom and me. She wanted me to lose weight or at least stop gaining and so she would take me to this doctor or that weight loss program. There were lectures and there was pleading. She attempted, unsuccessfully due to my sneaky ways, of monitoring my eating. The thing is, I realize now that my size never really mattered to my mom. It was always about my happiness. She knew I was being teased by other children and she knew that as I grew into adulthood being obese would make my life more difficult. She didn’t want that for me, but never did she withhold her love or pride or acceptance of me because of my weight. Never did I feel less loved because I weighed more.
This physical transformation continues to run far deeper through me and touch more areas of my life than I could have ever imagined, and I’m so thankful Mom was able to see it with her own eyes and celebrate with me.
I will treasure that last squeeze of my arm for the rest of my life.
Posted in Daily Life, Reconstructive Surgery
