Last week, I was sidelined with a rogue gallbladder. Laaaawdy. You do not want a rogue gallbladder. Ever.
Last Sunday, I was so sick with rib pain and back pain that I couldn't even stand up straight. I told The Boyfriend we were going to Omaha to Urgent Care. I put my shoes on and literally melted back into the wood floor - curled up in some sort of fetal position that felt better than literally anything else. He found me there after he started the car. Maybe that's the moment I realized it was a little more serious than the flu.
I could talk to you about the Urgent Care doctor that refunded my copay, and helped me put my coat back on when he sent me to the ER.
I could talk to you about Alison, Ashley, Maddy and Beth - my nurses on the fourth floor throughout the three days that I stayed in the hospital. The ones that patted my forehead with a wet, cool cloth, who held my hand, the ones that sat with me at two in the morning, in the dark, when my mom was asleep on the plastic couch. They sat there. Quietly, Holding my hand. Whispering to breathe when I would forget. Because that's what happens to me when I'm so hopped up on pain meds and anti-nausea meds that when I fell asleep, I just didn't.
I just didn't breathe.
I could talk to you about my ferocious, tenacious, unafraid-to-take-up-her-own-space doctor that had super cute glasses. The doctor that was at a conference this weekend pioneering mastectomy surgery. The doctor that told me that my gallbladder sand was the most beautiful she's ever seen (anything worth doing is worth doing well, you guys, including gallbladder sand).
I could talk to you about my anesthesiologist and his kind eyes. The way he listened and patted my anxious, sweating hands, and smiled at me.
But not today.
Instead, I want to talk to you about my tribe. My close you in their arms kinda tribe.
My brother and his funny jokes that masked his concern.
My daddy's worry that was felt over three states. The kind that will wash over a girl and sink into her bones, and his restorative faith.
My step-mom's intelligent, thoughtful questions.
My sister-in-law's sweet, comforting love.
My mom's get on the first available flight and stay for a week no questions asked kind of attitude. Her sit next to me on the sort of uncomfortable side chair in my living room for six days and watch an entire season of a show with me kind of love. Her drive you back to the ER a week later with steady hands kind of power.
The Boyfriend's lay your whole arm over the side of the bed so that I could cuddle with something warmer than my pillow kind of sweet devotion. His soft words in my ear. His worried eyes. His hands through my sweaty, matted hair. His climb into the hospital bed with me, his confident walk next to my bed through the operating doors. His perfect constance.
Bestie Betsy's iron-willed, incessant communication.
Friends on the other side of the state checking in. Her doctor husband sending snippets of advice. Try this. Do this. Don't forget about this. Covering both of us in their care.
BFF Suzy's frosty and peanut M&Ms and easy laughter. Distraction. BFF Amber's classroom copying, sub plan making, and group text level headedness.
What a rough week it's been. A wild, vortex of a week where I've lost moments, hours to dazes, seconds with The General. I'm going to go back to work tomorrow and I'm not even sure what my desk looks like. My surgeon cleared me today with a pat on the shoulder just like nothing really even happened. I wore actual pants for the first time in 9 days. I'm 16 pounds lighter. Strangely though, I'm not quite sure I'm back to my normal self. Maybe it's my normal self with four new scars. Er. Something.
I think I've learned a thing or two about tribes. About the ones that pull you in closer. The ones that wrap you with their words, their fervent prayers, their wild worry. The kind of tribe that you can feel reach through and put their hands on your shoulders. The kind of tribe that are still checking in. Nine days later.
Giving thanks that it was just a rogue gallbladder.
And not something even more serious.
That's where I am today. Happy February.
. About Moi .
I love, love, love flannel sheets and I am really passionate about lists on post it notes and most of the time I'm sad that no one else is as excited as I am about Diet Mountain Dew. I also adore run-on sentences.
He saw her before he saw
anything else in the room.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
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