Jul 11

{Cute pic huh?  I’ve had a rough few days since the surgery.  I look awful.  I was gonna post the pictures we’ve taken everyday since my surgery, but I decided they are a little too gruesome to post, so I’ll just stick with this lovely pic from today.}

Friday’s surgery was unpleasant to say the least.   I could not eat anything the day of surgery and so I had no coffee or breakfast and had to be there at 10am.  At 12:30pm, Jay and I were still sitting in the holding room of the OR while I shivered and daydreamed of a warm cup of joe.  I was wearing only a hospital gown and they keep the OR around 50 degrees.

I was finally taken into the surgery room, and the doctors put in an IV.  The problem was that my veins had shrunk from how cold I was and after initially poking me, she dug around and could not find a vein and had to take out the needle and try again.  With the second poke, I almost started to cry from the pain.  After finding a vein, they began what I can only describe as one of the most disturbing moments of my life.

I was put into a sedated state called “twilight”.  In this state, you are awake, but numb and sleepy.  So, I was awake and watching as my eye surgeon and his team operated on my eye.  I don’t want to relive the details, but let’s just say it was horrific because I still felt the pressure of the cutting, etc. and heard everything the doctors were saying.

After being taken out of surgery, I was wheeled into a recovery room with 6 or so patients who had also just come out of surgery.  Because of how cold I was and the events of the last hour, I was wide awake–almost wired.  I felt beyond distressed by what I had just been through, and I wanted to get out of that room as quickly as possible.

As God has continually done throughout this process, He provided perspective in the patient directly across from me.  I listened as the doctor spoke to the 38-ish year old woman with 4 kids at home and a sweet husband (Jay-style) by her side.

The doctor told her that the infection she had in her eye had spread and they would need to remove her eye the next day.  She bursts into sobs.  I fought back tears myself as I watched her loving husband gently hold her while she sobbed.

Suddenly, my mild plight seemed so insignificant, while LOSING AN EYE-–that’s some tough stuff.  I lay in my bed and wondered how I would feel.  My eye is very messed up, and sometimes I do wish that it wasn’t around anymore.  However, would I really want that?  Would I really want to have to have a prosthetic eye put in?  NO.

As I was leaving the recovery room, I got Jay to wheel me over to this woman’s bed.  I felt a burden to encourage them, since I have been encouraged so much in my suffering (2 Corinthians 1!), even though it doesn’t get much more awkward than approaching a crying stranger in medical crisis.  I told her a little about my story and what had happened to me.  I encouraged her to hold on because her situation will get better, and I thanked her husband for being such a supportive man.  Then, as comforting situations often go, they comforted and encouraged me!  I was giving them some perspective that they will not soon forget, but they were also giving so much perspective to me—it’s always powerful how that works.

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