I have been at a loss for words to post on the blog....call it writer's block. But I'll give it a try and probably find myself loosening up.
The tumor surgery was three weeks ago yesterday. I am healing well and feeling about 90% of my old self...except when I feel about 70% toward the end of the day. I experienced "rebound"...that's what they call it....when I tried weaning myself off of the pain medication too quickly. It is part narcotic and can induce dependency. Some chronic pain sufferers take the same medication for years....no thanks, thank you. The overwhelming feeling is akin to an adrenaline rush. I reduced the dosage to one tablet every five hours, however I forgot to take one this afternoon, so it has been about thirteen hours since the last tablet and I am feeling a bit weird right now. Then again, I may be going through an anesthetic flashback. All the Doctors tell me that it takes weeks for the anesthetic to be purged from the body. A flashback is marked by drowsiness and a general "down" feeling. I may sound a mess, but, really, I am fine and enjoying writing about all of this.
A realization came to me earlier today. For some reason I consider the tumor surgery less an important event than the heart surgery....and therefore diminished in its impact on my life. It seems to have been an afterthought. The actuality is that it is one of the two bookends that prop up my story. It was "major surgery", as the Doctor reminds me each time I see her. The anesthetic used in that surgery is the culprit causing the flashbacks....not the anesthetic used in the heart surgery.
I wonder if I have come to terms with the events of the last eight weeks. When Dr Amersi left the exam room, after delivering her very good news, I dutifully began to put myself together so Sue and I could leave.
As I buttoned my shirt, I turned to Sue and saw a wave of emotion and relief sweep across her face. A few tears filled her eyes and she gave me a big hug. It was then I realized the significance of the news and felt some emotion. And it was then I understood the stress and the fear she had been living with. Maybe it was the anesthesia and the pain pills, but I had not been emotionally affected to the same degree. I had detached
myself and took a clinical perspective....... and still do today. Perhaps part of the reason for this is that recovery is comprised of small "victories" and demands a focus that is conscious and subconscious at the same time. A global perspective is difficult when one is preoccupied with water retention, regularity, medication levels, pain prevention, and finding comfortable sleeping positions. Then there is the unspoken concern about wound infection and re-opening the incision through stress or bending over the wrong way, and then the ultimate worry about the bowel re-section holding. I am human, after all.
I am asked, more and more frequently, what I want to do "next"........"What's next, Steve? What do you want to do with the rest of your life?" I don't have an answer to that question right now. I do know that I don't want to return to the grind and routine that was much of my life for many years. I remember my father
telling me shortly before he died that I must not let work dominate my life to the exclusion of enjoying my life.
It was one of his great regrets that he had not taken the time over the span of his years to make the time to do the things he wanted to do and see the things he always wanted to see.
Every night, before I go to sleep, I sit on the edge of my bed to gather my thoughts and settle my mind. It is a form of prayer. That is when I contemplate what I have endured these last eight weeks and what it all means.
It came to my mind several nights ago, as some near-revelation, that a gift has been given to me......call it a gift of life, or a gift of understanding and compassion, or maybe a gift of light. There is no darkness. There is no sadness. There is only calm.
There is a Full Moon tonight. It is the third Full Moon of the Journal. I am going outside to let the light shine down on me and remember.
Stephen
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