Last night was the kind of night I never talk about. My girl tells me I let the world off easy because it makes everyone else uncomfortable when we talk about our pain. She insists it’s not my job to lessen our pain so others feel better. For me it’s always the way I go, but the truth is she’s not wrong.
Still it’s hard for me to tell the raw story. I use my writing to sort out all the dark thoughts and bring the light through. And when I can’t do that authentically I usually just stop. I stop writing. I stop talking. I hide.
Last night there was nowhere to go. It was a long dark night with hospital style interruptions every 7 minutes. There was minimal sleep, and unrelenting pain for my girl that was a solid 10/10 for hours.
Last night lasted forever. The gut wrenching cries drowned out the shattering of this mother’s heart when the hard truth that there is literally nothing I can do to help settled in.
The reality that the surgery involved the removal of inches of muscle was evident somewhere between the spasms I could see/ feel from the outside, and the Valium/ oxycodone/ dilaudid rotation that was being tossed at her to at least inch things a hair lower than 10/10.
Not helping at all was/is the feeling of numbness/ diminished feeling all down the front of her leg. She was/is not currently reassured by the theory that it could be nerve swelling. We’d have a better idea if they were able to push NSAIDs. But they can’t. Because that pain in the butt (literally and figuratively) tumor bled…
Having sat by her side through countless surgeries – this one officially wins the “Suckiest Surgery” award.
At some point they will brace her, put her on crutches, and get her moving. We are well aware that “the only way out is through.”
This surgery, where the patient is an adult who has a ton of knowledge of human anatomy and is prepping to be a healthcare professional- this surgery is the hardest. This surgery where mom is a guide on the side, and I can make actually nothing better… this surgery is the hardest.
This time I’m too tired to create a happy ending. This time I’m a 50 year old mom with about 90 minutes sleep in the last 30 hours.
Maybe this was the perfect time for me to tell the story I never share. Our story is one of overcoming, but if I don’t describe the obstacles/ land mines we overcome on the regular, maybe I’m not really doing our story justice.
Our story is one that does not quit, and does not give up. But our trauma from a life of this… it’s so ingrained in who we are that it’s impossible to tease the two apart.
Where does that leave you, well meaning family/ friends/ strangers? Well, it probably leaves you uncomfortable. And maybe for today that’s ok.
What can you do with that? You decide. Never underestimate the value of sitting alongside those who suffer even when you can’t fix it. Maybe especially then.
Either way- you choose. We’re busy using every ounce of strength we have…
#beatingcowdens
beatingcowdens 