A very brief exploration of the lessons of illness

I'm going to go into the hospital on Wednesday at noon for my fourth major surgery in the past year and a half. I've been expecting it for a while, but the actuality of it is rather sudden. I'm occupied with a flurry of diagnostic procedures, child care arrangements, and an honest if half-assed attempt to meet a work deadline. (I'd be doing that job right now instead of doing this blog thing if I were a good worker bee.)

In some ways, I can say, "Here we go again." Yes, I've been through all this enough to coast along on some confidence born of experience. I use the time in the MRI machine to get some rest, for example. It wasn't quite like that the first couple times I slid into the tube, but now some of the more invasive, prickly tests make me long for the clatter and thunk and beeping of the MRI.

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I interrupted my blogging to go outside, on a whim. My friend Sandy called and I watered my wilted plants while we talked about writing and parenting and working hard to put a little something away for the future. About three hours later, I brought my sunburned self back indoors after pulling milkweed, cleaning the pool, giving everything a good soak, sweeping the fat, sausage-shaped, crispy brown acacia pods off the pool deck so they wouldn’t blow into the pool, and basically losing myself in mundane physical tasks.

Garden work has become my favorite recreational activity this season, and today’s efforts were particularly poignant because I won’t be able to do much of that for the next two or three months.

Last night I had Thai food at Thai China Siam (one of the best restaurants in town). My fortune cookie bestowed the following message: The only way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost.

I don’t entirely agree… I think there is room for complacence in some kinds of love. That’s what I would like for my children, anyway: for them to be so steeped in love that they don’t even know there is an alternative—perhaps the way fish regard water. However, I can take some wisdom from the assertion. Knowing that I am about to temporarily lose my hard-won physical capabilities A-GAIN, makes me appreciate them pretty intensely. That’s my excuse for not digging into my freelance education writing project, even though the deadline is nigh. I have some things to do, and to enjoy.

I’ve been musing about the lessons I keep learning from my physical challenges. I suppose there is still something I haven’t GOTTEN yet that the Universe needs me to know. Or maybe this last surgery is a Final Exam of sorts. After all, I should know how to do this by now. Indeed, I do have quite a list of things I will do to help my recovery and move me along my path.

I’m blessed with a fantastic medical team. My physical therapist and members of her staff have become friends over the past three—nearly four—years, and they give good advice, nurturing and a little push when I need it. They call me on my erroneous ways, too. By now they know just what those are most likely to be.

“Give yourself three months,” Adrienne said. “I don’t want to freak you out, but…”

“Oh, freak away,” I laughed. “Maybe I’ll get it right this time. If that’s what it takes…”

I have a whole ‘nother list of medical professionals who help me along. It was reassuring to hear Adrienne say that my doctor is “a god among neurosurgeons.” My primary care doctor keeps all of this organized—he orchestrates referrals and lab tests and therapies and medications and manages to treat me like a real person the whole time.

There are others who provide care who are angels in my life. Some of the GOOD things about all of this have been the sheer tenacity and beauty and strength of purpose that I’ve been able to witness and benefit from in my little tour of the netherworld of illness.

I’m learning over and over and over again how to stop short in my headlong pursuit of the Bottom of the To-Do List in order to look up, breathe, laugh with my kids, meet my friends eye-to-eye, and lose myself in a flow of creativity or physical exertion or just lying in bed looking out at the Wild Kingdom that is my back yard. (I kid you not: in the last two days I’ve taken photographs of cactus wrens, humming birds, cardinals, quail, rabbits, javelinas, toads, lizards, and a big sleepy bobcat who occasionally lounges in the shade on the lawn.)

I’m learning that I seem to have a good habit of getting all of my work done, even if I don’t drive myself crazy with anxiety and self-berating for not working every single minute of the day. I’ve learned the value of a little bit of procrastination. I’ve stopped trying to force myself to write when I’m not up to it. Descaling a few feet of tile along the edge of the pool is just what I need at times like that, and I don’t even feel guilty anymore.

I have yet to learn how to STOP writing when I ought to, but I’ve made progress in that area, too. A few well-placed sticky notes with blunt reminders help. The timer helps. The fact that my littlest one knows how to turn off the computer helps—more than anything! I have no teachers to hold me as firmly accountable as those little children.

This time, I’m going to practice not worrying about each day. I’m going to accept more help and not be ashamed to rely on others to do the work that I am not able to do. I’m going to continue to avoid the news and unpleasant movies and even books with disturbing content. It’s all about the good vibes for me right now, as it has been for a while now. I get shell shocked on the rare occasions I turn on NPR, so best to just hide out—for the rest of this presidential term, at least. (Don’t get me started.)

A little sun, a little dirt under my fingernails, a little tapping away at the blog… a little ice cream, some chocolate and a cold bottle of water. Nice. Now I think I’m ready to get to work.