Editors Note: This article was originally published on the Nubian Dairy Goat site on May 2011 shortly following my March 2011 cancer surgery. It has been removed from that site and published here.
The drugs help
but ... they can't make up for clean cotton sheets, country fresh air,
pet chicken fresh eggs. soft curious nuzzles from beloved pets and a
loving family watching every move I make: they are the wind beneath my
wings.
While only one person may go through the surgery, the entire family feels the pain.
I
was struck by the hospital room's odors: vinyl upholstery, plastic
mattress cover, plastic cups, and of course the ever present IV
drip.Whatever that liquid transportation system dispensed into my
system, it transferred needed medications without the need of 'sticking'
me any more than possible. But it also tethered me to an extension cord
that was six inches too short to comfortably maneuver in the room and
making going the a bathroom a marathon event. Often requiring a team.
My
senses were overwhelmed. The odor of the medications, the IV altering
my taste buds, my numbed bottom from being able to lay in only one
position. Fortunately, I could relax my eyes by glazing outside across
at the rooftop gravel and tar studded vents; to glimpse the tree on the
horizon. Thank you dear Lord for that tree. In my medicated state, that
rooftop turned into a zen rock garden and the heloport wind dopplere
became the crest of arms protecting me. It's what you make it.
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