I have been through some tough times recently. Telling you this makes me feel there may have been a purpose for it…something to be shared, a lesson to be learned. In truth, it was just something I had to get through, get past, “live to fight another day,” as the expression goes. And perhaps the lesson learned is one I heard on television…”tough times don’t last, but tough people do!”

My tough times revolve around health issues, and this, my 23rd abdominal surgery, will, hopefully, bring me relief that will be as profound as the cause of the need for those surgeries. The aftermath of these continuous assaults on my body is difficult for me, as well as all my family and friends. But my familiarity with the hospital, doctors, nurses and aides is great comfort. There is a pattern in my mind for those days that follow the surgery.  I return home to rest, walk slowly around my driveway, return to solid foods, and then, return to the days where I acknowledge this as “just another surgery.”

This time, however, there were two desperate returns to the hospital, dangerous hours that caused great fear, medications that caused their own negative reactions, and eventually, a week in a sub-acute rehabilitation facility. So weakened from all that preceded my stay there, I was incapable of walking on my own steam to the therapy room to begin to re-build my strength.  So used to being on top of my game, I was, as was pointed out to me by one of the physical therapists, humbled, by my inability to hold my balance when holding a rail with only one hand.

Relinquishing any sort of “control” over my ability to recover brought many, many tears.  Depression lurked and hung over me like a hood, shrouding my usual “I can do this” spirit, leading me to feel defeated, with so much ahead of me in terms of recovery.  But here I write, 7 weeks after my surgery, and I am feeling, blessedly, well!  The days are bringing me a peacefulness, as I create a healthy response to the challenges I face, a little bit of bliss knowing that when really pushed to the brink, I was strong enough, thank G-d, to survive.

My memories of being in the sub-acute rehab facility were hazy at the beginning. As I mentioned, I was very weak, and wanted nothing more than to sleep. But I quickly learned that the days were all about a schedule, and that schedule revolved around work…for my muscles, for my self-confidence, for my return to strength.  Twice a day, either a physical or occupational therapist would call for me, and I was pushed.  As time passed, and as the me I know began to return, I pushed myself further than the therapists were even expecting.  Because my ability to return home was tied to my need and response to very strong and effective intravenous antibiotics, I was determined to help my body heal… to be able to walk back into my home as healthy as possible.

So many people deal with so much. As medicine provides more years to our lives, and we have more of a chance than ever to rally past illness, we are tested in ways past generations wouldn’t have thought possible. I believe we live in great times with regard to treatments and procedures merely figments of someone’s imagination at another time. This is wonderful!  And yet, and yet…more is expected of our bodies than ever before.  If I can give any hint to dealing with a chronic situation that, for me, has lasted for more than two decades, it would be to focus on the “I can do this” rather than “why do I have to be the one to do this?”  As mercurial and fickle as all of it is, hospitals are filled with good people, nasty people, rich people and poor people. Nobody is impervious to it…that much I know.  Stays in hospitals are accented with a watchfulness different than in most venues.  The person at the door, possibly pulling back the drape, may be there for something as innocuous as checking “vitals” (blood pressure, temperature, etc.) or there to elicit permission to perform a frightening procedure.  Sleep is grabbed like new parents hoping to re-energize before their infant awakens. Meals, if we are fortunate enough to be able to actually eat them, are the scripted highlight of the day…8:00 a.m., 12:30 p.m., 5:30 p.m.

With all of this to test our mettle, the most important message I can share, is that our inner strength, our “warrior posture” our determination, and most importantly for me, our appreciation of all the gifts we take with us to our challenges, these are what make us the victors. When we look back on our fight, it helps to know we were fighting not just for ourselves, but for all who love us, and that is why we are so tough!

Featured in THE CONNECTION MAGAZINE, June, 2014

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