I’m so glad to be home, free to navigate inevitable suffering in a place of comfort.

For a few days I was consumed by my anxieties and pain, unable to think of anything else because of my surroundings. From my hospital room there was no sun, no Christmas tree or sweet dogs. When David wasn’t there I felt a deep loneliness and sadness greater than my physical pain. Maybe I’m seeming melodramatic, but I don’t do well in the hospital. Though I’m no stranger, this being my ninth or tenth major surgery (okay, three or four were when I was a baby), I’m still not used to the isolation that comes with hospitalization, no matter how many visitors and well wishes there are. I’m the type that can’t separate myself from these moments. I don’t mean to let them define me, but they are very much part of who I am.

This is my normal, still no matter how many times it happens, it’s difficult– hurtling me into confronting my fears, into not being self-reliant, into not having control over my body. With this surgery comes a new set of challenges and changes that I have yet to fully process, but it isn’t all bad.

David has been so loving and gracious and I feel blessed to be walking through this, my first major abdominal/pelvic surgery since we’ve been married, with him at my side. He sees to my physical needs. He is my emotional support when I’m overwhelmed. He shows me grace when I turn towards sin in my anger over the circumstances. He endures frustrated and unloving remarks from me with such gentleness, reminding me of who we are in Christ. I’m thankful for his leadership, selflessness, and love.

There has been an outpouring of support for us this past week: people offering to cook meals, family and pastor visits, prayers. It’s all been very meaningful. This is a community that cares.

Now that I’ve been home several days, it’s getting a little easier to move about, though I’m still swollen beyond belief and hurting, which is to be expected after a gnarly six hour surgery, my doctors working through a maze of organs and scar tissue/adhesions. I’ve been trying to maintain my stoicism but accept that I can’t. I’m thankful to be in my own home for Christmas. The hospital brings out the worst in me but I’m beginning to perk up. Now, if I can keep my mind off how desperately I want to go for a run, I’ll consider it a tremendous victory.