Waiting, Wondering and the Pain
A necessary journey was made the other day. My dad, my husband and I. A hotel stay. A hospital appointment. Surgery. Pain. Recovery.
Surgery, no matter how big or small, can loom over us, hovering like a cloud. The weeks of anticipation and mental preparation ~ the waiting.
The tension in driving to another city, three hours away, so that a body can be fixed and restored ~ that is the hope that clings to the wondering.
The recovery from the anesthetic is long and rough at times. Sleepiness wants to creep in and settle, pulling you deep within, even as you fight to awaken and move on. Voices of loved ones attempting to keep you alert and hydrated as you are drawn back into open-eyed awareness. It must happen, but with that comes an unwelcome guest residing within your own body ~ the pain.
As we sat and waited for my husband to come out of the surgical area, we spent several hours in the surgery waiting room. A room for the loved ones to continue in the waiting, the wondering. At one point, the room was full to capacity. I watched the people there and was intrigued.
Different ethic backgrounds and cultures were represented in that room.
Different people with different worries and situations.
I couldn't help but wonder about their stories.
A family composed of grandparents, parents, and teenagers took up residence in one section of the room. They were awaiting the return of a grandmother.
A wife waiting for her husband tipped her head up every time a new patient was rolled down the hallway from surgery, hoping it was her man, disappointed when it wasn't.
A young woman clutching a bouquet of flowers, slept with her head resting against the shoulder of her boyfriend.
A middle-aged couple supported an older parent. An elderly husband hoping to reunite with his love, his friend.
They waited.
They wondered.
The room emptied in stages, until we were some of the remaining few.
Everyone separating and going on to comfort, love, and participate in the healing.
The pain. The feeling of helplessness, realizing that pain is part of the process that can't be avoided.
I prayed for those people in the waiting room. Wherever their lives bring them next. Whatever they return to. Whatever their situation.
I prayed for my husband.
And I am so thankful for the prayers that others have lifted on his behalf. Friends, family.
God is good. God is healer.
The waiting, the wondering and the pain are difficult to handle, but there is still good.
There is still God.
Surgery, no matter how big or small, can loom over us, hovering like a cloud. The weeks of anticipation and mental preparation ~ the waiting.
The tension in driving to another city, three hours away, so that a body can be fixed and restored ~ that is the hope that clings to the wondering.
The recovery from the anesthetic is long and rough at times. Sleepiness wants to creep in and settle, pulling you deep within, even as you fight to awaken and move on. Voices of loved ones attempting to keep you alert and hydrated as you are drawn back into open-eyed awareness. It must happen, but with that comes an unwelcome guest residing within your own body ~ the pain.
As we sat and waited for my husband to come out of the surgical area, we spent several hours in the surgery waiting room. A room for the loved ones to continue in the waiting, the wondering. At one point, the room was full to capacity. I watched the people there and was intrigued.
Different ethic backgrounds and cultures were represented in that room.
Different people with different worries and situations.
I couldn't help but wonder about their stories.
A family composed of grandparents, parents, and teenagers took up residence in one section of the room. They were awaiting the return of a grandmother.
A wife waiting for her husband tipped her head up every time a new patient was rolled down the hallway from surgery, hoping it was her man, disappointed when it wasn't.
A young woman clutching a bouquet of flowers, slept with her head resting against the shoulder of her boyfriend.
A middle-aged couple supported an older parent. An elderly husband hoping to reunite with his love, his friend.
They waited.
They wondered.
The room emptied in stages, until we were some of the remaining few.
Everyone separating and going on to comfort, love, and participate in the healing.
The pain. The feeling of helplessness, realizing that pain is part of the process that can't be avoided.
I prayed for those people in the waiting room. Wherever their lives bring them next. Whatever they return to. Whatever their situation.
I prayed for my husband.
And I am so thankful for the prayers that others have lifted on his behalf. Friends, family.
God is good. God is healer.
The waiting, the wondering and the pain are difficult to handle, but there is still good.
There is still God.
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