What They Don't Tell You
Do you know what no one tells you about having major surgery? They don't tell you about the loneliness. The lack of friend time because you have zero independence and all your friends have big boy and girl jobs.
They don't tell you about the judgement. They don't tell you some people will never have an OUNCE of empathy. Some won't even try to sympathize. They'll see pictures of your outings on Facebook and make assumptions. "Oh she's fine. Obviously getting around perfectly fine. She's enjoying her time away from work." They won't see the anxiety about money you have since you're making a portion of what you usually do (still so thankful for disability leave). They won't see the exhaustion that follows for the next 24 to 48 hours that partners with the extreme FOMO when you have to say no to more fun things.
They don't explain how mentally and emotionally draining it is. Hand your keys to someone and depend on them for every appointment, every coffee date, everything you need to leave the house for an hour. Go ahead and try. Are they an on time person? Do they get places way too early? Will they make you late? Doesn't matter. You have no choice. The people that pull up behind you in the parking lot will wait in frustration until you get out with crutches and then they might feel bad and just go around instead of laying on the horn. But what about when you don't have crutches and just a fancy brace? AND now you can drive! Pray for decent parking literally everywhere. Pray there's not more than 3 or 4 steps into a place because lord knows your other leg is strong but also so tired from the extra work.
They don't tell you that you'll Pray against infections and complications, but when it happens you're not ready. They don't tell you that when infection and dehiscence happens, it sets you back by MONTHS. And it hasn't even been a month since surgery when you get the infection. But somehow you have to battle this one too. Cover it every night in the shower. Don't leave it open to air too long or it'll scab up and you'll have to manually debride it. But covering it with the wrong type of bandage leads to a weird sweaty wound that is too soft. And then watch out for people because they're all gonna look at you like you're a freak. You have a 4.5 inch incision and a 2 inch bandage covering just the top part. Weird. Be careful the kids don't spill things on it. Also take your antibiotics for 2 months straight until the wound is closed, and then once it's closed go a little longer with the antibiotics because your skin around your incision is now trash from bandage changes two to three times a day for two months.
They don't tell you how often you'll look down at your new body and wonder what happened to the old one. This one has changed in uncomfortable ways, not even just from the surgery. Your muscles are weaker all over. You have zero stamina and are embarrassed to even try to do activity because before when you could do beach body workouts, now you can do 10 min on a stationary bike with hardly any resistance and feel out of breath. Your belly and your arms and everything will change in ways you didn't expect.
You're still strong, but in different ways now.
They also don't tell you how much love you'll feel. How incredibly thankful and blessed you'll realize you are. They forget to tell you that you'll know why God gave you your momma and dad. Why they were uniquely purposed to help you through this journey.
They don't tell you how much fun you'll start to have with your team. You'll get to know your physical therapists birthdays, kids' names, what kind of dog they have, and you'll want to encourage them when they have a hard day. You'll find out your physician's assistant was a bomb body builder, and he's funny and compassionate. You'll find out the x ray tech needs surgery too, and you'll ask her about how her kids are because when you started treatment she had 2 kids, and she had a 3rd since you've met. You'll laugh so loud it echoes when the check-in girl says "hey maggie!" You'll smile so big when the assistant doing vitals remembers your random preferences and is invested in your recovery, asking about your incision every single week whether she checks you in or not. You'll smile and joke with the medical assistants when they come into the lobby to get you without even saying your name.
They don't tell you about the judgement. They don't tell you some people will never have an OUNCE of empathy. Some won't even try to sympathize. They'll see pictures of your outings on Facebook and make assumptions. "Oh she's fine. Obviously getting around perfectly fine. She's enjoying her time away from work." They won't see the anxiety about money you have since you're making a portion of what you usually do (still so thankful for disability leave). They won't see the exhaustion that follows for the next 24 to 48 hours that partners with the extreme FOMO when you have to say no to more fun things.
They don't explain how mentally and emotionally draining it is. Hand your keys to someone and depend on them for every appointment, every coffee date, everything you need to leave the house for an hour. Go ahead and try. Are they an on time person? Do they get places way too early? Will they make you late? Doesn't matter. You have no choice. The people that pull up behind you in the parking lot will wait in frustration until you get out with crutches and then they might feel bad and just go around instead of laying on the horn. But what about when you don't have crutches and just a fancy brace? AND now you can drive! Pray for decent parking literally everywhere. Pray there's not more than 3 or 4 steps into a place because lord knows your other leg is strong but also so tired from the extra work.
They don't tell you that you'll Pray against infections and complications, but when it happens you're not ready. They don't tell you that when infection and dehiscence happens, it sets you back by MONTHS. And it hasn't even been a month since surgery when you get the infection. But somehow you have to battle this one too. Cover it every night in the shower. Don't leave it open to air too long or it'll scab up and you'll have to manually debride it. But covering it with the wrong type of bandage leads to a weird sweaty wound that is too soft. And then watch out for people because they're all gonna look at you like you're a freak. You have a 4.5 inch incision and a 2 inch bandage covering just the top part. Weird. Be careful the kids don't spill things on it. Also take your antibiotics for 2 months straight until the wound is closed, and then once it's closed go a little longer with the antibiotics because your skin around your incision is now trash from bandage changes two to three times a day for two months.
They don't tell you how often you'll look down at your new body and wonder what happened to the old one. This one has changed in uncomfortable ways, not even just from the surgery. Your muscles are weaker all over. You have zero stamina and are embarrassed to even try to do activity because before when you could do beach body workouts, now you can do 10 min on a stationary bike with hardly any resistance and feel out of breath. Your belly and your arms and everything will change in ways you didn't expect.
You're still strong, but in different ways now.
They also don't tell you how much love you'll feel. How incredibly thankful and blessed you'll realize you are. They forget to tell you that you'll know why God gave you your momma and dad. Why they were uniquely purposed to help you through this journey.
They don't tell you how much fun you'll start to have with your team. You'll get to know your physical therapists birthdays, kids' names, what kind of dog they have, and you'll want to encourage them when they have a hard day. You'll find out your physician's assistant was a bomb body builder, and he's funny and compassionate. You'll find out the x ray tech needs surgery too, and you'll ask her about how her kids are because when you started treatment she had 2 kids, and she had a 3rd since you've met. You'll laugh so loud it echoes when the check-in girl says "hey maggie!" You'll smile so big when the assistant doing vitals remembers your random preferences and is invested in your recovery, asking about your incision every single week whether she checks you in or not. You'll smile and joke with the medical assistants when they come into the lobby to get you without even saying your name.
They don't tell you how blessed you'll be when your friends and family rally to help you through some of the hardest, most vulnerable times during the recovery.
They don't tell you how big God is before surgery ( or maybe they do but you dont really understand), but he sure shows up during the hard parts and morphs them into the good parts, into the great parts. They don't tell you how he's so deep in the details that he has orchestrated every single person you're gonna meet. They don't tell you'll need something specific from every single one of those people. They don't tell you how much they need you either.
Because at the end of the day, God DOES orchestrate it all. None of this was a surprise or a shock to him. Nurse curse be damned, God knew. He knew what I would need and he made sure nothing would go faster than he wanted. He allowed complications to strengthen me; to show that my team is patient, kind, and creative; to slow me down.
Physically this journey can't be called "worth it" yet, but spiritually, emotionally, and mentally I am stronger because of it.
They don't tell you how big God is before surgery ( or maybe they do but you dont really understand), but he sure shows up during the hard parts and morphs them into the good parts, into the great parts. They don't tell you how he's so deep in the details that he has orchestrated every single person you're gonna meet. They don't tell you'll need something specific from every single one of those people. They don't tell you how much they need you either.
Because at the end of the day, God DOES orchestrate it all. None of this was a surprise or a shock to him. Nurse curse be damned, God knew. He knew what I would need and he made sure nothing would go faster than he wanted. He allowed complications to strengthen me; to show that my team is patient, kind, and creative; to slow me down.
Physically this journey can't be called "worth it" yet, but spiritually, emotionally, and mentally I am stronger because of it.
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