“Modern medicine, a miracle, and a giggle.”
The friendly and skilled pre-op nurse told us those three things were the equation for a successful surgery and recovery.
The latest equipment and drugs … important.
Miracles from God … crucial.
And humor, at least a little giggle now and then, plays a key part, she said.
She spoke from experience, having seen her husband fully recuperate from a brain-bleed.
And herself, three times recovered from open heart surgery.
What is a hip operation compared to those? A walk in the park?
Well, that’s easy for me to say. It’s not my skin being sliced, muscles pulled apart, bone cut and drilled out and a metal joint implanted.
I am just sitting here, peaceful, in the waiting room, while Jake gets a new hip.
* * * * * *
This is not my first time to this faith-based hospital.
Four years ago, October, 2014. Jake and I had been camping, and I was cleaning up, beebopping back and forth across a little bridge out the kitchen door to our shed, putting away the pots and gear and stuff.
Somehow I slipped and fell off the bridge. My leg slammed a rock in the creek below.
Auch! My dear tibial plateau — an important part of my knee I didn’t even know I had — cracked.
Jake drove me to this hospital and I was very grateful for modern medicine, miracles, and eventually, humor, too.
* * * * *
[Five days later]
Trying to finish this post, I’ve been thinking that our pre-op nurse’s equation is missing something.
Jake was only in that hospital overnight, but we met so many caring people: the valet driver, the business office lady, the food service guy, the surgeon, different therapists, volunteers, and all kinds of nurses, starting with that pretty pre-op one.
Nurse Compassion, I shall call her. Maybe someday I will be able to tell her she forgot to add herself into the equation for success.
* * * * * *
I remember the second night I was lying in bed with my broken leg, wondering how I would manage, how would I be able to cook the foods I like. (Yes, I am a picky eater.)
Then the doorbell rang.
Who could that be this late at night?
Without consulting us, Daughter 4 and her husband had driven 16 hours from Texas to be with us for a few days.
Mr. and Mrs. Compassion. I will never forget the comfort of their presence, their love and energy gave me hope in my time of weakness.
When they left, Sister Compassion came from New Hampshire and I loved having my little sis nearby for a whole week, cooking and cleaning and laughing.
Isn’t compassionate presence an important part of a successful recovery?
Actually, isn’t compassionate presence necessary for a successful life?
And isn’t that what Jesus is? The “I will never leave you nor forsake you” Presence. The Lord of All Compassion.
Thank you, Nurse Compassion, Mr. and Mrs. Compassion, and Sister Compassion, for reminding me of Him.