I was thinking this week how odd it is that I can sometimes feel that no one cares about me until something happens that I can’t handle by myself – and a flood of friends and loved ones come to my rescue.
That’s what happened at the end of July when I found out I had an aneurysm on my spleen, and the surgery wasn’t what I expected.
I kept the surgery to myself for the most part, partially because I was scared and talking about it didn’t help, and also because I was told I’d be back to normal in a day or two tops.
But the day after my surgery, I knew something was wrong. I was in severe pain and my doctor said I should have little to none.
Two days and a CT scan later, and it was apparent my spleen was dying. Fifty per cent of it was gone by then and the pain I was experiencing was the spleen atrophying, according to my doctor, who had said I’d be fine.
I wasn’t fine. An overnight stay in a Vancouver hospital turned into a few days, and upon release I was told the less-than-reassuring phrase, “We’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
I won’t know the outcome for a couple more weeks, but in the meantime I can say I have been supported, loved and cared for by an entire community of people I just can’t thank enough.
My first support came while in hospital from my sister and brother-in-law who stepped up to take care of my kids for several extra days and accommodate my family at their house in White Rock without complaint. I know we interrupted things for them, but my sister just smiled and said, “That’s what family’s for.”
My husband was a star! He stayed by my bedside to help calm me, hold my hand when things got tough, and keep my spirits up just by being there.
More support was found here at home from my pastor and many members of our church who spent much time in petition to the Lord for my healing. I, too, was praying. A lot.
When I finally got back to the Coast, my friends organized a daily dinner delivery while I was still hurting so I would have one less thing to worry about. That meal ministry meant a lot to me – without it we would have been eating takeout or pasta nightly, and neither are helpful in healing. Plus it’s nice to know someone was thinking about me and cared enough to take the time to make me something.
And the final place I found much support was at work, where my co-workers took up the slack in my absence and never once pressed me to come back before I was ready. I know what a heavy load it can be with one reporter down for the count, and I appreciate the stellar effort by everyone in the office.
So now the worst is hopefully over, and things are getting back to normal. But the memory of that outpouring of love and support will keep me filled up for a long time.
