I went through my most recent surgery alone. I went to the hospital and checked in alone. No one was with me while the medicos stuck pins in me and took me to the operating room. No one came to visit me during my stay and no one helped me home. One dear friend helped me somewhat behind the scenes, but I faced the regeneration completely removed from anyone I cared about. I'm not complaining. It seems appropriate that I should go through this final transformation so completely alone. It seems almost poetic.
The one exception to that was my mother. She was obviously with me at my first birth but I couldn't stop thinking about how she was not there for my second. That did not seem right. Poetically speaking, she should have been next to me, holding my hand and telling me that everything would be all right. She died nine years ago, so if anyone had caught me silently tearing up as they wheeled me into the operating room, that would have been the reason.
No comments:
Post a Comment