I Hurt So Very Badly

I wasn't worried or upset while Mom was in surgery because mostly, I was kind of detached from the entire thing.  My head knew what was going on but I didn't allow my heart into the matter.  It was a defense mechanism, I guess.  While we were waiting to hear about Mom's surgery, I was pretty easy going.  There was a large general waiting room and then there were smaller private rooms.  I didn't like the private rooms because they really look like they existed only for the purpose of the doctor having to tell you your loved one didn't make it . . . .

But Mom was going to make it because to me there was hardly any difference than Mom having a splinter removed --I was just that far removed from the situation.  It was like I was having an out-of-body experience; I was there and going through the motions but yet, I wasn't there. 

Its kind of hard to explain.

So the waiting did make me weary or tired.  I was mostly bored.  My sister Val was reading her Bible off and on and at one point she showed a verse to me and said, "If Mom doesn't make  it I'm going to claim this verse."  I can't tell you how much that annoyed me.  First of all, "if Mom doesn't make it" didn't even translate to me.  It didn't even occur to me to pray for Mom because like I said, I was trying to make this out to be nothing at all --some simple procedure with a happy outcome.  At one point I finally thought to myself, "Maybe I should pray for Mom too."  So I went into one of those small rooms and prayed something like this.

Heavenly Father, I don't know what to ask or pray for but it seems with her in surgery and all I should ---I should try and  --its just that I can't imagine my life without . . .

I stopped.  Tears were swelling up in my eyes and I immediately turned everything off --my tears, my heart, my prayers, my emotions --all of it.  You see, having to pray meant for me to think about what was going on.  Having to think about what was going on was way bigger than me --it was too heavy.  I ended my prayer with . .

I'm sorry.  I just can't do this.  But you know my heart and you know me.  That's all I can say.

I walked out of the room and resumed my wait with my sisters.

It was several hours before the doctor finally came to see us.  We were all in the big waiting area watching TV, talking, waiting ----and he comes in so we all rushed over to him.  He started, "Your Mom is fine.  Surgery went. . "

He was talking a bit with his hands and I couldn't help notice them.  His voice faded into the background as I stared down at his hands and that was my moment of reality.  His hands were all pruny like when you've been in the water a very long time.  I thought, "This is real.  This is happening.  Its not like this on Marcus Welby.  Doctors on TV don't have pruny hands because they didn't really do surgery.  He did surgery.  This is real.  This is happening to Mom."

I have no idea where the Marcus Welby reference came from --even 21 years ago that show had long been off the air --but maybe it was some attachment to my childhood--the place where my memory of Mom begins. . . .

At that moment of reality, I could barely focus.  I hated every word I heard. I hurt so badly.  I hurt so very badly.  With my heart and head swimming in this pool of reality, I tried so hard to focus on the doctor's words  but I only heard bits and pieces . . .

We cut as much of the tumor out as we could . . . . it had already gone too deep into her brain . . . taking any more out would have meant removing part of her brain . . radiation and . . . .months to come . . . any more questions?