I am in awe of being home, cancer free, with the surgeries behind me as if a miracle that I’d wished for has actually been granted, because I’d placed my faith in the brilliance of a pair of surgeons, who developed this two step procedure, and because I believe in the power of love, which empowered my spirit to restrengthen and hold fast to the universal spirit, which is made up of every loving heart that reaches out to mine, most especially whenever the road toward healing feels so painful that instead of being rocky, I feel as if my pain meds are trying to dodge boulders that are being cast straight at the incisions, layered within my chest and back while I tell myself that just as I made it through several hospitalizations during nine months of chemo misery, which led toward my being a candidate for these surgeries, which were followed by time spent in intensive care where the slightest of movements stimulated injured nerves within the surgical field to rebel with agony while the rest of me focused upon feeling more grateful than ever to my husband and sons and extended family and friends for lifting my spirit with such consistency that, during weeks spent at the Airbnb, I found myself able to become a bit more independent, as the first stage of my recovery moved forward, one day at a time, though twice, my brain felt no need to ask for help, which proved a mistake when two of my first attempts to get out of bed by myself saw my walker just out of reach as I slipped to the floor, and then sported a smile while calling for help, because my gratitude at not having harmed myself was so great.
At any rate, these next few weeks in which injured nerves throughout my sternum in front and rib cage in back are less polite than I’d like when signaling me not to move a muscle (which proves counterproductive to healing, over the long run.) will pass, and soon my smile will not depend upon Ativan (which thank goodness is NOT addictive) when the pain, emanating from deep within my physical being, surmounts my pain meds’ ability to do more than take the edge off of the spiking nature of discomfort that accompanies the combination of heart/lung surgery, which literally saved my life.
Now, all that needs be done is to bear the pain of healing while awaiting miracle number two—that being turning so many states blue as to dump the trash talk that’s accumulated during trump’s take over of The Oval Office so as to shine the spotlight upon our need to clean up big bad lies that insist we send our beloved children to school, unmasked, while the Covid pandemic is still stealing lives, and just as two medical heros devised a procedure to successfully remove the cancerous tumor from my body, we’ll rely upon the mindful strengths inherent within Biden and Harris to send trump-the-thief and his gang of thugs packing before our nation sinks any deeper into the bottomless pit, which trump bestowed upon us in exchange for the swamp.
And now, having given the Ativan time to kick in, my walker and I and my pewter-colored flat top are about to walk up and down the length of my house, several times, back and forth, in hopes of strengthening unused muscles without jangling irritated nerves so much as to feel them rejecting my need to exercise all of me in hopes of speeding healing along. Seriously, once vaccinated against Covid, my grandchildren and I have lots of fun awaiting, directly ahead ...
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