The Patient
On February 24, for the first time in my life, I had surgery. I had surgery a country (and thousands of kilometers) away from my family. Thankfully this surgery wasn't anything serious, just an issue I became aware of several months ago and wanted to have taken care of before it turned into something more serious (possibly in Mozambique away from decent medical care). But not only was it my first time to face surgery; it was my first time to travel alone internationally. As the trip approached, I began to feel a bit nervous about it all. (What if I say something wrong at immigration? What if my ride doesn't show up at the airport? What if I can't get cash at the ATM because I forgot my PIN? And they're actually going to cut me open, eek?!)
But ... although I didn't share about my trip or my surgery publicly, many close family members and friends were praying for me. And it was clear that their prayers were effective, because the trip to Johannesburg could not have gone more smoothly. I had no trouble at immigration (either side), I found my ride quickly upon arrival, I was able to get cash and a SIM card for my phone, the driver took me to get groceries, and I made it to my comfortable room at the guest house. Fear number one conquered ... but surgery still loomed ahead.
My consultation with the surgeon was scheduled for the next morning (a Tuesday). Because of the exceptional support our missions organization provides for us, I did not have to go alone. One of our medical coordinators, Jane, drove me to the hospital, helped me fill out paperwork, and sat with me through my appointment. I can't tell you how comforting this was to me—to have another set of ears to hear what the doctor said and help me process it all. After an awkward initial Trump joke (which is not unusual in South Africa, apparently), the doctor examined me briefly and explained the procedure. "So I'm going to have a scar?" I asked plaintively. His response: "Yes, but I'll make it a nice one." He then told me he would schedule my surgery for the following Monday.
So what was I going to do for a week in Joburg? A week, in Joburg, BY MYSELF? Well, here's what I did. I relished every moment. I shopped. I saw Little Women. I read. I wrote. I caught up on my to-do list. I ran a 5K. I had lots of coffee and Dr. Pepper. I rested. I hung out with friends who live there or who happened to be staying at the guest house for medical reasons at the same time. There was one particular friend, Wendy, whom I spent a lot of time with. She was also there without her family (except for her adorable baby boy Alistair), and she was generous to make me meals, drive me around, and just generally keep me company. I believe God put us there together because He knew we would need each other.
The week flew by, and the day came for the surgery. Once again, Jane was by my side. She was a handy reference when I had questions like, "Why do they say I will be 'in theatre' for the surgery?" (I had visions of "The Junior Mint" episode of Seinfeld, but really it's just the South African way to say "in surgery.") She helped me know what to wear and take to the hospital and assured me that at least two people per hospital room was the norm there. She showed me how to work the TV in the hospital room and told me I'd need ear buds because that's the only way to listen to it. Little things like that. I don't know how I would have navigated that day without her. The plan was for me to go home the same day, but Jane suggested I bring something to sleep in and a change of clothes, just in case.
And that was a good thing. Because when I woke up after surgery, I was in horrible pain. I remember thinking it was the worst pain I'd ever felt—and I gave birth to two babies without epidurals. I was writhing around in the OR, moaning, almost in tears. The nurse kept saying, "Don't cry, lovey, you'll just make it worse." So I tried to pull myself together and prayed for relief from the pain.
Once I made it back to my room, the doctor said I should stay overnight. I don't know how I could have left the hospital in that condition. They gave me an IV with pain meds, and I was so thankful that I rested very well in that hospital bed. I just had to be super careful with any movement, because if I moved the wrong way, I would be in all kinds of pain.
The next morning, Jane came to help me check out of the hospital and took me back to the guest house. My follow-up appointment, which I had to do before I could return to Pemba, was the following Monday (seven days after the surgery). God really worked out the timing on that, because the doctor was leaving town the following day, and if he hadn't been able and willing to fit me in that Monday, who knows how long I would have gotten stuck in Johannesburg, considering all the travel restrictions that have been put in place since that time!
I spent the week after surgery recovering at the guest house, with lots of care and help from friends. Two different friends brought me meals and, once I felt up to it, gave me rides around town to run errands or just get out for a bit. By the weekend after the surgery, I was feeling much better and had the strength to go out to breakfast, to a local outdoor craft market, and to church.
I still had pain and tenderness from the surgery, but overall I felt like I would be able to travel home, as long as I had some help with my bags. The doctor must have felt the same way, because at my appointment the next day, he cleared me to travel home (just in time to catch my return flight the next day).
As difficult as it was to face surgery without my husband by my side, and as much as I missed my family for those two weeks (the longest I've ever been away from them), I'm actually thankful that because of our circumstances, the surgery happened far from home. That meant I could have the time and space to truly recover, a quiet place without the pressures of taking care of my family at a time when I needed to focus on taking care of myself.
Obviously none of this would have been possible without Harvey's calm and steady presence in the kids' lives, parenting five kids for two people, plus fulfilling most of his normal ministry responsibilities, for two weeks. That meant five breakfasts and four packed school lunches each day, plus dinner, of course (no fast food or Uber Eats in Pemba!), and multiple school drop-offs and pick-ups, keeping up with a nonstop four-year-old all day long, and baths and bedtimes. I've never even had to do that myself for that long! Phew!
By now life is getting back to normal around here, except that I still can't exercise or lift heavy things. (Oh, and except for that global pandemic that somehow hasn't quite made its way to Mozambique yet—that we know of—but has still brought almost everything, even here, to a standstill.) I thank God for His generous care in every detail of my trip, surgery, and recovery, and I am deeply grateful for all who prayed for me. And in case you were wondering (I'll spare you the photo), the doctor kept his word and my scar looks to be about as "nice" as a scar can be.
But ... although I didn't share about my trip or my surgery publicly, many close family members and friends were praying for me. And it was clear that their prayers were effective, because the trip to Johannesburg could not have gone more smoothly. I had no trouble at immigration (either side), I found my ride quickly upon arrival, I was able to get cash and a SIM card for my phone, the driver took me to get groceries, and I made it to my comfortable room at the guest house. Fear number one conquered ... but surgery still loomed ahead.
My consultation with the surgeon was scheduled for the next morning (a Tuesday). Because of the exceptional support our missions organization provides for us, I did not have to go alone. One of our medical coordinators, Jane, drove me to the hospital, helped me fill out paperwork, and sat with me through my appointment. I can't tell you how comforting this was to me—to have another set of ears to hear what the doctor said and help me process it all. After an awkward initial Trump joke (which is not unusual in South Africa, apparently), the doctor examined me briefly and explained the procedure. "So I'm going to have a scar?" I asked plaintively. His response: "Yes, but I'll make it a nice one." He then told me he would schedule my surgery for the following Monday.
So what was I going to do for a week in Joburg? A week, in Joburg, BY MYSELF? Well, here's what I did. I relished every moment. I shopped. I saw Little Women. I read. I wrote. I caught up on my to-do list. I ran a 5K. I had lots of coffee and Dr. Pepper. I rested. I hung out with friends who live there or who happened to be staying at the guest house for medical reasons at the same time. There was one particular friend, Wendy, whom I spent a lot of time with. She was also there without her family (except for her adorable baby boy Alistair), and she was generous to make me meals, drive me around, and just generally keep me company. I believe God put us there together because He knew we would need each other.
 |
| With Alistair and Wendy on the grounds of the guest house in Johannesburg |
 |
| A sweets shop in Joburg with tons of American candy |
 |
| My first 5K Parkrun in Joburg, two days before surgery |
And that was a good thing. Because when I woke up after surgery, I was in horrible pain. I remember thinking it was the worst pain I'd ever felt—and I gave birth to two babies without epidurals. I was writhing around in the OR, moaning, almost in tears. The nurse kept saying, "Don't cry, lovey, you'll just make it worse." So I tried to pull myself together and prayed for relief from the pain.
Once I made it back to my room, the doctor said I should stay overnight. I don't know how I could have left the hospital in that condition. They gave me an IV with pain meds, and I was so thankful that I rested very well in that hospital bed. I just had to be super careful with any movement, because if I moved the wrong way, I would be in all kinds of pain.
The next morning, Jane came to help me check out of the hospital and took me back to the guest house. My follow-up appointment, which I had to do before I could return to Pemba, was the following Monday (seven days after the surgery). God really worked out the timing on that, because the doctor was leaving town the following day, and if he hadn't been able and willing to fit me in that Monday, who knows how long I would have gotten stuck in Johannesburg, considering all the travel restrictions that have been put in place since that time!
I spent the week after surgery recovering at the guest house, with lots of care and help from friends. Two different friends brought me meals and, once I felt up to it, gave me rides around town to run errands or just get out for a bit. By the weekend after the surgery, I was feeling much better and had the strength to go out to breakfast, to a local outdoor craft market, and to church.
 |
| Breakfast at the Red Barn Cafe with my friend Jessica and her family |
 |
| The Irene Market |
I still had pain and tenderness from the surgery, but overall I felt like I would be able to travel home, as long as I had some help with my bags. The doctor must have felt the same way, because at my appointment the next day, he cleared me to travel home (just in time to catch my return flight the next day).
As difficult as it was to face surgery without my husband by my side, and as much as I missed my family for those two weeks (the longest I've ever been away from them), I'm actually thankful that because of our circumstances, the surgery happened far from home. That meant I could have the time and space to truly recover, a quiet place without the pressures of taking care of my family at a time when I needed to focus on taking care of myself.
Obviously none of this would have been possible without Harvey's calm and steady presence in the kids' lives, parenting five kids for two people, plus fulfilling most of his normal ministry responsibilities, for two weeks. That meant five breakfasts and four packed school lunches each day, plus dinner, of course (no fast food or Uber Eats in Pemba!), and multiple school drop-offs and pick-ups, keeping up with a nonstop four-year-old all day long, and baths and bedtimes. I've never even had to do that myself for that long! Phew!
By now life is getting back to normal around here, except that I still can't exercise or lift heavy things. (Oh, and except for that global pandemic that somehow hasn't quite made its way to Mozambique yet—that we know of—but has still brought almost everything, even here, to a standstill.) I thank God for His generous care in every detail of my trip, surgery, and recovery, and I am deeply grateful for all who prayed for me. And in case you were wondering (I'll spare you the photo), the doctor kept his word and my scar looks to be about as "nice" as a scar can be.
God is so good to us.
ReplyDeleteAmen, He is!
Delete