Growth Spurts
Many women feel that they truly become adults when they become mothers. I feel that I've truly become an adult by trying, unsuccessfully thus far, to become a mother.
Last Wednesday, the morning of my surgery, I woke up and showered, as instructed. I ran my hand over my navel, birth-perfect for the last time. The largest incision would go there.
I washed my legs, and noticed how strong and muscular they had become. I had started a vigorous exercise regimen in preparation for the surgery. (I believe it paid off, in that my recovery was smoother than I had anticipated.)
I groomed and dressed, and arrived at the hospital actually smiling. I laughed at the OR team's jokes. I breathed calmly as I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke, feeling tired and crampy, but otherwise ok. I sat, alone, reconnecting with my body, until my family was able to join me again. I saw my husband enter on the other side of the recovery room, and waved and smiled to him.
In the succeeding days, I let my mother mother me, aware of the paradox. How is it that I felt more of an adult by accepting that I needed my mother to care for me the way she did when I was a young child?
My belly was rounded and swollen from the surgery. I wore soft pants that sat low on my hips, like a pregnant woman. During these days, I was, and still am, very conscious of my stomach.
Several months ago, my good friend Mrs. Harridan brought me a gift: an avocado pit that she had cared for and planted. I watered it and watered it and sunned it and watched it and waited. When nothing happened, I confessed to her that I thought I had killed it, and my avocado pit would never bear fruit. Nevertheless, I kept watering it and waiting.
Ty and I had basically given up hope for the avocado. Then, one day, I noticed an almost-imperceptible purple shoot. I wasn't even sure it was a proper plant; could it have been a weed, or maybe even a fungus?
No. Ty confirmed it was the avocado. We kept nurturing it, more cautiously than ever. It has grown and grown!
Thanks for all your thoughts, wishes, prayers, and comments. I am going to go now, before I beat this metaphor to death. Oh, and if this post started out promising given the material and then went steadily downhill, it's not because of my abilities as a writer. It's, um, the pain meds. Yeah, the pain meds.
Last Wednesday, the morning of my surgery, I woke up and showered, as instructed. I ran my hand over my navel, birth-perfect for the last time. The largest incision would go there.
I washed my legs, and noticed how strong and muscular they had become. I had started a vigorous exercise regimen in preparation for the surgery. (I believe it paid off, in that my recovery was smoother than I had anticipated.)
I groomed and dressed, and arrived at the hospital actually smiling. I laughed at the OR team's jokes. I breathed calmly as I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke, feeling tired and crampy, but otherwise ok. I sat, alone, reconnecting with my body, until my family was able to join me again. I saw my husband enter on the other side of the recovery room, and waved and smiled to him.
In the succeeding days, I let my mother mother me, aware of the paradox. How is it that I felt more of an adult by accepting that I needed my mother to care for me the way she did when I was a young child?
My belly was rounded and swollen from the surgery. I wore soft pants that sat low on my hips, like a pregnant woman. During these days, I was, and still am, very conscious of my stomach.
Several months ago, my good friend Mrs. Harridan brought me a gift: an avocado pit that she had cared for and planted. I watered it and watered it and sunned it and watched it and waited. When nothing happened, I confessed to her that I thought I had killed it, and my avocado pit would never bear fruit. Nevertheless, I kept watering it and waiting.
Ty and I had basically given up hope for the avocado. Then, one day, I noticed an almost-imperceptible purple shoot. I wasn't even sure it was a proper plant; could it have been a weed, or maybe even a fungus?
No. Ty confirmed it was the avocado. We kept nurturing it, more cautiously than ever. It has grown and grown!
Thanks for all your thoughts, wishes, prayers, and comments. I am going to go now, before I beat this metaphor to death. Oh, and if this post started out promising given the material and then went steadily downhill, it's not because of my abilities as a writer. It's, um, the pain meds. Yeah, the pain meds.
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 11:41 AM
8 Comments:
Welcome back. I hope you are feeling better each day. I look forward to hearing what the doctors found in your surgery.
Also, mmmmm..... guacamole.
I can appreciate the avocado analogy as my husband and kids (the Greenies) tended a nasty looking avocado pit. When nothing happened, I wanted to toss it. It took six months for it to reveal a stub of a shoot out the moldy, cracked pit. Five months after sprouting, we have a tall stem and four leaves!
Hope your sore swollen belly sprouts too.
I think your recovery was pretty amazing, since you seemed to be in rather good spirits and almost-fully functioning. You strong like bull! I am hoping all the best for your eventual success - it's gonna happen. :)
And I am psyched that the avocado is finally growing (it sure took its time!). I'll post a photo of mine so you can see how great it's going to look soon (and with very little care or attention).
So glad you're back! :)
It's great to see you back and wonderful that your recovery has been better than expected. Please can you tell me you're going to buy a pair of those sweet tango shoes as a little self-congratulation gift?
Nice going on the avocado, too. Your heart must have done a tiny little skip when you first realized it had actually sprouted.
Welcome back Arabella! I've been thinking about you a lot lately, sending my wishes along for a safe recovery... And good pain meds. Looks like both were fulfilled. :)
Arabella...I thought of you so much last week and over the weekend. Take good care.
Thank you all for your comments! It feels good to be back!
Glad you survived. Whatever you do, don't give in to the urge to probe your laparoscope incisions with a knitting needle or pencil. No matter how much they itch.
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