I wake up as my head is thrashing from side to side like wind shield wipers going full speed. Vaguely I hear a nurse call my name and the taste of anaesthetic is so thick in my throat that it's hard to breathe. It takes all the concentration I can muster to slow my thrashing from warp speed to intermittent. It's like this every time I wake up from surgery.
Eventually my head stills. And as it does the reality that my breast is gone hits me so hard that I arch my back as a sob rises from the very core of my being. One single sob then I'm gasping for breath. Over and over again.
The nurse leans her head close to mine and says, "I can't do anything for your emotional pain but I can dry your tears." Then as gently as a lover she takes a tissue and dabs the rivulet of tears as they fall towards my ears.
Eventually my head stills. And as it does the reality that my breast is gone hits me so hard that I arch my back as a sob rises from the very core of my being. One single sob then I'm gasping for breath. Over and over again.
The nurse leans her head close to mine and says, "I can't do anything for your emotional pain but I can dry your tears." Then as gently as a lover she takes a tissue and dabs the rivulet of tears as they fall towards my ears.
5 comments:
What a beautiful start.
Thank God for genuinely caring nurses. One of the things I carried away from my experience was a renewed appreciation for what the good nurses do (and thankfully, all of mine were "good").
Oh Cheryl, how incredibly poignant and honest. I keep you in my thoughts and prayers everyday. Recover.
That is such a clear and holy picture of kindness.
Tears here for you too, Hope. Will write back later today.
Miche
Praise God for that nurse. And praise Him for your presence here.
<3
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