It’s a sinus operation. Fairly routine. But with all surgeries there are risks. And the recovery from this surgery is not pretty. I’m trying to think positive thoughts, but my overactive imagination is working back to back shifts.
With my history of medical procedures you’d think I’d be used to this. But no. It doesn’t get easier. Instead of building up resilience, the opposite has happened: erosion. I’m an empty pit.
I’m also a mother now. I have two extra reasons to be alive. I have two extra responsibilities to keep. I have two extra bodies to warm me at night. And damn it, this kind of vulnerability is a slippery stone I carry.
So here I am planning my weeks ahead. Thinking that after tomorrow I will be sunk. For awhile. In true mother fashion I have written lists. Organised for help. Planned food. Reminded everyone of what to do.
It’s not that my husband is incapable, in fact he’s very very good at doing things. But you take out the mother and the ship starts to sink. I’m the keeper of the knowledge, you see. The knowledge that is tricky to pass on. Little things that smooth our voyage. Like the way the 3 year old likes his toast to be spread. The knack of knowing it’s time for his favourite show to start on TV. The ability to find the 5 year old’s lost treasures around the house. The gift of interpreting her mis-said words. The instinct to pull up her blankets in the middle of the night. Where the nail clippers are kept. Where their zoo collection is kept. How to rub their backs when they are hurt.
I am not indispensible, but I know my crew like no-one else does. And mother love keeps us sailing better.
So here I am. Letting go. Trusting my helpers. And hoping it’s not so rough on the flip side.
Send me your good thoughts, virtual cups of tea, positive vibes and prayers – whatever you have to give. I’ll welcome it all.