Laid Open

Are you a fan of those "Life in the ER" shows? Or what about NCIS, Law and Order, or CSI? Great writing, intriguing stories, amazing actors and oh yeah: occasionally they have an actor laid open portraying an autopsy or undergoing emergency surgery? Yikes...

I realize, it's not real, but wow....it can be pretty gruesome. It looks so realistic and can leave you feeling more than a little sick. Right?

Strangely enough, that is how I'm feeling these days; "laid open." I am not in a position for hiding anything. For some reason, I seem to be perpetually on the table for an emotional surgery.

I never wanted to be the type of person that was defined by "her story." I wanted to be defined for my accomplishments, my education, travels, artistic ability, leadership, my vocal abilities; you get the idea.

Yet, for reasons I can't explain, "my story" is exactly what's on the forefront these days. For more than a year I have been "exposed" as a woman that is fighting for her life.

Jobs, cars, possessions and even friends: have fallen away.  I have  become endlessly, completely vulnerable and although I think I am more than ready to have the "surgeon" close things up, it seems I am everyday "telling my story."

*Yes, I had to apply for public assistance.
*Do you have any scholarships for the field trips?
*Yes, my husband abandoned me.
*Yes, I have two degrees.
*Yes, I have 15 years experience.
*No I'm not employed at this time.
*Yes I've tried that.
*No, we don't have that anymore.
*No, honey we can 't right now.
*Yes, I'm a single parent.
*Yes, I have tried that.
*We have to wait honey.
*No, there isn't any milk left.
*We don't have the gas to get there.
*Yes, I've tried that...

I lay there on the table.

Just when it looks like the surgical team is ready to close, someone yells: "Get the rib spreader stat!"
And there we are. Again. A sheet symbolizing some shred of modestly placed loosely across me, seemingly ridiculous at this point and completely at the mercy of the surgeon.

But, with any surgery, eventually the anesthesiologist awakens you; although slowly, and sometimes leaving you disoriented for hours, it still happens.

I know it's coming.

I know it can't last.

Earlier this year, my daughters had their tonsils removed. At the same time.  Recovery was, how should I put this? BRUTAL.  Both, in pain. Miserable, heart-wrenching inconsolable pain.  The whole "unlimited ice cream" fantasy is just that.  It actually hurts too badly to have ice cream.  It didn't matter if it was Haagan-Daas, or some generic brand....it still hurt. Since then, they have both had a few colds, or sore throats with season changes and they've each said: "It doesn't hurt where my tonsils used to be" it's in a different place. Hmmm...

So, I was wondering...when I "go to recovery" will I start to make references like: "Where my pride used to be," "Where my shame used to be, "Where my embarrassment used to be" doesn't hurt anymore.

I am waiting.

And while I am on this table: "laid open" I still will get to the other side of it.  That is the God that I serve. For He has promised: "And the God of all Grace who called you to his eternal glory, in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.
I Peter 5:10  (TNIV)

And what is my anesthesia? "There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off." Proverbs 23: 18 (TNIV)

So, as I shiver from the icy cold of the operating room, wearing those hideous beige socks, I let myself go under because after all, this surgeon comes with great references.