I had a successful laparoscopic surgery six days ago. Through the foggy lens of semi-consciousness, this is what I remember about that day: how wonderful the day surgery staff were, how tender my physician was, how well my partner attended to me every need, how my mother drove three hours to say good night, and how incredibly exposed I continue to feel. I have four surgeries in my belt of experience: right shoulder rotator cuff and labrum tear, left knee ACL/MCL repair two years after that, second injury to the right shoulder two years after that, and now the laparoscopy. It’s that first surgery, at the ripe age of 22 that dismissed any presumptions that I was either immortal or invincible: an open shoulder joint surgery and its recovery is painful and long and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

This one, though, THIS one has engraved something in me far below the surface, long beyond those two tiny incisions. Maybe it’s because I have to drive by the hospital to and from work and so it’s a daily reminder of my fragility. Or maybe it’s the symbolism of the procedure itself…an effort to Conceive. Or maybe it is because I embrace Trust, and I yielded guardianship thereof to near strangers for a day. Or maybe it’s because, with this surgery, I have literally seen INSIDE myself: pictures of the endometriosis, my ovaries, my fibroid, my liver. Not just file photos…MY organs. But where was my Spirit? Where was my Compassion? Where was my Empathy? Where was How Much I Care About Those I Love? Where was God Living Inside me? Where was Anger? Where was Desire? Where was Love? How do I get Whole and fill the spaces I couldn’t see? This mortal evidence and the intangible has stirred my Soul beyond measure.

Not that there was ever any real risk in the relatively minor procedure, but it seems that at 32, I’m not cut out for surgery. I’ll toil my Spiritual journey from this side of my skin, thank you. Have you ever pressed your thumb against and LCD monitor and then…poof…LET GO? That’s a visual of what it feels like my perspective/s are doing—of my “letting go”—and there is fluidity and color and warmth. Surrendering to a work in progress. I am changed.

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