A continuation of my faith journey with Crohns disease.
There comes a point when you’re in a hospital where you may not be 100% physically, but your are mentally ready to get the hell out of dodge. Those days are the most excruciating…. the waiting. That is where your prayer life becomes critical. Granted, most of your prayers include a lot of phrases such as “Lord, get me out of here now!” and similiar type statements, but at least you’re able to vent.
I guess its the feeling of helplessness and unceasing pain that combine to inflict the most damage to your spiritual life. Offering up occasional suffering was one thing. But, honestly offering up constant suffering was something completely different. Selfishness seeps in and you just want the pain to stop… more than you want to offer that suffering up to God. Fighting that battle between human selfishness and divine selflessness… it’s a constant struggle.
Now, before you can leave the hospital after an intestinal surgery, the first thing you have to do is pass gas. Now, I’ll be honest, I’m really good at this. One might even consider it a talent. But, after my second surgery, it was taking much longer than I wanted. See, the anesthesia actually puts your intestines to sleep and only when they wake up do you start digesting and pass gas. If you eat too much before your intestines are completely awake, your stomach will throw it into reverse and, well, you know the rest.
With the whole smoky, mildewing persistent smell surrounding me, laying in this Miami hospital was pushing my patience to the limit. In this short-sighted mindset, I rushed along my recovery and began eating before I really should. It wasn’t long before I became very nauseous. I was certain I was going to be sick and there were two major problems. One, the bathroom was across the room, which, in my current state, mine as well have been uphill, over jagged rocks during a blizzard. Two, when you get sick, you use your stomach muscles and my stomach muscles were freshly stapled closed… just moving the sheets across them was painful.
This wasn’t going to be my finest hour.
As quickly as I could, which to most humans would look like extreme slow motion, I made my way out of bed. With my I.V. in tow, I scurried my way to the bathroom. Now what?
I couldn’t bend down. I couldn’t get on my knees. I was about to be sick and I was in a no win situation. I put on my MacGuyver hat and made my way to the sink. By now, the time had come. With each wave of nausea, my stomach muscles clenched tight and the pain raced through my body like an electrical current. It was excruciating. After some intense, self inflicted pain, the nausea left me. I cleaned myself up and made my way back into bed.
I had learned my lesson. I needed to slow down my physical recovery, no matter how much damage was inflicted on me mentally or spiritually. Sometimes life just sucks. You just have to deal with it.
To be continued.