Monday, May 26, 2014

My feelings about next Monday

I see a clock that basically will stop keeping time,+ next Monday. One week from today.
I see a woman, scared, going as fast as she can to race against that clock.
I see unfinished projects around the house. They are making me more and ever more nervous that nobody will ever finish them if I don't, before next Monday, one week from today.
It's as if these projects will protect her from needing to think about what is around the corner.

I wonder how to define the fear. It's not fear like a lion is about to eat me whole. It's not even that I am fearful of catching the deadly infection again. I mean, what *really* are the chances? At this point, I have as much chances as anyone of getting that infection again. I think.

It's fear like... more pain. Not only that. Much, much deeper, hard to identify. Amorphous fear.

I already went through this particular surgery once, on my left leg. I *know* what I am in for. That is scary. So incredibly scary. I know pain. We go together every day with whatever I do. Weariness accompanies it, of course, weariness which is magnified by thousands after a surgery.
The medicines to fight pain are sometimes just as bad, or worse, than dealing with the pain itself.

I see a woman who is also looking forward, with a much smaller voice in her head, to the dream and faith that this surgery will eventually take away the pain from one hip. Please Gd.

I see a woman, feeling disappointed, and sometimes defeated, by the turns her life has taken, still not able to come to terms with it and be satisfied with her lot.

I feel hot tears on my cheek and a lump in my throat.

She is sorry, God. Sorry that she is not a perfect soldier. That she is not boiling over with happiness to spread over her family and friends. I know her, believe me when I tell You, she is sorry.
She would like to be an alchemist and turn grieving into peace, and quiet happiness. Her faith that You can help her with that task wanes, fairly often.

There is a surgery coming up. It will be what... the 8th? It depends on how many you are counting.

Here we go- the count I haven't actually let myself do until now: I won't start from  my c-section, although it was the beginning of me losing faith in my body.

I'll start with the pre-NF surgery ("hernia"), followed by NF debridement surgery a week later, after which I was put into a coma.

To make the big hole in my belly and leg feel integrated into their body, binding together broken nerve paths and sinews, four-hour skin graft surgery was preformed (anniversary of that this Wednesday). I went home a week after, On erev Shavuot, which is next Tuesday, coincidentally, (insert confused question mark here) the day after my upcoming surgery.

A harrowing year later (a year of more infections, and life-altering Post Traumatic Stress) came the PVNS, another ultra-rare disease. Surgical removal of the synovium, followed by an incidental appendicitis 6 weeks later. After those, we dealt with one of the hardest surgeries to date, the placement of a mesh behind the graft. That one took a year to heal from, and permanent pain medication thereafter.

Barely healed from that, with pain ever continuing, I agreed to a surgery to correct the impingement on my left hip. A screw in the hip to add to the zillion pins holding in the mesh nearby, and I was home again to recover in my upstairs room.

So what is that... seven? So, actually, I am facing what will be the 8th surgery in seven unyielding years.

Monday, June 2nd: another arthroscopic impingement surgery, on the other leg, preformed by the same orthopedist who has seen me through all of this. It will be the third time he is operating on me. He *knows* Sarah Klein. I will leave Ichilov hospital with another screw to fix another broken part, and a cleaning out of all the scar tissue which accumulated while that part was broken. It's hard to imagine that it was broken during all my busy days, months, ...years? That's lots of scar tissue.
It isn't hard to believe, though, if you felt what I feel in my poor hips.

That is a lot of surgery. Not only a lot, but BIG time stuff.

This woman who I see now, she is grieving, and terrified.

And presently, but not nearly always, crying.

But, she has a thriving vegetable garden, made out of a bed box!!

veg garden growing beautifully with melons sprouting

garden box with umbrella for harsh sun protection, and Emma in the background, guarding it.

Ya'akov's sunflower patch, thriving and shining their yellow faces every day.


  1. Dearest Sarah, I wish you an uneventful surgery that will heal all that which can be healed--taking away the suffering, sof sof, forever. May this ine be a light experience of LIGHT for you.
    with love and my best wishes always

  2. Dear Sarah, Your thoughts are powerful - choose to focus on light and healing - choose to visualize yourself in perfect health!
    love always,

  3. Wish we could roll back time, but we can't. What we can do is bring meaning to what we go through via our creative outlets and the love we share with family and friends. You are not alone.
    Love, Miriam

  4. I will mark my calender and remember you.

  5. Sending positive and healing thoughts.

  6. May it be the last one; healing and giving you relief! bsorot tovot!

  7. Thoughts and prayers for a refuah shlema u'mehira are with you!

  8. think positive and imagine yourself better after it all. Of course just take a deep breath and trust the is not in your hands. I will be thinking about you. Are you interested in Reiki? I would need our room number to "send".

    1. Sure! I'll take any healing energy I can! I hope I'll remember to send you y room number, but maybe also you can send me an SMS some time Minday evening and I'll tell you.

  9. I can certainly sympathize with you, Sarah. I remember how terrified I was when I thought I would need surgery on my prostate, and that was for very standard and common surgery. And you needed to go through 8 surgeries! Oy vey! I will certainly include you in my tefilot, and we'll keep in touch.

    1. Thanks, Michael. And my motto is, there *is* no standard and common surgery. Every surgery is a risky one, by the mere fact of it being a surgery. Yes, I've been through many surgeries. It is crazy, but I am not dwelling on the past. Right now is where it starts.
      May your t'fillot reach straight to the heavens quickly!! :)

  10. I'm a friend of your brother's and wishing you a successful surgery. Your writing is beautiful and touched me as I'm sure it has others. I hope that that energy will be returned to you in the form if deep healing.

  11. Thank you for sharing this, I too wish you all the best for Monday.