I wrote in FB, “When the ‘on call’ staff changed, another PA from the surgeon's team arrived; I realized that I met him at the hospital weeks earlier right before my operation. He read my test results. He said my temperature was normal, nothing bad appeared on the X-Rays, and my blood cultures were not really high in white blood count or other infection indicators. He felt that possible bruising from working my arm too hard or local damage from surgery caused the weird appearance and occurrence on my upper arm. To reassure himself of his findings, he felt around finding no pain or abscessing in the area. Nothings in the healing process felt unusual; that man found no unusual discharge. My three scars felt and looked fine so the guy discharged me from that hospital’s ER.”
Before being released from the medical facility, a staff member filled out some forms asking me name, rank, and serial number. At some point he asked, “Occupation?”
Julie reminded me often to stop denying my career, “Most authors don’t earn livings writing but you are still a writer so say so.”
Remembering her past scolding, I answered, “Inspirational writer!” Nervously laughing while pointing at my shoulder, mocking myself occurred; “I know, right? Can you imagine a faith healing author looking like this?” He politely wrote on my chart never denying that I might be able to heal faith with my text- in spite of how many fingers type it.
I continued jesting about every little thing to relive the tension and pressure of that ER experience as well as my predicament as my husband and I walked to the car at 9:30 that night, “What a roller coaster ride but I guess sometimes getting the cold shoulder is a good thing.”
Philosophically, I added to my Facebook entries, “During this ordeal, all I had left was DR. GOD. Remembering that as my spirit prayed, I felt a cool sensation over my warm arm I thought, ‘His sign was right! False alarm!’ The Master of the Universe pointed to being the final decision maker and in charge of it all. He left my arm- my left arm.’”
My reality started in the first ER; I did whatever it took to go home after my operation so that my husband could get peace. Too recently, he’d sat vigil for both parents. My husband had to make awful decisions about his dad's cancer in April 2008. Then, he had to help his stepfather make hard decisions about his mom's coma & pulling plugs in February 2009. Months after those two deaths, which were less than twelve months apart, I shattered my arm resulting in a major operation. My fall came too quickly on the heels of their deaths.
“I'm sorry,” came from my lips before they put me in each ambulance, after surgery, and every time he looked at me. Even if I didn’t speak those words aloud, I was sorry he had to make hard decisions, again. It felt too soon to be making choices about my arm and possible amputation; that day was the worst day of my life thus far, I stayed strong for him but wanted to wail in ER. Plus, I wanted to cry since the ambulance ride to the first ER but kept my sanity with my fast wit and Heaven’s interventions; that’s the only explanation for my attitude as I walked out of the hospital after that nearly fateful night.
My poor kids worried about me enough. I kept Stacey from the hospital blaming her young daughter and her pregnancy. It shielded her from the reality that my operation was a big deal. She’d been through enough as a child as well as after her first birth. She’d already seen me hospitalized right after her mom and dad left for Heaven. It was too soon after all those traumas for this surgery and life changing event to happen to us as a family but especially to her- and me.
Therefore, as we awaited the infection results, my husband did not call the girls right away; we didn’t want extra worry. He called our daughter that isn’t married and lives with us because she would notice our status upon returning home from work. He didn’t tell her the seriousness of the situation.
She happened to see the neighbor that arranged all the meals into our home and mentioned that I was in the ER. Unbeknownst to her, the lady was close friends with Stacey. She texted my other kid, “What is wrong? Why is Cindy in the hospital, again?”
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