Ann
Ipock
Humorist,
author, speaker
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I’ve always had trouble making commitments. Except for the real ‘biggies’ in life, as in marriage, raising children, and career building, I’ve basically been non-committal, leaving everything else to happenstance. The way I saw it, I couldn’t go wrong, couldn’t get hurt, and couldn’t be blamed. I didn’t realize that by not committing—i.e., not making a decision—that I was indeed making a decision. Lord help me if, in the past, I took an honest look at the long-term consequences on this irresponsibility.
Of little importance are the decisions such as: Should I wear the black slacks or the black skirt? Somewhat more critical are choices such as: Should I cook dinner or should we eat out? And most important: Should I have the much-needed surgery my doctor recommended or just put it off and ‘hope for the best?’ like I’ve done for the past four years?
That most important decision, that very commitment was the impetus that began this soul-searching and call to action. My life began to change, bubbling over with passion and commitment, because I’ve discovered you can’t have one without the other—or, if you do, your life is in constant turmoil.
When you read this, I will have already had my surgery—a hysterectomy—but as I write this, I am thirty-two hours pre-op and contemplating the upcoming ordeal. I’ve never had surgery, at least not under general anesthesia. Until now, the most serious operation I’ve ever had was a root canal. And I’m thinking there is a whole lot of difference between local anesthesia and general. And that is where the problem lies: I am fearful because I realize for the first time in my life that I will be totally out of control and under the care and mercy of others. Gulp. Don’t let me down, I think. Sure, my doctors at MUSC are top-notch and super-specialists in their field. I have every confidence in their ability, experience and knowledge. So, why am I starting to feel anxious? Maybe it’s because I feel vulnerable in a situation that I can’t control, can’t visualize and can’t regulate. Silly, perhaps? But—maybe not, because if I follow those thoughts and continue on the path, other revelations may follow. The word ‘faith’ comes to mind. Perhaps my personal lesson will help someone else about to embark on a medical journey; be it surgery, disease, testing, and/or treatment. I’m learning that it’s okay to not feel okay, or to feel uncertain. I’m now opening myself up to experience honest feelings and “going with the flow.”
Someone asked me recently if I was getting nervous as time draws near. I replied, “Only about the usual things: Like, will the anesthesia wear off early? What if there are complications? Will the pain linger on?” Then I added, “Oh yeah, and you do realize that the location of my operation (in Charleston) is on a FAULT LINE for an EARTHQUAKE?” Russell, my husband, was standing there and said, “Oh, Ann, that is so YOU!” It’s true. Give me something to worry about and I’ll be sure to stir in a bit of drama.
I know that an outstanding medical team will surround me during surgery, but it frightens me to know I will be all alone—there will be no one to hold my hand, stroke my hair, or embrace me. Then again, will I really be by myself? Russell will be there every step of the way, physically and emotionally. My ministers will be there, supporting me and praying for me. My family and friends will be there in spirit. Slowly, it’s starting to make sense. For me, it’s about learning to “let go” and “let God.” To that end, I’ve found myself reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm many times this week. During sleep-time and shower-time, my prayers have been longer, deeper, more meaningful. I once heard that ‘praying is us talking to God and meditation is God talking to us.’ So, yes, I’ve been praying at the gym—who says you can’t pedal-and-pray at the same time?—and meditating on the beach. I see more now than ever that life is indeed fragile. I’ve taken that for granted way too long. I have recently witnessed the goodness of so many kind individuals—offering prayers, scheduling visits, signing up for meals. This, in turn, makes me want to strive to be a better person.
Just now, when I re-read the ‘pre-operative instruction sheet’ I see it’s abundantly clear that I’m not the first person to have this surgery, nor will I be the last. It’s also pretty obvious that the generic directions have been given out a million times. I know I’ve already made the commitment—heck, I’m staring at my signature on this very sheet. It’s a little late to back out now, don’t you think? No regrets!
So now, along with this commitment, I’m feeling passionate about the new me I will become (and did become through this introspection): No more hot flashes, cramps, fatigue, inconveniences, and irritability. Okay, ‘no more irritability’ might be stretching it.
My pre-op sheet also says I get to take the “gold elevators” at the hospital upon admission. Yes! But it also says I can’t have on any jewelry, nail polish or make-up when I arrive. No! And though I’ve read that some women feel their womanhood is compromised after a hysterectomy; I’m thinking don’t worry; they took care of that beforehand with the pre-op can’t list. Just the same, I’m hiding in the pocket of my hospital gown a tube of ‘Love That Red’ lipstick.
Ann M. Ipock – 12/11/04
– Sasee – February/March 2005