It's My Surgiversary!

First of all, I’m at work and this event is over in an hour, so I’m not gonna cry. But last year I had a sternotomy. (Deep Breathe) Just thinking about all of that is making my body cringe. But over this past year I’ve learned to acknowledge my feelings and lean ALL the way into ’em. So yes, I wanna cry, I’m shaking, and I’ll get over it.

The reason for surgery was to remove my overactive, enlarged thymus because I was suffering from extreme symptoms of Myasthenia Gravis. So the cardiac doctor sawed open my chest and cut off the gland starting at my heart and wrapping up and around my neck.

The day before, I woke on the couch and went live on Facebook spilling my beans to whoever was watching about how I was overwhelmed, and scared, and lonely. I think it was about 10 minutes long. Then I hopped off the video because I was getting a call from my job about the strategy for me going into surgery the next day and needing to be off for the 3 months. The first thing they do was starting reading a letter about how I was being terminated because being off for an additional 3 months would cause an undue hardship on the company. I hung up the phone and they emailed me the letter right after. Word for word.

So I made a gofundme account and got back on Facebook live. This time I was explaining more about the trajectory of my diagnosis, cleared up some things people were questioning about why I was so alone if I had a husband, and flat out asked for folks money. Now that I’m thinking back on it I must of have been in denial cause I don’t know HOW I kept it together. I went to pre-op by myself that day. And the whole time I was just crying. Not sobbing, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. It was amazing really. I was weak, vulnerable, alone, and somehow, inside I still willed myself to present through all the tests, injections, and blood drawings.

That probably did it for me. I went to Danny’s funeral on Friday, my grandma’s funeral on Monday, had a Dr. appt Tuesday and he scheduled surgery for Friday, November 3, 2017. It was a hell of a week. So to get fired, the day before surgery, I felt like was a sign that this was the end for me too. Nobody was there telling me otherwise. And somehow I was grateful to God for preparing me for it. So I wrote letters to my kids (which I have since burned), packed my hospital bag (because that makes all the difference of your hospital stay), and went over to my lovers house. I would have preferred to had stayed home with my kids and my husband but I also wanted to be held…

The next morning the girls and their dad sat with me until my intake and then I sat in a room with my parents telling them how I would want my memorial proceedings ,“if it was to go that,” were my exact words. It happened super quick. I undressed, got an IV and in like 10 minutes they were rolling me off and shooting me up.

When I got in the operating room everybody was smiling and having causal conversation. And I couldn’t tell if it was the drugs or what but for a split second I smiled and thought this might work, either way Amen! I’m assuming there were no complications although the procedure took a few hours longer than they said it would.

I woke up, at IDK what time and my friends were there and my parents were there. I was hella scared. I was having myasthenic episodes and wasn’t sure what the heck was going on majority of the time.

I was so drugged up in the hospital and was in complete denial of what had just happened to my body. I had surgerical glue holding my chest together and a hole in my stomach. Smh, lol. Crazy. I was in the hospital for about 4.5 days, I left on Tuesday night. That’s when the pain hit. My body was rejecting the Oxy big time. The shit is teriible. It completely numbs that pain, while making you very nauseated, knocks you out cold, and makes you beyond constipated. And on top of that, I was at home with the girls by myself.

For about the next 6–8 weeks I was so confused on why I agreed to having the surgery or why anyone would want to survive after something so traumatic. It hurt so bad. All the way deep inside my body. And I was so uncomfortable. Man. It took almost 7–8 months to walk up right and not experience extreme discomfort.

Its been a really tough year for me. But I’m thriving, manifesting miracles, living my best life. I still have a lot of down days where my body just can’t keep up or when my mind bucks at the pressure. I almost died, but I didn’t. We all have to go that way though, so I will one day. At least physically.

Til then….

So anyway, it didn’t take long for me to notice myself on the verge of depression. And the only why I could see it on the horizon is because I had been there before and stayed too damn long. Get into it. Where before I was ashamed that I had to ask for help, I was desperate for assistance. Praise the Lord, I had some really awesome friends come from some pretty far distances to come and stay and help take care of me. They were, heaven sent, and right on time.

It also hurt that some of my local folk didn’t tap in, but maybe it was me that built the bridge. Idk. But I knew one things was for sure and that was that I was not gonna be stuck in depression again. I knew how long it took me to get a little peace of mind back, and if it slipped again, my mind would have been gone. Forever.

Not even trying to be dramatic. It was that deep. And even though the pain was just about unbearable, it opened me up to new sensations, and re-introduced me to high sensitivity, in more ways than one. Reminded me what it was like to actually feel again. The shit hurt like hell, but in all things we give thanks.