Ibuprofen and Tylenol

Just 4 days ago I arrived at the Mass General/Brigham Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts at 7:30 in the morning. By 10 am, I was unconscious on a gurney, with a breathing tube and urinary catheter inserted into my body parts. A surgeon removed my right breast and a generous margin of skin and a plastic surgeon scraped a thin layer of skin from my right thigh and transplanted in to cover the open area where my breast used to be. I was told my breast and tissue was sent in its entirety to pathology. In a couple of weeks, I will know if all the cancer has been removed from my body.

Now I sit with the aftermath. I spent two agonizing nights in the hospital and was sent home late afternoon of the third day. I had been told I would be in the hospital for 5-6 days, so I was reluctant to agree to the plan to boot me out of there. It didn’t take long to warm up to the idea though. My daughter drove to Boston to collect me and I was home by 7:15 that evening.

There is a vacuum dressing covering where my breast was removed. It is attached to a machine 24/7 to allow the area to drain. My right thigh stings with every step, so I hobble like a 100-year old person all bent so as not to stretch out my leg. I haven’t showered of course. My hair is greasy. I feel gross. I can’t take the dilaudid they gave me for pain because it makes me nauseous. I think we have discovered the formula, 4 ibuprofen and 1-1/2 Tylenol every 6 hours. 

It occurs to me that my efforts to rediscover centering prayer, rereading those wonderful books—all the praying and journaling pre-surgery have simply faded away.  The physical bodily onslaught keeps me totally in the present, moment to moment of distraction. Spending 20 minutes of centering prayer doesn’t even occur to me. Getting from my bed, to the toilet, to the couch and catching my breath and waiting for my daughter to bring me a cup of coffee is all that I think about. 

I have discovered that God’s presence boils down to a matter of faith, of trust that God is in this with me. It will become something I will be able to see in hindsight when these awful days are behind me and I can once again draw near to God through contemplative practices.