BagOfNothing.com

Despite a rough night in the hospital, I’m feeling much better. The physical therapist used the video of me walking and throwing the football as a baseline for tests this morning. I could walk unassisted with only a slight limp and have regained a lot of my balance and coordination. A lot of my fine motor skills have returned, though I’m still is experiencing some numbness in my extremities. My bandage is itchy and neck is sore, even with a lot of pain medication, but my overall condition has improved. I’m still on a clear liquid diet but crave a chicken-fried steak at the moment. My throat is sore, but not scratchy, and eager to have my catheter removed. Because of COVID protocols, my children could not visit, but thanks to modern technology, I had a video session with them. Discharge may happen after 2:00 PM and I’ll remain on a soft food diet for a few days. Emotionally, I’m doing okay, but miss the support of my family and former spouse.

A pastoral friend shared this liturgy. I love the liturgy because they help me put my fear and needs in words I normally wouldn’t be able to come up with on my own. I’ll selfishly admit I prayed for my surgeon and his team to have a great and restful night of sleep. Last night I found out because of the hospital’s COVID protocol, my kids can’t visit me after surgery. I had doubts their mother would actually bring them, but now I know for sure I won’t see any family or loved ones when I wake up.”

INTERCESSORS: You designed
our bodies, O Lord,
with a wondrous capacity for
regeneration and healing.
You give wisdom and knowledge
and skill to those who by long
training in their professions learn to
diagnose and treat ailments of the body.
And you, by your Spirit, sometimes
effect miracles of healing that even
the most skilled of practitioners
cannot duplicate.

PATIENT: Today, as I submit myself to
this procedure, I ask, O Lord, that by
all means your care toward me would
be manifest, for I am utterly dependent
upon you. Give to my body immunity and
vitality that I might recover quickly. Give me
strength and health to resist complications.
Give to my medical providers wisdom,
skill, and insight. And by your Spirit,
transcend even what body and medicine
at their best might do. Where it is needed,
bring the healing of your own touch
to bear in my mortal frame.

Be merciful, O God.
Show your goodness to me, and to those
who share my concern. Be now my physician,
my mender, my healer. Even in the midst
of this procedure, let me rest in you.

As I approach this procedure
I acknowledge my own fears at the possibility
of outcomes I cannot control.

O God unshaken by any circumstance,
be now my rock and my refuge.

Still my racing thoughts.
Speak peace to this gale-storm of
my insecurities. In the midst of
my concerns, give me grace
to receive without bitterness
the presence and support of friends
who, seeking to ease fears they cannot
understand, might utter unhelpful things.

Give me also grace to trust,
to rest my trepidations in you,
for your purposes and your presence
transcend all possible outcomes.
Whether the end result of this procedure
brings news that is good, bad, or
uncertain, nothing that is essential or
eternal will have changed;
My great hope is secure.
Let me rest in that.

At the end of this day,
I will still be your child, utterly dependent
on you, utterly loved by you.

At the end of this day,
my life will yet be hidden with Christ,
even as it now is.
I will remain an heir to the promise
that this imperfect, mortal body,
though it faces temporary decline,
will one day be swallowed up
in a glorious immortality

We pray for good outcomes from
this procedure, O Lord.
We ask for good outcomes,
pleading that you would be mindful of
our mortal frailties,
but we know that regardless of the
tidings to come, you are tender
and present and sovereign over
all circumstance,
and what is more,
you love us fiercely and eternally.

Therefore I would trust you to lead
me well along the paths of any
wild and perilous country.
You are my shepherd.
This day will hold no surprises for you.
Let me rest in that.

Amen.

Me, trying to throw a football as far as I can, two days before anterior cervical discectomy and fusion (ACDF) surgery. Six months from now, “How much you wanna make a bet I can throw a football over them mountains?”

I’ll admit it, I’m scared, but I don’t want to continue living life like this. And, if I don’t take care of this now, it’s going to get worst and I’ll have permanent paralysis. The good news is I have the best neurosurgeon in the Dallas and this is his second most common surgery. I pray he gets a good night’s sleep tomorrow night. I expect to make a full recovery. Right now, I can’t feel me left hand. As a matter of fact, when holding my phone yesterday, I wondered what I was feeling with my right hand, which is also very numb. It turns out it was my thumb. It’s weird being able to feel with one hand and touching the hand you can’t feel with, it’s odd and hard to describe. I wrote most of this post using speech-to-text.

Of course, recovery will be a challenge Heck, the entire year has been challenging, but it’s an excellent opportunity to work on dealing with adversity and building up resilience. You don’t learn those things any other way than going over troubled waters. That’s much easier said than done. It’s a bit freaky thinking how the surgeon will go through my throat, move my esophagus over, and then remove and replace parts of my vertebra. Funny story, when I was researching videos of the surgery, it amazed me at how rough the doctor was treating the patient and didn’t understand why certain sanitary measures weren’t used. It wasn’t until 20-minutes into the video that he mentioned he was working on a cadaver.

Maybe I’ll post some video updates when I’m on my pain medication. That should be fun. I think I’m most worried about the emotional part of it all, like waking up from surgery and not having any family there and then not seeing my kids for 11 straight nights since my ex-wife has possession of them. And going through my first holiday season as a divorced dad is going to be awkward. The word “alone” keeps haunting me. I hope 2022 will be a better year. There’s also a cabin fever aspect I’m concerned about as I’m not supposed to drive for a while.

I often tell my kids it’s not what happens in life that matters, it’s how you respond. Again, that’s much easier said than done. It’s a long path up ahead and it’s all unchartered. I don’t have a map or compass, just my faith, which doesn’t feel all that tangible at the moment. But no matter how tough I may feel I have it, I know someone out there would switch spots with me in a second. Having that perspective helps. I’m not used to asking for help, it’s awkward and hard. I’ve always prided myself on independence and was the person doing the helping, not the one who was being helped. Thankfully, there’s a U2 song to help me learn that lesson. I’m also thankful my church has set up a Lots A Helping Hands page to meet any needs I ask to be filled. I just need to feel comfortable asking and accepting being ministered to. Never did I imagine I’d be doing all this alone. I can’t help but wonder what things will be like when/if I become old and near death.

Next Friday, right around lunchtime, I’ll be in the middle of an anterior cervical discectomy and fusion (ACDF) surgery. Hopefully, it will cure my loss of fine motor skills, strength, coordination, and balance. The symptoms have progressed faster than expected. I now walk around with a cane (I have my good and bad days/moments) and typing and writing are difficult. I’ll be honest, I’m a little freaked out and ponder how my 46-year-old-body is so banged up. Here’s a four-minute video of me trying to volley with DaughterGeeding. Even though my fingertips are numb and can barely lift my arms above my head, playing with my kids brings a smile to my face.

What else brought a smile to my face? DaughterGeeding memorized my favorite poem, If by Rudyard Kipling. I should recite it daily to get me through this purgatory.