"I love you LORD, my strength." Psalm 18:1

My strength was gone.

The surgeon warned me that it would be a big surgery, but his words could not have prepared me for what I would experience after the surgery.

Others suffer worse. Many are not getting better. Their adjustment is to life change.

But, from this surgery forward, I will recognize suffering in a different, more experiential way. Mine came from disorientation and disability. They produce misery and require strength to endure and recover.

One of my nurses introduced me to the condition of hospital delirium. I will address that condition in a future blog post. Google it if you want to know more now. Basically the brain is overloaded with too much change and difficulty. I believe the emotional impact of two weeks in the hospital lingers.

Whatever it was, it was difficult and miserable and in this post, I identify the  disorientation and disability as my sources of suffering, even if only for a little while.

I walked into pre-op of the Cleveland Clinic early on a Tuesday morning able bodied, outwardly healthy alert and oriented. My Chondrosarcoma had no symptoms.

Then, after 8 1/2 hours of surgery, as I was coming out of anesthesia, it was if I was alive but could not live. I was "waking-up" but I could not get awake. I could not get my brain focused on anyone or anything.

Now, in a bed in a hospital room I had never seen before, all I could see was the white board on the wall with the names of my doctor, nurse and CNA for the current shilt. I would drift in an out of medically induced sleep but I remained unaware of how long I had been sleeping. My pain was managed by an epidural with more heavy duty drugs that I believe added to my mental fog, but even with that help that blocked my pain I could tell that my body had been affected by a surgery that changed everything  about my physical abilities.

I passively accepted the care of a steady flow of care givers and technicians, strangers who I had never met. They administered meds, checked vitals, took blood and hung IV bags and reset the annoying beeping alarms. My disorientation made it emotionally difficult. I had a general state of confusion and felt weak and vulnerable.

Disability was next.

The word is usually related to permanent disabilities. Those who suffer with catastrophic illnesses or injuries, who suffer with long term or life long disability, will forever have a bigger place in my heart. And, it is important to recognize that partial and temporary disability are difficult and the loss is real.

My disability is temporary, I think. Only time will tell if I will gain enough strength in my hip to walk properly. My first step with a therapist resulted in the Stat Team responding to me passing out cold. I am not to put weight on my right leg for 8-10 weeks. Moving is very slow and awkward with a walker. I know many can't move at all. My roommate, in the semi-private room, could barely sit on the edge of the bed, as best as I could tell from the other side of the curtain. So, I feel a bit guilty for being impatient at my greatly reduced ability that will last for a few months (hopefully not much longer).

The ability to go to the bathroom has returned, but for the full two weeks in the hospital, the need to be accompanied to the bathroom by a staff person, added to the misery of feeling that I could not properly perform the basic bodily functions.

Concentrating to do my normal tasks, like writing this blog post, has been a challenge. Ideas roll around in my head, but sitting down to do what I want to do, requires a lot more effort to overcome a weakened physical condition, than it did a few weeks ago.

My recovery involves facing a battle on these two fronts of disorientation and disability.

It is deeply affecting me. My surgery four years ago resulted in a surprisingly quick recovery of 3-4 months. This time, now, as I begin the sixth week from surgery, I can tell I am getting better, but I still can't sleep and am a long way from walking. My study on the first floor will remain my recovery room and I try to get used to sleeping on the hospital bed.

I hope I do not come across as whiny, but I need to be honest about how much I do not like my current state of being and how difficult this surgery and recovery is for me.  The misery from disorientation and disability, has affected me more than I expected and the emotional blues from the hospital experiences linger.

So as I sit a lot more and pray, think, read, write, and plan here are 3 feelings forming something deeper in my soul.

This is not an attempt to be heroically positive. No matter what people say about attitude, while it may help, it does not make pain feel good. I am simply recognizing what is going on in my mind, soul and heart while I am experiencing a difficult time.  As one who values care, in these times of introspection, in a new and deeper way, I recognize these three feelings.

1. Caring people make me feel better. When people come to visit me, for a while I almost forget that I am recovering. All the visits are good because, it reminds me that I have not been forgotten. Feeling cared for is valuable beyond measure, so keep caring for the people in your life and ministry. Your care matters. If it is a mild case of hospital delirium, familiar people are one of the best cures. And, the best visits are people who want to learn what my experience is like to me. They ask questions and listen.
2. The pain of others hurts me more than it did before. Involvement in the ministry of caring has given me the opportunity to engage with hurting people. I thought I was pretty good at that, but I am finding a deeper feeling of need that a suffering person may be having from their disorientation and disability. This is true for those I meet and know, but also for those I hear and read about. Sometimes I am overwhelmed, so I groan and pray for God to be present to me, to them and to be known in our world to relieve the suffering. This is more difficult than before the surgery, but it feels right.
3. The Lord is my strength. He does more than fix the situation and give me strength. He gives me Himself and when I experience His presence I find ability to endure the suffering as I focus on God and seek His presence in my days and nights. My calling to care feels more important and necessary than I ever imagined. The strength of His presence exceeds my healthy physical strength, optimism, and dreams. It is a strength I'm just getting to know. In some ways I don't want it, but I know it is best and I need it.

Thank you for allowing me to tell you my current story. While I will always write from my heart, I won't always write about me. But as I work to get back to the weekly blog post and email, I am thankful you are, by reading this today, travelling this journey with me. 

Your care matters!

The pictures above.

The top picture is a model of my pelvis formed by the surgical team at the hospital. The yellow circle is around the hip socket that has been affected by the cancer.

The second picture shows where the surgery was. The original hip socket in the pelvis was removed. The circle to the right shows "it" missing.

A model of the titanium implant that was screwed into that area  is pictured in the left circle. To make a ball from the hip that would fit, I also got a hip replacement surgery.

Consequently I am not to have load bearing on my right leg for 8-10 weeks and 50% for another four weeks.  This cancer, Chondrosarcoma, does not respond to chemo therapy nor radiation.

I am thankful for the knowledge, skills and technology that my devoted surgery team used to remove a growing cancer from my body.

I am thankful for you and many friends who support me, and care for others. Because caring people make a difference. Your care matters!