recovering

It's been three weeks (about to the minute) since my surgery.

Things went very well. No complications. Everything went smoothly.

And things since the surgery have been...

hard

humbling

but so worth it.

- - - - - - - -

Because they were cutting both of my hands they had to put the IV in my foot. SO very painful. The nurse and doctor that put in the IV were so nice and so apologetic. But man, it hurt so bad.

Before they took me into surgery, the nurse asked to see each of my hands, and then proceeded to write "yes" on each of my wrists. A little while later, my surgeon came in to chat and had to initial my wrists. A pretty simple thing, but I can only imagine all of the lawsuits and problems that come if for some reason they operate on the wrong appendage... Better safe than sorry, I guess. But who'd have thought that writing "yes" on your wrist with a sharpie could solve so many problems?

So they wheeled me into surgery. And I don't remember a thing. They asked me to slide over from the gurney to the operating table, but I don't even recall how my head hit the pillow. I was out. I woke up a few hours later, bandaged like a boxer.

The surgery itself was less than a half hour. But I could immediately feel a difference in pain when I woke up. I hurt from being cut open, but the excruciating pain and numbness from before was gone. Still is. It's amazing how modern medicine has progressed to allow a simple procedure to result in such a complete change in how I feel.

I'm so grateful.

As you can imagine, being wrapped up so much and still in post-surgery pain, I couldn't do anything.

When I say "anything," I mean everything. I couldn't feed myself. I couldn't lift a paper cup to my mouth. I couldn't brush my teeth. Couldn't get hair out of my face. Scratch an itch. Open doors. Shower. Get dressed. Hold a remote. Use my phone. I couldn't even walk down the hall by myself. If you think about all of the things you do with your hands in even one hour... It's amazing how useful hands are. Something I suppose I very much took for granted.

It was frustrating to not be able to do anything for myself. It was humbling to have to ask for help for even the tiniest of things (and some of the not-so-tiny things... like going to the bathroom). It was hard to just sit around all day being waited on. It taught me a lot of patience to rely on someone else to feed me every single bite of food for two weeks. It was faith-building to realize that I can be healed from so much pain. It was overwhelming to know how many people loved me and cared about me.

So many people sent such nice Get Well cards.

So many people brought us dinners.

So many people sent flowers.

So many people called and left sweet messages.

So many people told me they were praying for me.

I'm humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude for the love I have seen.

So, thank you. For everything.

- - - - - - - -

About a week and a half after the surgery, they had me come in to change the bandages. So I downsized to gauze and ace bandages - a welcome alternative. The big bulky bandages were thick and sweaty and itchy.

With my hands not as bulky, I was able to start moving my fingers again, but only in small, simple movements. I could hold my toothbrush and move my head back and forth to kinda brush my teeth. I could use one finger to turn on the power button of the tv. But that's about it. After several days, I could hold a plastic fork with a baby bite on it and feed myself. Small things to normal life, but such great accomplishments for me.

And last week, they finally took the stitches out.

I have a pretty strong stomach and don't usually get woozy or pass out, but I came super close to it when they took the stitches out. My hands hurt just being in the open air. The wounds were still sore and tender and the stitches were so close to my skin that they had to pull it really tight to be able to cut the stitches.

It hurt. But I'm tough. I winced through the first few stitches, but started to get clammy and dizzy when I could feel the stitches being pulled over the wound and then under my skin. It was freaky. But I survived. (Barely.)

- - - - - - - -

Now, I'm on the mend. I'm still slow at any hand movements. But I feel stronger everyday.

I can:

type, though very, very slowly

cut my own food

turn door handles

almost play an octave on the piano

brush my hair

... so many things.

My hands are still tender. A little swollen. And if I try to do too many things they ache.

But I'm being healed.

And it's an incredible feeling.

hands

In less than 24 hours, I'll be in surgery.

Carpal Tunnel Surgery.

On both hands.

I've been more excited than nervous since the date was set.

But this morning, I woke up with that empty pit feeling in my stomach.

But I know everything will go well.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Through a frustrating and way-too-prolonged course of events, I ended up scheduling the surgery with my neighbor and back-up Ward Organist as my surgeon.

My surgeon is very good at what he does, highly recommended by everyone I've talked to, and, most importantly, fully invested in my recovery.

He sent me a text message this morning that said:

Looking forward to tomorrow. Best wishes to both of us.

My symptoms became pretty unbearable this spring - in both hands. I've been suffering with symptoms in my right hand for several years, but it was always manageable. And it's easy to still do things when you have one perfectly working hand. But when they both practically shut down.... It's bad news.

So this spring, when I felt like cutting off my hands every day, I finally went to a doctor. He referred me to a highly sought after hand surgeon that just so happened to be covered by my insurance. I was nervous and excited about the prospect of surgery, and called to make an appointment.

But his first opening was in the middle of August.

And it was May.

I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to wait to get in to see him, telling myself, that if the waiting list was so long, he must be the best. Right? The summer basically came and went, and the day of my appointment had finally arrived. I geared myself up for good news and bad news, preparing my heart for whatever the outcome would be. I was scared he'd say surgery was necessary. I was scared he'd say that I'd just have to wear braces on my hands for the rest of my life and live with the pain.

I arrived at my appointment 20 minutes early, thinking that I'd need time to park, fill out insurance info, and just to sit in the waiting room and calm myself down. But when I walked up to the reception desk, everything changed.

I said I was there for a 1:00pm appointment. They told me to have a seat and that they'd be with me soon. I waited about 15 minutes, not thinking anything was wrong, when the receptionist came back to the desk and informed me that I did not have an appointment with the doctor. I said that I was sure I did, and asked her to check again. She did a little digging and found out that the woman who I made the appointment with put my appointment in with a foot specialist. Awesome. Because I'm sure a foot specialist is interested in carpal tunnel. In my HANDS.

My eyes welled with tears, and I tried to hold them back and asked the woman what I should do. She kindly said that she would help me reschedule. I brushed the tears aside and said ok, and waited for her to look up the next available opening:

November 30.

And that's when I started crying. A lot. Almost in pitiful sobs. Almost. She apologized for the long wait and for the inconvenience, and said that she wished there was something else she could do for me... "but would you like the November 30 appointment?"

I declined, thanked her for trying and gathered

my things while hurriedly trying to get out the door.

I almost made it to my car before the sobs returned... or... er... started.

I sat in my car for 20 minutes, heartbroken and in pain. I couldn't believe that I had waited over 3 months for this appointment only to have it messed up. I was angry. Sad. Hurt. Why did I have to wait so long? It was so unfair.

I came home and started my search for a doctor all over again, when a little voice in my head told me to send a message to my neighbor. When I had talked to him earlier in the year about my hands, he mentioned that he did Carpal Tunnel Surgery, but that his practice didn't accept my insurance. So I sort of wrote off the idea. But my little head voice (read: Holy Ghost) said it again:

Send the message.

So I did. I mentioned that my appointment fell through with this other surgeon, and that I knew he didn't accept my insurance, but wondered if he had any recommendations for what I should do or who I should see.

He kindly informed me that he had recently signed an exclusive deal with my insurance company, and would be happy to fit me in at my earliest convenience.

I made an appointment for a few days later and, this time, was not scared at all before the consult.

He immediately put me at ease when I walked into his office - in fact, he came out to the foyer to say hello while still meeting with another patient! He took almost an hour that morning answering all of my questions, presenting all of the different methods of action to take, all of the ins and outs of surgery, and more importantly, recovery. He truly made me feel at peace with the decision.

And it helps that he has a vested interest in my recovery - the sooner I heal, the fewer weeks he has to play the organ in our ward.

I trust my hands in his.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The other day I was talking to a woman that works in my building and she asked me how I thought I developed Carpal Tunnel. I told her about all of the things I do with my hands (read: everything I love to do I do with my hands.) and she said "... well, God giveth and God taketh away."

But she is wrong.

God gave me my hands. He gave me the talents to use them. And he has given me the opportunity to learn a few things about myself lately.

I can do hard things.

I can work through the pain.

And, that through Him, I can be healed.

I've been so blessed in my life to have many talents and abilities. My hands are God's tools. And I hope that I have successfully used them for good, and that I can continue to use them for better. God isn't or hasn't taken anything away. He has only given.

He's given me hope. Peace. An opportunity to stretch and learn. He's given me a deep appreciation for the healing power of our Savior. And He's taught me that I am strong.

I am positive that lining up my neighbor as my surgeon was a divine gift.

It's just one of the many ways God has shown me He truly does love me and is protecting me and watching out for me in all that I do.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So, tomorrow, I say good bye to these:

you could not imagine how hard it is to

take a photo of both of your hands at the same time...

And while I can't really use my hands much for the next two weeks, I'm excited about the prospect of being able to play the piano without my fingers going numb. Or washing the dishes without losing my grip and breaking something. Or making a wedding cake without crying during the decorating. Or, simply being able to sleep through the night without waking up every hour in pain.

I am excited.

And so grateful for the outpouring of love and affection. I am so lucky to have so many people who love me.

Seriously.

Thank you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I would say wish me luck,

but I feel too blessed to need luck.

I'm being watched over.

But I totally appreciate prayers.