Mr. Ap. N. Dix

Oh, what a summer this has been.  Off to a rousing start, John & I toured Maui, Darbey and Noah came to visit Vancouver, I hosted my first (and definitely not last!) Shoot Out with some of the most fabulous photographers around, I rescued three orphaned kitties, and all was right in the world.  Then July came. The beautiful sunshine and fancyfree days collided into a mess of IV medicine and morphine pumps and CT Scans and ultrasounds and doctors and surgeons and wheelchairs and hospital beds and surgeries.

A ruptured appendix started it all. And every possible complication kept me on my back until three weeks ago, when I was discharged for the THIRD and final time.  Twenty-six days in the hospital in a span of six weeks is enough, dontchathink?

I’ll spare the tedious details (I sent the story out to my newsletter subscribers yesterday, so if you want a copy of that you can comment below or email me), but as of today, I am released from the surgeon’s care: he sent me skipping out the door (figuratively, of course) and told me to run away from him if I ever spot him in the mall. 😉  All restrictions are lifted, and I’m officially officially well.  Rejoice!

To my surgeon: How does one say “thank you for cutting me open and sticking your hand in my gut?” Is it: “thanks for keeping me alive?” Or perhaps: “thanks for inflicting pain on me?” Or maybe: “thanks for going through all that crazy schooling so you could be in the right place at the right time(s)?”

Actually, I think it’s all over the above.
(And, of course, I hope to never see you again…but if I do, I’ll know I’m in good hands.)

And to my nurses:  thank you for allowing my kitten to visit, for taking out my staples, for making me wear compression boots even when they itched, for encouraging me through the tough stuff, for being a calming and cheering presence, for bringing me ALL the hot blankets one at a time, for forcing me to discuss bodily functions more than any girl should ever have to, for sympathizing when I showed up again and again, for bringing the pain meds and the fresh gowns and the crackers and the ice water.

Basically, thanks for keeping me alive.

To my unofficial nurse (aka Husband): you are awesome.  The end.

Thanks for putting up with all my tears, for letting me (almost) break your fingers when I squeezed through the pain, for brushing my hair when I couldn’t, for bringing my kitty to visit, for holding my hospital gown shut when we attempted those first miserable walks in the hall like the nurses ordered, for cheering me on when it all felt too hard, for sitting by my bedside for hours and hours waiting for the anesthesia to wear off, for reading Scripture to me when I needed Truth, for being so strong when I was so weak.

To my kitties:  thanks for playing so energetically when I had no energy, for making sure I was always entertained, and for not crawling on my very sore tummy (too many times, anyway).

To my friends: thanks for the flowers, the books, the magazines, the stuffed animals, the DVDs, the hospital picnics, the cards, the smuggled ice cream, the visits, the emails, the texts the meals, the housework help. Knowing I wasn’t alone? Priceless.

To Mommy:  thanks for taking me on walks and holding me up when I couldn’t make it to the mailbox and back, for that cup of chai that we timed juuust right between antibiotics so I could enjoy milk for once, for all the cooking and cleaning you did while you were here and – most importantly — thanks for flying across the continent TWICE so you could baby me.

 

To my Aunt & Uncle:  I still can’t believe you drove up the entire coast to come do my dishes and chauffeur me to and from doctor visits.  San Diego is a LONG drive from Vancouver, and yet you did it with such happy smiles and joyful enthusiasm.  You were amazing.

 

Today marks ten weeks since that first surgery.
I’m glad to be well.