Bobby had surgery today.
Long story short, the poor guy broke his ring finger playing flag-football at the beginning of December. (And he'd been so looking forward to playing football with "the guys" on a regular basis, now that we're back in town. Boy, was he ever bummed....) The broken finger led to a visit to the orthopedic surgeon, MRI's, and the discovery of a (thankfully, benign) cyst growing inside of the bone...which is actually what led to the break in the first place. Talk about a surprise!
So, suffice it to say, the cyst needed to be removed. The bone needed to be set. And that is the extent to which I shall discuss henceforward the medically-interesting, but not-for-the-faint-of-heart, details of what was done to my husband today.
Surgery is not fun for anyone, not for the patient (clearly) nor for the family who can only wait patiently and trust the doctors who have their loved ones in their care. I learned that today while I waited for Bobby to come out of surgery. (And, goodness, this wasn't even what I would consider a "life or death" procedure! Not by any means. Sure, there were risks, but it was a small surgery, relatively-speaking. I can only imagine what it would feel like to watch the clock tick by as a loved one underwent a much more serious surgery....) My sweet dad kept me company, which I was very grateful for, but I've decided that there's nothing quite like the anxious, nervous emotion I experienced...knowing Bobby was in good hands, but wishing he were in mine....
I think I shall always remember those initial moments when they wheeled Bobby back into the recovery room. Coupled with the immense relief of seeing him awake and knowing the worst was behind him, was the sadness at his vulnerable, "I've been through the wringer" expression and miserable demeanor. I'll spare you the details of the post-op experience, but let's just say that I hope I never have to see him in such a pitiful state again. He was as brave as one could be, to be sure...but he wasn't firing on all cylinders, either, and it hurt my heart.
The anesthesia wore off safely, and he got the "all clear". We left the hospital 4 hours after we got there.
Modern medicine is fascinating. They do this on a daily basis, and the "get-you-into-surgery-and-then-get-you-home" process is like a well-oiled machine. I was very impressed! But, I don't want to go back for a long time, either. You understand.
Do you know what my incredible husband did? (Of course you don't, but I'll tell you!) Ever the gentleman, he opened my car door for me as we were leaving the hospital. (With his good hand, of course.) I can't say that I'm surprised, but if ever there were an occasion where he could have let that loving gesture slide without so much as a second thought, this would've been it. But, like I said, he's a gentleman. And, I love him for it.
The patient is now resting peacefully on the couch, and the medicine is keeping his pain at bay. I'm so proud of how he's handled all of this...what a trooper.
At the end of today, I'm thankful that my husband is okay...that he's healing and strong and courageous. I'm thankful that we live in a country where we're able to have surgeries that would be far less than feasible elsewhere. And, I'm thankful to serve our God...who can heal Bobby's hand...who guided those of Bobby's surgeon...and who holds us all in His.