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Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Scars.

Currently, I am plopped on my couch.
The sun is shining through the open window,
 and the loveliest breeze is joining it.
I am alone for the first time in nearly a week.
I forgot how much I love silence.
It's calming. It's peaceful. It's refreshing. It's rejuvenating.

I went in for surgery two weeks ago to remove, what has now been confirmed as, an aneurysmal bone cyst that developed in my femur bone.
First surgery ever.
First hospital stay ever, aside from my birth.
Not knowing what to expect was an understatement, but that was okay.

Since my last post, I received the best phone call of my life.
I had been waiting for the biopsy results of my tumor to come in.
Although my doctor was confident it wasn't cancer, I was still very nervous.
I was at work, and looked at my phone to see the incoming call from my doctor's office.
I picked the phone up with my shaky hands.
Hello?
"Hello, Karinne? This is Dr. Scott. Are you ready for some good news?"
My eyes instantly filled with the most relieved and grateful tears I have ever made.

My mom and I went to the hospital at 5:30 the following Wednesday morning.
We both felt really calm and ready.
After waiting, talking with the hilarious receptionist, changing into a lovely gown, finishing all the surgery prep, I was ready to go.
A nice man then wheeled me to a spot just outside the room I'd be having surgery in.
The anestesiologist gave me a run down of what I should expect.
He was so calming and kind.
Then my doctor turned the corner, and looked at me with a big smile,
"You sleep at all last night?"
"Not really, but I'm ready to do this."
He went over, again, with me what he'd be doing and what to expect.
He then asked with the kindest eyes if I had any questions.
They wheeled me backwards into the room.
From the moment I entered every member of the staff kept me calm,
asking me about school, work, and joking with me.
One nurse spoke quietly to the other, "Should we take her pants off now?"
"No, we'll wait until she's out."
We were about to get real friendly up in there, glad I was out for all of that.

I woke up to my doctor telling me everything went well and that he'd go let my mom know.
That afternoon is foggy.
I remember being wheeled into my room and seeing my mom and my grandma waiting there for me.
I gave them a thumbs up.
Then all i wanted to do was sleep...

During this whole experience, my dad has reminded me of one of its benefits;
I can now relate to people who have experienced the similar things.
I am capable of having more empathy.
Each day, I find that to be more and more true.
I had no idea what it was like to stay in a hospital- n.o. i.d.e.a.
 Now, I know exactly how it is.
I think the right word to describe it is tiring.
It's so tiring.
So many liquids were connected to my veins.
My vitals were checked, what felt like, hourly.
A machine tightened around my ankle every minute to keep my blood flowing.
I had to get help to use the restroom.
I wore oxygen to sleep for the first few hours after surgery.
Lights flashed, machines beeped, staff checked on me all night.
No sleep was had.
But I am grateful.
All those seemingly bothersome things & all those compassionate people kept me alive for those long 30 hours.

 My dad's friend surprised us in the hospital. He brought me a sunshine balloon and a good sense of humor to cheer me up. The balloon somehow became free from the string and floated up to the ceiling, and remained there for the rest of my stay.
His daughter had been in the hospital last summer.
He knew e.x.a.c.t.l.y what it was like to watch a loved one be a patient.
He used his empathy to brighten my day.
I don't think he knows how much that little balloon helped me.
Watching the string randomly untie, then watching my mom try to get that stinker down,
gave us both a really good laugh.
And that was just what we needed.

I believe that is why souls have the ability to empathize.
We are meant to help each other through struggles...
 A friend of mine knew what it was like to walk through the oncology doors, and she cried with me about it.
A childhood friend reached out to me, saying he knew what it was like to have cancer, and if I needed to talk, he was there.
A friend messaged me, telling me she knew what it was like to rely on other people to be taken care of, and not to hesitate if I wanted to talk about it.
My mom's friend has cancer and made us an amazing dinner when we were home from the hospital. Still dreaming about that deliciousness...

Not only has people's empathy amazed me, but their sympathy and love has brought me to tears.
I am so serious.
 The amount of love and support I have received from all of you lovelies is overwhelming.
People I haven't talked to or seen in years have contacted me,
telling me if I need anything at all to let them know.
I honestly cannot explain how much every single text, call, email, meal, visit, treat, message, gift, and hug has meant to me.
A coloring book and a fruit bouquet seem so simple, but those little things changed me.
They gave me so much strength and power.
 Each time I reply "Thank you", I feel it's not enough. I'm not satisfied with that response, but there isn't anything I could say that would give me satisfaction.
 I wish you could reach into my heart and see what you've done for it, for me.
I can't recall another time in my life where I have felt so much support & love.
You all have helped heal me.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

This journey has opened my eyes to things I didn't know I wasn't seeing fully four weeks ago...
I never knew how incredible modern medicine is.
I had no idea.
It is unreal to me.
How people were able to cut my leg open, move my nerves, muscles, and such out of the way, remove the cyst, fill the hole in my bone with a cadaver bone, and stitch me back up to be good as new, is miraculous to me.
I have such appreciation and respect for those souls who work in the medical field. 
Every single one of them has been so compassionate.
It takes i.n.c.r.e.d.i.b.l.e people to be doctors, nurses, surgeons, anesthesiologists, etc.
I never felt scared going into surgery, because of them.
Even after surgery when my blood pressure plummeted and the machine wouldn't stop beeping, I wasn't worried. I knew I was in the best of hands.
Every member of the staff treated me as a soul in need, not an inconvenience.
I will forever be grateful for the time, energy, and money those people put towards their career. 
And I will forever be grateful for their compassion in taking care of me. 
Aaaand I am so thankful for the sweet soul who donated their bones when their earth-life ended, so that I could have my leg whole again.
I wish words could do my heart justice. No matter what I type, it's not good enough...
Could you just imagine reaching into my heart again?
Maybe that will help.

And I think I'll just start crying now as I type this...
Can I tell you how grateful I am for my mother?
Can I tell you how much she has done for me?
The answer to that last question is no, because I don't even know all that she has done for me.
But I do know this:
She will have my back forever, no matter what.
I feel like a big baby, not because I'm crying, but because of my state.
I've had to rely on my family for nearly everything.
It's amazing what being down a leg will do;
I basically sit all day.
My mom makes me food, and sits by me on the couch while we eat.
She helps me shower and change my clothes.
She makes sure I'm comfortable and that I have what I need.
She gets me my medicine.
She helps me go up and down the stairs.
She keeps me entertained.
She basically waits on me all day, every day.
She says she doesn't mind, and I really think she doesn't.

It took all of a day, in my fragile state, to hit me:
She did all that & more for me, for y.e.a.r.s when I was a child.
The past 28 years of her life have been for her children.
That's a simple sentence, right?
To me, it seemed to be, until I opened my eyes and saw my mother at work.
My mom has made my life hers the past few weeks;
She canceled her plans to take me to multiple doctor appointments.
She has made sure to be home for me, not just since the surgery, but since the day my tumor was found. She made sure I was never alone, in case I needed someone to cry on for support.
From the beginning she told me, "You just be completely honest with us. Tell us exactly what you need, don't hold anything back. We'll do what you need." And that, my friends, made such a
difference in my fragile state.
 She was at the hospital with me during the surgery and recovery, with only a two hour break, when the men of the house came to visit.
 She's spent hours and hours helping me with my homework, not to mention she has three classes of her own to keep up on.
One time she was helping me move and I made a noise out of pain,
and she said, "Oh, I hate when you do that..."
I've realized, it hasn't been just the past few weeks that she's put things on hold for me,
she's done that my whole life.
She's done it because she loves me more than anything on the entire planet and wants nothing- nothing more than to see me succeed in this life.
She's my biggest cheerleader.
She's my biggest fan.
I guess I never realized how selfless & beautiful motherhood is.
It's such an incredible thing to witness, and to realize I've had it my whole life.
Motherhood is choosing to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
Oh how grateful I am for such a brave mother.
 I hope I can have her patience, her selflessness, her drive, and her heart if I'm given the chance to help grow a couple sweet souls in my life.
Thanks, Mom.
p.s. happy birthday to you :)

 Thinking it was a possibility for me to have cancer, jolted me.
When I saw the picture of my tumor on day one of this roller coaster, my mind jumped to the possibility of leaving this earth a bit earlier than I'd like.
Perhaps this is a bit too candid...

All I could think was
 I could be gone soon.
I could be gone soon.
I began to shake thinking about it,
and didn't start crying until this little boy's face popped in my head:


Then the rest of my family member's faces followed.
I didn't want to leave them.
I didn't want miss watching that smart little boy grow up.
I didn't want my family to grieve over me being gone.
I didn't want them to hurt.
But if it was my time to meet my maker,
then I would trust it and would meet Him with open arms.
I'd have family whether I was on this earth, or somewhere in the stars.

Since then, I've tried to love and live more fully,
because life can do a 180 in less than 10 seconds...
I'm working on investing my whole heart into everything I do,
& embracing everything I feel.
So I take moments to took at those snow covered mountains,
and that gorgeous blue sky.
I appreciate my family and let them know.
I close my eyes to focus on the warm sun touching my skin.
When I laugh, I don't stop until I'm done, even if it's an awkwardly long time.
I don't hold back tears, regardless of the reason and regardless of who is with me.
I enjoy every single bite of that delicious chocolate frozen custard.
I soak up all of Owen's giggles & care-free dance moves.
When the man in my life reaches for my hand, I told tightly onto his.
When people talk with me, I focus on them.
I want to be fully present in every moment.

 Life is hard.
There is no way around it.
As I get older, my eyes open more and more to the pains that are possible in this life.
Most seem like too much to bear.
Perhaps some are.
Waiting to find out if I had cancer was the hardest experience of my life.
I felt so many things I had not felt before.
Most of those emotions don't have words.
There's not a way to successfully explain them.
At the time, deep down, I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide.
I knew I couldn't.
 Whether I accepted it or not, facts were facts,
so I decided to face it like the warrior my best friend told me I was.
All I could do was learn from it.
That's all we can ever do from tough experiences...

The physical evidence of this experience will be quite prominent on the back of my leg.
I have a nice, big, beautiful battle wound.
I've always found scars quite lovely.
I think because they mean a challenge was conquered,
a pain was triumphed,
a struggle was overcome.
They are a reminder of courage and strength.
Those scars shape us, change us, and mold us into the warriors we are meant to be.
 When I look at my scar, of course I'll remember the unsurety, the anxiety, the pain, the overload of emotions and thoughts I'd never had before.
But, I'll remember what came after;
all the help, all the empathy, all the support,
all the love.

In less than 3 months, I'll be good as new, but even better, thanks to you.
Thank you for pulling me through.