The ability to receive
THE ART OF BEING CARED FOR
FOR THOSE WITH SHORT ATTENTION SPANS, SKIP DOWN TO THE NEXT RED SECTION:
My apologies in advance for TMI. Also, trigger warning - SA.
On Monday 6/23/2025 I had surgery. Stuff happens, you know? You lose 111 pounds over time, yay! Then gravity happens and things get stretched out. It was time for that to be corrected. I’ve had a lot of medical anxiety (until recently). There were bladder tests prior to this which involved being catheterized during the test. When I delivered my only child, they catheterized me. I don’t know if something went wrong or what, but for 10 years, I had repeating thoughts about it that came with a PTSD response. For some reason, I could feel them inserting the catheter and I could feel them pulling it out. I was not looking forward to this ‘Urodynamics’ session. Yet I got through it. Not graciously, but I got through it nonetheless. The nurse could not have been kinder. At the end she said I’d done good. I made some offhand remark about how I had been a pain for her with all my anxiety and trauma. She said, “Girl. I am making you TAKE this win. You did good. Take it in.” Alrighty then.
The surgery was in a part of my body where I’d experienced and done deep work on major trauma. Recent work using biofeedback with Dr. Sam Harvey, a functional medicine doctor, had uncovered a genetic condition. This provided answers I’d been looking for since 2010, for example, why my legs had atrophied, why I couldn’t build muscle, etc. The cause was Central Core Disease, and an inability for my body to properly use lactic acid. In briefly researching it, I learned that people with this issue were at risk for malignant hyperthermia from anesthesia. It is potentially fatal.
I had doctors telling me not to worry – that it was rare. It didn't matter what they said. It wouldn't be the first time I'd advocated for myself. I was going to bring this to the anesthesiologist. I was aware that I might not be heard. However, the way I make myself feel safe is to have all the information and to make sure I have spoken up and given it to those who need it. Beyond that, it's up to powers greater than me, and I can feel secure that I've done all I can.
I gathered the scientific documentation from Dr. Sam on how she’d found it, and wrote a letter to the anesthesiologist. I asked him not to discount me because it is rare – it is rare because most people don’t have this genetic issue. I do. I asked for certain precautions. I explained that I wasn’t trying to tell him how to do his job, and that I deeply respected him, but was asking for him to be conscious around this.
My plan was to email this info to them but nobody knew who the anesthesiologist would be, and there was no email address. I’d hoped to meet him at my pre-op visit three days before but all were in surgery at that time. So I printed off all of those things, including 8 pages of the various things that Dr. Sam did since the beginning in 11/24. Very detailed stuff. I knew he would not take the time to read it.
For previous surgeries they had given me Versed for calming almost as soon as I was back in pre-op. Not this time. I got nothing. So my anxiety was present until I saw the anesthesiologist – 15 minutes before being rolled into the operating room. I explained what happened in 2010 with the atrophy, and gave him this massive amount of paperwork with no expectations that he’d listen. He apparently read every single word. This was astonishing because the biggest issue was that it was not on my medical records, since it was found by a functional medicine doctor. He did not have to listen to me at all or do anything I asked.
He came to my gurney after the surgery and said that they had taken every single precaution I’d asked for and more. He suggested I get tested for the MH. I knew you could have a muscle biopsy to determine if you were at risk but by the time I learned that I was only days from surgery. He seemed to indicate that there was a blood test. He said, “Had this been simply a genetic marker it would have been one thing. But since you have had symptoms associated with it, that makes it more of a risk.” He continued, “Fortunately today was a planned surgery and you were able to tell us about it. But what if you came in here unconscious and needed emergency surgery? Nobody would know.” I can’t tell you how much I appreciated his care. Amusingly his name was Dr. Bannister and he certainly became my incredible hulk.
The surgery experience, given my medical anxiety, was amazing. I met every single member of the surgical team from nurses to medical students to the docs. My little room was full. All of the surgeon’s team from visits prior to the surgery were amazing. I was stunned that all were so genuine, caring and answered all of my gazillion questions with complete patience and integrity. It was like I was surrounded by the best possible professionals on the planet. I also had an entire support team of friends and community outside of medical professionals. So many people gave to me in so many different ways.
I breezed through day one with only Tylenol. I was proud of myself. The second night I was having trouble emptying my bladder. It got worse and I panicked. That night I called my friend that who doesn’t really like to talk on the phone. He talked me off the ledge and convinced me to call the doctor because it sounded like I needed to be in a hospital. A comedy of errors prevented me from finding the office number on the paperwork.
Eventually I found it and called and talked to a doctor on call. She wanted me to call in the morning for an appointment for a bladder scan. I called at 8:00 am., but the doc I’d spoken to failed to leave an order for the scan. I waited from 8 until 2 for that to be corrected. At 2:00 they called and wanted me to come down to the other location of the surgeon, which was a 50 minute drive. Fortunately I had not taken any pain pills because anyone who could drive me was at least 30 minutes from me. They wanted me in there soon. So I jumped in my car.
They drained 1200 ccs off my bladder. They wanted to give me a self-cath tube but the bruising and swelling from the surgery was so intense, even two nurses and a doctor had a hard time finding the placement. I knew the one nurse must have been an empath. She just kept saying “I’m so sorry” and I thought she was going to pass out. They knew I’d never be able to do the self-cath so they catheterized me. That was 5:00 Wednesday and they wanted me back in his office on Friday morning to remove it and see if I could empty my bladder. I left my house, the day after surgery at 2:00, saw them at 3:15, left there in 5:00 rush hour traffic. Got home at 7:00. I was proud of myself and rewarded myself with a latte’.
I had taken off Monday and Tuesday but planned clients on Wednesday since all I had to do was sit in a chair. They all had to be rescheduled because of the shuffling. My beautiful friend Ryan did some absolutely amazing energy work on me to assist the post-op healing. Reading about it brought me to tears. Other friends sent Reiki. I have a whole team of healers that were all working on me.
I drove down to the surgeon’s office the next morning, very uncomfortable. Valet dude was flirting with me. Seriously creep? I'm just trying to park my car to go up to the 7th floor and see the doctor and I have to deal with this? I almost said, “Yeah? You wanna hold my catheter bag for me?”. Humor is medicine, right? I felt certain when the surgeon took the catheter out, I would be easily able to void.
This was not correct. Not a drop. I already knew if we could not get this to work, a surgical correction would be necessary. But I had full faith it could be corrected without that. He put the catheter back in and I went home. He wanted to give me another week for the swelling to go down and the bladder to wake up from the anesthesia. He said he 100% believed it would be healed by the time of the next attempt. While he wanted a week, that would have been 4th of July so we will do it again on Wednesday. This requires me to cancel another two clients next Wednesday to drive back down to the second office. A tiny bit of abundance fears are starting to kick in, but in my heart I know that I am always covered one way or another.
Friday, there was blood in the catheter, quite a bit. After talking to the surgeon’s office, they suggested I go to ER. Not horribly urgent but it wasn’t stopping and she wasn’t sure a regular urgent care would have catheter supplies. I had no issues with the catheter Wednesday. Now with the new one Friday, there was bleeding. My thought was “If you want something done right, get the nurse to do it. They’re better than doctors.”
I stopped for dinner on the way down, since I didn’t know how long I’d be there. Good thing. 2 hours in the waiting room and another hour or so in the back. The bleeding of course stopped while I was sitting there, after 9 hours of it. Then I felt stupid for going, yet I knew if I left that Medicare probably wouldn’t pay for it. I felt guilty for taking up a bed when they were so backed up, but I stayed nonetheless. Good thing I did since they found the beginning of a UTI. Gave me a single dose antibiotic and sent me home. It was a treacherous drive in flash flooding and storms. That seemed appropriate and I made it home safe with some revelations to document, as follows.
FOR SHORT ATTENTION SPANS, START HERE:
There was a lot more that has occurred here than a physical healing. It has been revelatory.
1. The fact that the anesthesiologist paid attention brought forth a healing for me in another way. During three years of sexual abuse by a priest as a child, I tried multiple times to tell the other adults what was happening. When I see that little girl, she is backed into a corner, sitting on the floor in her Catholic school uniform. Most recently I saw that she had a fishbowl over her head. This made sense – my words were only bouncing back to me. Nobody outside of me could hear or understand me. Even at my current age, when I try to give a detailed explanation of something – when I try to get someone to understand me and they can’t, it creates a state of confusion and my brain shuts down. I literally can’t think and go into a fugue state. It’s very disturbing. A noticeable pattern exists of not being heard, or being heard but not being understood.
This anesthesiologist did not have to listen to a thing I said, but he did. And he made recommendations after the surgery for how I could be safe going forward. So not only was I heard, I was taken seriously and understood. Yet there is even a deeper piece. I feel sure as a child, even though I didn’t have the words for what was happening to me, some adults heard me and understood. I suspect they already knew about this priest. I was far from the only one. It’s possible they didn’t know what to do, or could not wrap their heads around such a thing, and thus nothing was done. No action was taken. In this case where Dr. Bannister had no requirement to listen to me, he heard me, he understood me, AND ACTION WAS TAKEN. Finally. You cannot imagine the healing this brought for that little girl.
2. I had to go to breathwork training on Sunday, the day before surgery. I was pretty vocal about my not wanting to be there. We did a different kind of breathwork, for receptivity and it was profound. I can’t count the number of tears that were shed, and a message came through. It wasn’t about loving or accepting my body. It’s about the fact that I do not trust my own body. This is common for abuse victims. They often feel their body betrayed them. I feel that I healed this when I realized that my body didn’t betray me. At times it was the only witness to the horrors that occurred. It carries all the records of that. Yet learning the truth that I can’t trust my body was revelatory and necessary. Later in the day we had outside clients come in for work, and the other student was to work on this particular volunteer. I’ve known her for a while, and know about her history. Since she couldn’t lay on the floor, we did her on the couch. There was some kind of healing that just channeled through me as I worked above her body. It was incredibly intense. I had to keep walking away to take a minute to regroup. I need to watch the replay to see what I did but it was powerful. So between that experience and my own earlier in the day, the breathwork training was exactly where I needed to be, despite my own agenda.
3. After the urodynamics procedure and the first and second catheters, I notice that I no longer have trauma, drama, unmitigated fear or anything else around catheters. I told God s/he could have found an easier, softer way to get that point across (eye roll).
4. Despite all the minor things that have gone wrong, other than a meltdown in the drive through line at Starbucks, I have been gifted an incredible amount of patience and pure Grace. I have walked through each and every diversion in complete peace. This is miraculous for someone as anxious as I am. I am in a state of complete acceptance. “OK, next.” I am ‘jellyfishing’ as my friend and I like to call it, allowing whatever comes up just to be, without resistance. I have complete faith in Divine Order and that God has a plan and it’s better than mine. That is my North Star. There might be some bumps in the road, but there’s a reason.
5. Most importantly, I have been force-fed love and care. I’ve been forced to receive. My therapist friend told me to do two things. First, to have the angelics come in and sanitize everything that would be near me. Second, she said to command that I work only with the higher selves of every medical person I encountered. I thought it was a little woowoo but who am I to argue with woowoo? I have to say, the higher self piece seems to be immensely effective. I have never been in an ER as quiet as the one last night at St. Joe’s. I am being shown that not all things Catholic are horrible. Again, like with every other experience at Emory/St. Joe’s, from the pre-op testing to the surgeon’s visits and staff, to the surgery, to the post op, it seems like the people I have encountered are simply amazing. It’s like all of them totally love their jobs.
By the time I got to the back last night, the bleeding had stopped and I felt guilty for taking up a bed. In fact I sat in the chair for a while, so as not to make them remake the bed. I realized that I was apologizing for taking up space, all the while the nurse was wrapping me in warm blankets and kindness. As I lay there, they came over the P.A. system, asking for quiet during the evening prayer. My cynical thought, “Oh yeah. Catholic hospital. Should have known there’d be a prayer.” Yet it was not a Christian prayer. A simple request – let me have an open mind, open hands, and an open heart. Imagine medical staff hearing that. I was very touched.
In the quiet I shared with a friend that I felt like I was in ‘the field’, floating in this weird vortex of love, comfort and care. I’ve never experienced anything like it; and this is part of the lesson. That I’m allowed to take up space. I’m allowed to receive. Sometimes I am forced to stay down to experience that. I see that in all ways, I am completely surrounded by this ocean of compassion. I see that I am deeply, deeply held and loved. Some things that support this follow.
a. A friend with her own set of trauma and daily demands came and helped me organize and clean up in time for the surgery.
b. My other friend answered the phone and talked to me when I was in 100% panic and could not calm myself.
c. Another friend came to my house and did ceremony and a healing session including using my buffalo drum to give me a drum wash. Her presence is astoundingly beautiful and calming and her intuition about what I needed was spot on.
d. Both of these people, as well as my sponsor and other friends continue to check on me daily.
e. I live in a community of healers. All deeply talented in their own ways. And all willing to work on me as I need it.
f. Clients have had to be reshuffled and have been amazingly cooperative and kind.
g. My business partner has done an outstanding job of taking care of all of that, even while she has been desperately ill.
h. Abundance continues to show up. I muscle tested a few questions for someone regarding their investments with an old friend. I would not have charged her. She sent me $222. Other clients who never tip have tipped me, knowing I’m missing work.
i. As I sat in the ER waiting room last night, realizing the bleeding had stopped and feeling foolish for being there, my phone rang. It was a doctor on my surgeon’s staff, the one who I had seen on Tuesday. She was checking on me and monitoring lab results on me remotely. This felt comforting to me at 8:00 on a Friday night, and she didn’t have to do this.
j. As stated above, I have been surrounded by a talented and responsive group of professionals.
There is so much more I can’t think of right now, and possibly more I have yet to recognize. I’m not out of the woods yet medically, but praying for success on Wednesday and no need for further surgery. I am however, open and willing to walk through all possibilities. It will unfold exactly as it is supposed to.
And this, my friends is the art of being cared for.
It’s not easy for many of us, but it is profound. It is powerful to be shown how much you are loved. It is powerful to be forced to take a minute to receive. It is powerful to be cocooned in compassion and love. It is powerful to be shown how many truly kind people there are in this world, whether or not they are your familiars.
To learn that not all kindness must be earned, and that not all wounds must be carried alone.... I knew these things—intellectually—but now I’ve lived them. And I am brought to my knees in gratitude.