In this journal entry from two days before my gastric sleeve surgery, I reflect on helping my late husband, Doug, prepare for his surgeries, and collect my strength to have my surgery without him by my side.
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September 1, 2019
As surgery gets closer and I plan for tasks like pre-surgery showers with antiseptic soap, bittersweet memories with Doug cloud my eyes with tears. I remember lovingly washing his body and keeping him company while he waited the requisite five minutes before rinsing the soap, and I wish he were here to do the same for me. I miss Doug now more than ever, and to be honest, I expected this would happen.
I've only ever been a support person for others going through surgery, never been the patient until now. The more I learned about what this surgery would entail, the more I expected to have flashbacks to when Doug had procedures, as well as my previous husband, who had testicular cancer while we were married and is currently at the end stage of esophageal cancer.
As a support person, I kick ass! As a supportED person, I'm a newbie. Doug, more than anyone, helped me relax into the sensations of being supported. He was the first person-in my entire life-with whom I did not wait for the floor to drop out from under me. That's one reason why it's been so profoundly painful for me to continue living after he died. But it's also the reason why I'm doing this for myself now - having surgery, not telling myself I have to do everything alone. Doug taught me to see myself as worthy of receiving support, and now I am choosing to do just that.
Friends have offered to take me to the hospital, visit me there, take me home, and even stay with me if I need help afterward. My mom offered to fly to Denver to be with me and has supported me with texts and calls that conveyed sincere love and concern for me.
These are all new experiences, and I'm so grateful that I can finally recognize them as trustworthy. For some reason (or many), during most of my life before meeting Doug at age 40, I never actually believed that others would be there for me when I was needy. Today, I do.
That single, profound shift in my perspective is generating momentum toward a more joyful, more fun, more people-filled life for me, and I feel super duper grateful. And, even though Doug isn't here to hold my hand or wash my back, I feel him celebrating my courage and cheering me on. That makes me cry and giggle at the very same time.