This Sacred Time

In the hospital I wore one of those stylish gowns over the binder that holds my staples and abdomen together. I've upgraded to soft cotton pajamas since coming home. Someone commented to me one day as the nurse drew yet another vial of blood from my pic line and my mom helped me from the bed to my walker and showered me on the stool in the hospital shower, nothing is sacred.

But it seems to me that everything is sacred.

I cannot care for my body on my own yet. Eleven days post surgery I require help to get up from the recliner I rest in, to pick up anything off the floor, to shower on my seat in the shower, to prepare nourishing meals because I can't stand for more than a few minutes at a time with the help of my walker, to pull clothes onto my body...

Everything is sacred.

The simple truth is that caring for people, our bodies, our hearts, our emotions is sacred work. It requires a tribe that is willing to go to the dark places, the messy places and the raw places together. Side by side. I am thankful for such a tribe.

My mom helps me shower. My sister counted the staples running down the center of my body from pubic bone to sternum - 31 in total - because I couldn't look at them yet. My entire family has helped with the daily changing of the dressing. My days are a sacred mix of sleep, chatting with family and friends, reading and vicariously traveling through Instragram pictures of the desert and Joshua Tree, places that look warm and where I can dream about long walks without my walker.

But for now, in this sacred space, I am honored to be alive, to have a tribe that encourages and uplifts and a chance to rest.

Next Friday I get the staples out, 31 staples for my 31st birthday on Saturday. I find humor in that.