North Star Writers Group

Americans are not a patient people. As if to make up for the lengthy commutes through which many of us suffer during the work week, we hate to wait in line, we hate to take time even to pay for anything and we refuse to dwell for more than a nanosecond on tragedies or problems great or small. “Get over it,” we declare. “Move on.”

Sometimes, however, it is not possible to “move on” or “get over it” just because we become bored or lose patience. One of those times is undergoing major head surgery for an acoustic neuroma - a non-cancerous tumor of the cells covering the hearing nerves.

I had such a tumor removed from the left side of my head in early November. Although the five-hour operation came off without a hitch, I awoke to some new realities. First, the body does not especially care for anesthesia. It takes time to wear off and until the stuff I ingested began receding, I felt weak, shaky and utterly miserable.

The first night after surgery I spent in the ICU, watched over by a former Navy Seal turned warrior-nurse. As I lay in a sleepless, painkiller-induced stupor, I thought about all those soldiers who have come back from Afghanistan or Iraq with severe wounds like spinal paralysis or major body parts missing. I was deeply grateful and relieved to have come through my surgery minus only the tumor. I still had my hands, arms, feet and legs. My wounds eventually would heal completely.

How does anyone recover from losing an arm or a leg? From being paralyzed? I asked myself these questions in the wee hours of the morning after my operation. I realized I was now living a small echo of the long and arduous journey that wounded veterans experience. It filled me with awe and respect for their quiet courage, which usually goes un-remarked except by their families and those who care for them.

The tumor operation also left me with a severed balance nerve on the left side. This meant that my overall balance was impaired. Two days after the operation, the therapist had me up on my feet and walking (more like shuffling) around the hospital floor. It was scary and arduous at first, but essential to train my right balance nerve to take over. Five weeks out from surgery, I am still doing rehab exercises, albeit harder ones now.

Then there are all the tasks that I took for granted B.S. (before surgery). Like making coffee, emptying the dishwasher, taking out the trash, putting on my shoes. Ordinary actions we take daily without thinking about all the body parts that have to function properly in order for us to do it all. It’s a rude awakening when some of these parts stop functioning or don’t function normally, and the simplest of movements require Herculean effort and then leave the body exhausted. Forget returning to paying work on any kind of consistent basis until after the New Year.

I am learning by experience that recovery, like love, cannot be hurried. I improve a bit most days, but there’s no rushing the pace. When I try to push it, as I invariably do, suffering from the same affliction as my fellow Americans, my body has a way of returning the favor, and it isn’t pleasant.

Instead, my body’s resistance to being rushed through recovery is humbling - especially to a person who used to take pride in being independent and the family breadwinner. Now I am dependent on my partner’s unstinting loving care and on my parents for financial support. It’s my lesson in how interdependent we really are on one another, whether or not we care to admit it. No one is an island - especially during recovery.

Happily I won’t remain in this condition forever. Time is healing my wounds while patience and effort are bringing back my balance and strength. If I have learned any wisdom, then I will not forget the modicum of patience I have acquired the hard way, no matter how much time passes.

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This is Column #CT13. Request permission to publish here.