Dear Lover,
I had my surgery on June 6. We sat together until the moment the nurse walked me into the operating room – I went right, and you went left. I came back for one more kiss, and then went with the nurse. I cried on the table – just quiet tears – and then it was over.
I woke up and heard the nurses directing my bed into Room 34. I remember thinking, “Oh good – that will make my sweet husband feel so much better”. And then I fell asleep again.
Your number is 34. You were 34 in baseball. The first time you came to my house you were stunned to learn I lived at 34 King Edward Avenue. We thought your 34th year was surely going to be the best year ever (I don’t remember now if it was, but I hope it was great).
I remember hearing you in the hallway at the hospital, asking the nurses where I was. They told you to go into Room 34. I heard you say, “That’s a good sign!” – more to yourself than anyone else – and then there you were there beside me.
This surgery has been hard on both of us. You’ve only started talking about it since I’ve returned to “normal” life. You told me I was so fragile and frail. You told me I looked so tired and weak. You’ve reminded me that recovery is not a straight line, but an ebb and flow, and remind me again every time I forget or get frustrated or discouraged. You’ve told me this is the biggest challenge we’ve faced together, and you proudly remind me we’ve made it through the worst of it. You haven’t managed to look at my incision yet, but that will happen when you’re ready.
We endure life together, but that means we also both need time to heal. I’m still healing, but so are you. I couldn’t do it without you. We’ll both take our time, and we’ll let each other take all the time we need.
xo
Dear Lover 