The Final Frontier
This morning it’s Taylor Swift’s Folklore spinning in the background along with the snore of my ten year old Golden Retriever mix, Daisy. The trees are frosted with ice, like a sugar plum fairy’s dream. The last day of 2022. Thank God. Finalizing a divorce sandwiched between two surgeries and economic recovery all while treading back into the world of dating, self-discovery and adventure. At my age, my clean slate is still covered with powdery chalk remnants from the first half of my life. Which is more appropriate since my life typically lands in the gray rather than black or white. Let’s go 2023 - I’m ready.
Four weeks ago, I arrived at Abbott Northwestern Hospital at 5:30am, looking forward to anesthesia. The easy fade into sleep surrounded by a team of people, all there to care for me. Operating rooms are familiar after over a dozen surgeries and procedures requiring the pleasure of mind-numbing anesthesia. And while knowing this would be the most difficult and complicated surgery and recovery I had faced, I entered into it as I do with every difficulty I know I have to face. Acceptance.
I woke nearly 5 hours later and apparently had a great conversation with the recovery nurse as indicated in the get well card I received. Oh to be a fly on the wall in that room of my incognizant self. Diskectomy, complete. Fusion/bone graft, placed. Rods and screws, inserted. Pain, discomfort, dilaudid - the pattern of the next few days interspersed with a Harry Potter marathon running in and out in the background of my consciousness. The first 20 hours went quickly before I was woken up at 4:30am (forewarned by the night nurse at 2:30am) for my first walk. Challenge accepted. I’m a junky for a challenge - I’ll take my dopamine hits where I can get them.
Nauseated, I took my time and found myself feeling better standing on my own two feet (cough…metaphor). My red hospital socks were a “Danger, Will Robinson” to the staff that I should not be left unattended when attempting to walk. Since when have a pair of socks stopped me from a walk out to the atrium? I quickly graduated to the freedom provided by blue socks and strolled the halls sans walker - if only my drapey hospital gown and unkept hair didn’t give me away. My liquid diet was getting old and I was ready to go home and face the most difficult part of my recovery. Rest.
My first week at home was tough. Not only was I learning to get in and out of my non-hospital bed, I was also learning to allow my 20 year old daughter to care for me. Her ability to give me continual permission to need help was so incredibly healing. My 18 year old chimed in to say there were too many things in my life that I did not need to do myself. All three daughters kept the house clean and saw to my every need - checking in on me even before I needed to ask. Dear God, thank you. It’s overwhelming even as I sit here with tears forming in my eyes. Permission to rest, granted - it only took 25 years of adulting to let go of every responsibility and let my body rest.
The staff at Stonehouse Catering were cheering me on when I first mentioned my need for surgery in the fall. They’ve watched me limp and struggle with pain, push myself harder than one should and sacrifice my body for the sake of the business. I remember the staff meeting when they each encouraged me to get things taken care of, knowing they would have to live without me for a period of time. And excuse me for getting my Bible nerd glasses on, but I have to say, it reminded me of Moses in the Old Testament who was told by God to lift his arms as the army of Israelites were in battle and when he became too weak, his support system came and held his arms up for him. My team pushed themselves harder than ever and carried the stress of my absence, giving me the space to heal and rest during our busiest December yet. Thank you God, yet again. Sincerely.
My parents arrived just two weeks after surgery and my mom was in her glory. My helper heart was nurtured by her example. She thrives on helping others and what a peaceful return to calm - being able to sit and talk without a quote to update, menus to confirm or contracts to negotiate. Listening to what my body needed, when it needed it and having the space to obey its voice. My yearly “It’s a Wonderful Live” viewing and countless conversations with my parents about family, friends and food were a great lead-up to Christmas.
What began as required rest and difficulty being physically upright, has become the progression of longer walks and less pain, saying a happy goodbye to prescribed opioids. My remaining weeks off consist of chosen rest and continued healing. I’ve realized for years that I haven’t had the availability for people who matter most and things that are important to me. And while I have worked hard to remove things that were less important, I neglected to also add something that I needed more than anything. Space.
The final frontier, so they say. True in so many regards - one of the last things I considered during the past few years of introspection. During a leadership conference in 2016, I believe it was John Maxwell who spoke about creativity and meaningful results requiring space. If I’m working in a kitchen with a 2’x2’ prep-space, I am limited in my dreams and pursuit of what I’m preparing, but if I have my kitchen cleaned and organized, providing space, I have a blank slate of possibility. Without that space to reflect, visualize, think, plan and many times, just rest, I will be worn out, blinded by the urgent and driven by what’s right in front of me. In my experience, this only produces anxiety and does not provide the time or resources to make good decisions that build lasting results both in business and life. I know for sure that making space must be priority for me to breathe in what truly matters in deeper and more fulfilling ways.
And so, like any good over-achiever, I’ve somehow, once again, managed to make the most of my medical leave by using it also as a sabbatical of sorts. A time to let go of responsibilities and just be. To have space to listen to myself and not be driven by the next goal or ambition or opportunity. My brain has silenced the voices of possibility long enough to sit in the quiet calm of healing rest.
As you approach this new year, may you be courageous enough to ACCEPT your today, diligent enough to prioritize REST and dedicated enough to create SPACE in your life for the things that truly matter.
Love to all,
Lisa
***An incredible thank you Dr. E. Santos and his team at Summit Orthopedics (with incredible help from Medtronic Sovereign and Voyager) not to mention General Surgeon, Jesse Manunga who gently handled my internal organs when I was in my most vulnerable state. Nurse Lynn on the spine floor - can we be friends? I never take for granted the dedication of learning and healing to which these educated individuals have given their lives. Thank you to those in the medical field who are tired and exhausted - may space be gifted to you by the people in your lives - with gracious understanding of your unique calling.