The closer you get to the operating room, the colder the temperature becomes. The more clinical the walls start looking, and the bigger the circumference of the lights. It’s a little unnerving, being wheeled through corridors with my long curly hair in an ugly blue net and no make up on whatsoever; I felt completely powerless.
The anesthesiologist leaned over me as he picked up my hand with the IV and said, “I’m going to give you about 4 bottles of wine in thirty seconds.”
“Hello, Santa!” I said, and that’s the last thing I remembered.
My doctor just called tonight to tell me that the small tumor he’d removed is benign. It is a tremendous gift to receive at Christmas, a gift I didn’t have the sense to ask for as I’d never suspected the presence of a growth. But, how blessed I feel to have been watched over, not only by the doctors who are paid, but by my heavenly father who cares.
Who cares for each one of us even when we don’t know it.
Merry Christmas, a little early, but heartfelt all the same.