Pain, Pity, and Prayer

On Thursday, my mother-in-law Debby had total spinal reconstructive surgery. The man who is the best of the best in this particular surgery is located in good ol' Butte, Montana. So that is where my little ma-in-law went. She had been in pain for quite some time, but recently had to give her class to a long term sub, the pain had become so unbearable. Over Thanksgiving, we all noticed how she'd somehow managed to shrink into an even tinier person then she was before. Her pain was palpable, and we all eagerly awaited the date of the surgery, knowing she would be better after the operation.

The surgery went off without a hitch on Thursday, with the Doctor installing 18 screws into her back. It was AFTER the surgery where things got hairy. Seth and I weren't able to leave work, so we stayed behind and relied on the reports of his sister, Gaaby. As I mentioned, Debby is a TINY person. The doctors were struggling to find an appropriate amount of drugs that would leave her comfortable but coherent.

By the time Seth and I arrived on Saturday, Gaaby, Steve and the rest of the gang had been through hell. Debby had been incoherent, sobbing, weeping for relief, swearing at the nurses and doctors, begging for the pain to stop.

When we walked into her room, we saw the nurse trying to convince the shell of my mother in law to take her medication, which they had ground up and mixed into applesauce. She was crying and refusing the one thing that could help. She lay on the bed, covered in tubes and thin sheets, her lips dried and cracked, and eyes wild with delirium.

We stroked her forehead and spoke to her gently, and she stared at us blankly as she moaned and cried out in pain. It was absolutely devastating. She called out for her mother over and over, and I realized how primal, how deeply ingrained in us, it is to call out for our mothers when we can't take it anymore. No matter how old you are, you just want your mother to make it better.

I can't tell you all the things I thought when I looked at her lying there. How she looked as tiny as a child in the little bed. How she would have hated us to see her looking like that. How it must have felt for my mom to see her own mother in a similar bed, sick with cancer.How I hoped the doctors and nurses had known her before the meds and the pain kicked in, how I hope they knew what a funny, kind, compassionate, sensational woman she is. How it felt for Seth and for Gaaby, watching their mama like that. It was pretty heavy stuff.

Just when things were looking like they weren't going to get much better, Debby's friend T arrived. T has been sort of a spiritual mentor for Debby for years, a rock who has helped her through tough times. You know that friend who can tell you you're being terrible, or tell you to suck it up, or tell you to knock it off, and you know that they mean it, and deep down, they are right? If someone else tell you something hard to hear, you may not believe them, or you'll become angry and self-righteous. But not this friend. This friend tells it like it is, and you know they love you anyway. Do you know the one? I hope you do. I'm thinking of mine right now.

Anyway, T is that friend. T walked into that room and magic happened. T made Debby feel power. She couldn't control the pain, but she could control her breathing. So they focused on that. She couldn't control her circumstance, but she could control her attitude. So they began to pray. Debby's moans changed from "Why me?" and "How could this happen?" to "God please help me, thanks, amen. God please help me, thanks, amen." Over and over, they prayed together. And slowly, the spasms faded. Her legs, which had curled tight to her chest, stretched and relaxed. Her eyebrows, knit together in pain, slowly separated, and her tears subsided into quiet calm. Within (what seemed like) a few minutes, Debby was resting peacefully.

Debby soon fell asleep, and really turned a corner that night. The next day, we saw her again. She's still in excruciating pain, but she's more coherent, making conversation and even making little jokes. She did say something that really struck me though. She was telling T how wonderful she was when she said, "L told me that she's never believed in prayer. Until she saw what happened last night." We all cried a little bit then, thinking about the power of prayer, and, I think, the hopelessness of those who don't believe. How helpless it must have felt to not have someone to cry out to? I'm glad L saw what happened there in that little room with T. I've "believed" my whole life, but that was something I don't think I've ever felt.

At any rate, Debby is doing well. She's recovering, but she's still afraid. And she has another surgery coming up on Tuesday, which is almost too much for her to even think about, let alone comprehend and accept. She will need more prayer as she goes into the next surgery and as she fights the long battle of recovery.

But I must say, it was a good thing. It was good for me to see Debby as a human. It was good for me to watch Seth comfort his mother, hold her hand and rub her shoulder and be a quiet strength for her. It was good for me to remember how fragile life is and how I will always call for my mother when I need someone to hold me up. It was good for me to evaluate relationships and friendships and family and think about who would be my rock. It was good for me to be reminded of the power of prayer, because I think we all forget.