Tag Archives: hospital

Waiting Game

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train

It was 2 years ago that I was at the hospital for my breast biopsy. I remember the fear when they put the hospital wristband on my arm. Something about it. An acknowledgement. I am having surgery related to cancer. This is REAL.

I knew what to expect thanks to one of my Mom’s friends who had the procedure a couple month’s before, and thanks to one of my dear friends sharing her experience. Even so, I was scared. I felt fragile, like I might break. Mostly it was the possibilities that I let race through my mind that took the wind out of me.

I kept focusing on relaxing. And I kept repeating a mantra offered by my dear friend: Heaven is right here where I am, and this is the place to train. I didn’t know what I was training for, but it felt right. Now I know I was on the training ground of life. I kept reminding myself about how alive I felt. I gave my all to being present, even if I was sitting with fear, anticipation, and uncertainty.

I remember entering the biopsy room, so big and sterile. There was comfort in being told what was happening each step of the way – positioning the breast, getting lidocaine, inserting the biopsy needle, implanting the marker (in case of cancer and surgery), taking images…

I remember Jim being there in the waiting room, supporting me, helping me to be brave and strong.

I found this in my journal from 7/28/11:

Waiting.
for the call.
Cancer?
No cancer?
Patience.
Heaven is right here.
Where I am.
Envision healing light enveloping.
Bereathe.
Be calm, still, quiet.
Rest here.
Connect with my spirit,
The soul in me.
Flow.
Trust.
Love myself.

That was the seed of the poem I wrote as I waited for the caboose of this waiting game train to move on by.

Waiting Game
By Vicki L. Flaherty

Here I am again.
Waiting.
For the results.
I need answers.
And data to shape my future.
Will this fast moving train slow down?
Or will it speed full ahead?
Mammogram abnormal — biopsy needed.
Biopsy performed — lumpectomy next.
“Dirty” lumpectomy margins —
mastectomy needed and done.
Pathology on the breast and lymph nodes —
What will it be?
Cancer, or no?
Cancer here but not there?
Or cancer everywhere?
Odds are, I’m clean.
Not much consolation.
Here I am again.
Waiting.
For the results.
And data to shape my future.
Will the train please slow down.
Will the train please stop.

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LOVE

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Mom & Dad

I vividly remember the day we all went to the hospital for my mastectomy. I was so calm and utterly afraid at the same time. I felt strong and like I could fall apart in a moment. I was vulnerable yet determined.

Mostly, I remember the incredible love and support surrounding me. Jim at my side – always reassuring me and knowing just what to say to keep my heart from feeling heavy. And, there were my parents, who arranged their plans to be with us.

We were all in the waiting room, although not for long (for once, hardly a wait!). I remember sitting across from my parents. I could tell they felt much the way I did – vulnerable yet determined. I recall glancing up at them and how the power of their love washed over me. I wrote LOVE out of that memory.

My parents will celebrate their golden 50th wedding anniversary on February 22nd. I am looking forward to honoring this incredibly special love that has been at the foundation of my life. They are Valentine role models!

I love you, Mom and Dad. Every day I am grateful for you.

LOVE

by Vicki L. Flaherty

They sit quietly.
They are calm, or so it appears.
They hold each other’s hands,
channeling their strength to each other.
They steal glances and kisses,
grounding themselves in the love that bonds them together.
They smile,
They speak soft ly, kindly.
They focus on being supportive.
They are here to give.
They continue to give.
It’s never-ending, a parent’s love.

 
Their precious baby girl.
A grown woman now.
A challenge along her journey.
They want to remove the obstacles for her.
Yet, they know, as they always have, this is her path.
She’s strong.
She’s spirited.
She can do this.
In her own unique way with grace.
And, how do they know?
The same way they knew she’d climb all the mountains before:
LOVE.
Their love.
It gives.
It continues to give.
It’s never-ending, a parent’s love.

© 2012, Vick Flaherty, Mostly My Heart Sings