When Life Throws You Curveballs: Facing the Unexpected with Strength

 When Life Throws You Curveballs

Facing the Unexpected with Strength

Life's most painful curveballs often strike in places we can't see. That's how it was for me, a single mom juggling college, kids, and the Army Reserves. Tough? I thought I was. Then came the gut-wrenching pain.

Several years ago, I was in my third year of college, a single mom trying to navigate between two teenagers, work, and college. After four years on active duty, I was also in the U.S. Army Reserves. It was tough. I knew I had to get tougher or go down with the ship afloat.

What do you know? I experienced an excruciating pain in the lower left side -below my belly button. Almost late for chemistry class, I looked up the ascending stairs to the second floor where my class was held.

It took all I had in me to climb those stairs. Every step was a stab into my abdomen. I persisted until I reached the 2^nd floor, dripping with sweat and shortness of breath, then got dizzy and nearly fainted. I ended up sitting down in the hallway, a short distance from the classroom, and the last bell rang for the class. I saw the professor close the door. I’ll crawl if I must, my mind shouted. I will not surrender to the damned pain. Stop!

I crawled partway and worked my frame up the wall. Finally, I opened the door to the classroom, took the nearest empty seat, and sat through the class, the periodic table, and a slew of symbols on the table as the professor explained each one to the class.

I walked down those stairs when class concluded, knowing I’d never reach my car.

I drove straight to my OBGYN’s office and begged to see him, work me in, gotta see him; as he’d advised me, well, advised me is me denying the truth of my situation; he said, “You need to have that left ovary removed ASAP. I suspect you have endometriosis, and it could lead to cancer.”

“I will have the surgery,” I assured him, “but first, I have to finish this semester.”

He asked, “Are there any stairs at your college you must climb.”

I knew the man was psychic.

“Yes, I have to climb two flights of stairs to the second floor for three classes.”

“Well,” he said, studying me like a watchdog, “when you are in so much pain, you cannot climb those stairs. You come back and see me, and we will do what needs to be done.” He added,” You may have to sit this semester out, take a leave of absence from your work, and take care of yourself. How many kids do you have?”

“Two,” I replied.

So here I was, facing the showdown. I did not feel tough. I felt in a lot of pain. I just wanted it gone ASAP.

After the consultation, my doctor said, “I’ll have the office clear it with your insurance, and we’ll do the surgery in three weeks. Sound good?”

“No, it does not sound good, but ok.”

The day of surgery came, and the anesthetist came in to speak with me about his duties on the surgical team. After he introduced himself and his title, he offered little else.

Then he said, “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, I said. I want you to take me through what you will do to me step-by-step.”

He replied, “Most people don’t want to know that. They want me to put them out.”

“Well, I want to know,” I said. “So, do a walkthrough with me.”

He looked at me strangely, then said, “Basically, you will be given an injection that will slowly take you under, then…”

“Then?” I questioned. “Spell it out.”

“I will be breathing for you when you stop breathing.”

“What…the…?”

My mind raced like a quarterback trying to figure out my next move, except I knew I was blocked and had to go down. Scared would be an understatement at this point. For some reason, while he was speaking, I kept thinking of a quote by Dorothy Dix that I’d read early in the week.

“I have been through the depths of poverty and sickness. When people ask me what has kept me going through the troubles that come to all of us, I always reply, I stood yesterday. I can stand today....”

When I read what Dorothy Dix said, I felt power in perseverance no matter what I faced. When you are terrified, I thought, I will not permit myself to think about what might happen tomorrow. I will live today and string all those days together like the precious pearls they are to me.

The hour of surgery began; an operation to remove my left ovary should have taken two hours, but it took four.

I know because my doctor came into my room after recovery, pale and worried-looking. He asked me, “How do you feel?”

“I feel great,” I said, obviously still under pain medication. I'm no worse for the wear, I think.”

Then he grew earnest and said, “I want to ask you a question.”

"Ok, shoot!”

“I know you told me you’ve been having headaches. You told me once you took regular aspirin that it usually relieved your headaches.”

 "Yes, I told you that.”

"Did you continue to take the aspirin throughout the three weeks before your surgery?”

“Yes, I did take them throughout the three weeks when I had a headache.”

“I should have told you to stop taking aspirin the three weeks before your surgery.”

Then he sat down in the nearest chair to the bed and said flatly, “I almost lost you. You hemorrhaged, and we could not get the blood stopped. By some miracle, I am sitting here talking to you.”

The smile, usually covering my face, left immediately. It was sobering, but I revised quickly and said, “I’m no stranger to miracles. I’ve had a few in my life.”

The doctor continued, “You did have endometriosis,” he said evenly. “I left the right ovary but removed the left, the tube to the left, and scraped everything clear. I believe I removed any cells that may cause you future problems.”