I have never loved my body as intensely, as passionately, as freely as I do now.
I’m not sure it would appear that way to those around me. I’ve cried a lot, panicked a lot, obsessed a lot, pleaded with Spirit a lot since my laparoscopy and yet at the very same time I’ve become my body’s fiercest protector and friend.
She’s been on quite the post-op journey, after all, and it’s as if I can’t help but feel compassion for her. And she’s pretty amazing, really. Doing all sorts of things without having to ask her; healing at her own pace.
It took me a while to wrap my head around the idea that while my mind was unconscious during surgery my body was aware of everything unfolding. There was a big need for reassurance and comfort afterwards and I think that helped me fall into my body rather than turn away from her.
Here we are almost two weeks post-surgery. Scars, strange bellybutton, catheter, granny pants and all and I don’t mind (even when I do mind. Does that make sense?) I hold myself with compassion and as much patience as I can muster, and I trust that no matter what the next few weeks reveal I won’t leave my side.