Embracing the Sass

As twilight cloaked the boarding house in an unsettling shadow, the atmosphere hung heavy with an eerie stillness. Mom and I checked in after a long and exhausting day filled with doctor visits and then retreated up dimly lit stairs to our cramped quarters. The faded wallpaper clung to the walls while a single lamp cast soft shadows across the worn carpet. Despite the room's rundown state, there was a certain comfort in our shared space. We set our bags down with our frazzled nerves alongside them, remembering the long day spent navigating the sterile halls of Mayo Clinic.

We prepared for sleep before tucking our heads beneath a shared blanket. Mom's presence filled me with a flicker of warmth -- a reminder that even in the most challenging times, I had her steadfast love and support. Although exhausted, rest eluded me. I lay listening to the unfamiliar creaks and groans of the old wooden structure. Anxiety and anticipation clung to my thoughts in anticipation of my upcoming hip surgery at the bustling hospital just a few miles away. The walls of the boarding house seemed to whisper tales of long-forgotten residents, while I tried to focus on the promise of a pain-free future. I snuggled up against Mom's back and drifted into a troubled sleep.

The next day we entered the active pre-surgery area. It proved an overwhelming experience, as long hallways stretched before me, flanked by rows of patient cubicles occupied by nurses and technicians tending to the myriad needs of my awaiting procedure. The air was thick with a mix of antiseptic and nerves, punctuated by the faint hum of machines. Each new corridor led to an X-ray room for images of my crumbling hip or a phlebotomy station to check my blood for any underlying issues that could complicate surgery.

After the endless medical tests involving a flurry of medical jargon and a whirlwind of instructions, Mom decided we should treat ourselves to a comforting meal and a good movie to lighten the mood. We found a cozy diner and enjoyed an affordable yet satisfying meal of a classic grilled cheese sandwich paired with a steaming bowl of homemade tomato soup. The comfort food provided a sense of warmth and familiarity amidst the clinical atmosphere. Following the meal, we walked to a nearby cinema which offered budget-friendly movies no longer shown in the mainstream theaters. We sank into the tatty seats with a bucket of popcorn and escaped reality for a few hours, making the day's stresses feel distant.

That night, we huddled together once again in our dimly lit room. Mom praised my resilience while facing the upcoming surgery. I didn't tell her, but her unwavering support was the source of my strength. Mom had somehow managed to turn this daunting experience into a memorable adventure. While grappling with the juxtaposition of the daunting medical journey to come and the haunting aura of the spooky abode, we managed to forge a deep bond I often recount when facing any current perilous journey.

The following day we entered the hospital at the butt-crack of dawn to meet with the surgeon and anesthesiologist to discuss the day's surgical plan and address our concerns. As the physician explained the complex procedure of hip arthroplasty, where the surgeon saws the hip joint in half to create space for a new socket, a wave of nausea enveloped me. I plastered a look of nonchalant calm upon my face and gripped Mom's hand. Thankfully, the anesthesiologist pumped me full of drug induced bravery before I was wheeled to the operating room.

The following week in the hospital proved to be a tumultuous journey of healing, accompanied by unexpected challenges that tested my patience and resilience. Just when I thought I was adjusting to the ebb and flow of recovery, a sudden charley horse seized my back. The surgeon hadn't ordered any muscle relaxant, so I writhed in pain as I waited for medicine. Encased in plaster, no one could massage the excruciating spasms. My quiet suffering gave in to an intense mission to blurt every swear word I had ever heard. Mom gripped my hands and chastised me for using profanity, which prompted me to scream curse words at her. I was lost in the pain despite nurses encouraging me to use deep breathing techniques and visualization to ease the tension. After an hour of intense suffering, Methocarbamol ran through the IV tube into my arm ending the spasm and allowing me to sink into sweaty sleep.

As the days passed, my sass and stubbornness were tested time and again. With each ordeal, I felt a shift. I learned to lean into the suffering, to embrace it as part of my journey rather than a barrier. The sass remained, but it transformed into resilience; my stubbornness became a tool of survival. I sought to communicate my needs without harshness and allowed vulnerability to coexist with strength.

Years have passed since I left that hospital room for the last time. I didn't master patience at twenty-one, but I still carry with me the understanding that sometimes, enduring the storm is just as important as coming out on the other side. I have found harmony in my imperfections and rely on my sass to see me through!