On tenterhooks, but that’s okay. A.K.A. my husband’s scar

Yes, on tenterhooks, because, you see, doctors had told us during hubby’s previous hospitalization that he was too high a risk for surgery. He’d die on the operating table, they said. Or, he would suffer a heart attack within thirty days of surgery, due to the effects of the anaesthetic.

Then, as You know, he had another gall bladder attack and there was no longer an option. Surgery HAD to be done. We were between a rock and a hard place – either way he was a very sick man, if his heart didn’t kill him his gall bladder would. He survived the surgery and has been doing exceptionally well. His eyes are clearer and brighter, and though he remains on dialysis, he is still much healthier than he was a week ago.

He had to have the hateful thing removed the old fashioned way and now sports a very long scar across his midsection. It joins several other scars he’s accumulated over a lifetime.

Despite the risk of heart failure, I am so grateful that he had the surgery. And, let’s face it, with over twenty years as a diabetic he was always facing the risk of yet another heart attack. We have to keep it real, right?

Still I am a tad nervous. And yet, I want to kiss that new and jagged scar. It means he has the possibility of renewed strength because there will no longer be poisons leaking through his system from a diseased gall bladder.

Blessed be this scar! And may his heart be stronger and the scourge of diabetes weakened. This is my prayer.