The Healing Continues

 

What had been feared has come to pass. Last Thursday, I entered the operating room for another surgery, this time lasting two hours.

I had been preparing myself mentally to go under the knife, accepting that I could not know my fate. I would have to surrender to the circumstances, trust those caring for me, and hope for the best.

Before, during and after the ordeal, I felt much love and positive energy being directed toward me. That is medicine in and of itself.

My cousin David, a retired orthopedic surgeon in Dallas, offered encouragement, as did Amy, my wife, and indeed everyone who knew the circumstances.

Our dear neighbors, Marta and Mayolo, drove us to the hospital and waited to bring me home afterward. This despite having already done a favor for someone else that morning—driving to the airport at 3 AM for a very early flight. Such generosity touches me deeply.

Now I must rest. Essentially, I am to do nothing that requires physical exertion. This is made more difficult by the fact that Día de Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is upon us—the extraordinary annual celebration here in Oaxaca. Ordinarily, we would be out almost every day, and I would be taking hundreds of photographs.

Perhaps I can catch a little of the excitement in Centro before the final day, November 2. Our village, too, has its own special celebration.

For now, I must be content to watch the world turn, knowing that life is unfolding in all its color and mystery, even while I remain still.

I feel a lot of gratitude.