I went in for an MRI and was told I had a two-inch tumor on my left partial lobe. They wanted to operate immediately. Being in the COVID-19 emergency procedures, I would admit directly to the ICU on my own for preparation and another MRI and surgery was Sunday morning. I was ready. I had been feeling sick for years and now, and at least, I knew there was actually something really wrong. Likely the Melanoma that was removed 12 years ago had returned and this time it had metastasized. No one could touch me, hug me, or make contact because of the virus precautions. Everyone's smiles and well wishes were beautiful and perfect but I was about to undergo a procedure from which I might not wake up - or from which I may wake up a differently-abled person.
In comes Sally on that Saturday morning. She's there to put the guides on my head so that the next MRI can be done which will help guide the surgical robot. But we don't even get to that for an hour or more. She starts by asking if she can rub my feet and asking me about my son (who's at home), and where I live, and what my life is like. She shares some of her story about her own journey with cancer, almost becoming an OR nurse, and then pressing pause so she could raise the lovely daughter she was blessed with 14 years ago. We laugh and share the names of bands we love. I play her a song that my friend sent to me when I found out about the tumor. It reminds us both of just how resilient we are. When it's time to shave spots on my head, she suggests we FaceTime my son so she can meet him and he can see that they're not going to shave me bald! She puts him at ease. Explains all the wonders of the modern surgery equipment they will use and then tells us that the team assembled to operate on me is the only one in the world she would ever want to do an operation like this.
We both ride motorcycles and so I share how I took my son to Kindergarten on the back of my 650 GS. We're laughing the whole time she's attaching guides for the surgery. She comes down to the MRI with me and makes sure to request a copy of the MRI so I can take it home with me when this is all over. She's there with a smile as I pull out of the machine. She squeezes my hand and says she'll see me in the morning. Yes, she'll definitely get a picture for me. After the surgery, which was an amazing success, she's there again to rub my feet and offer congratulations. I came through the tunnel with her by my side. We're both out and alright on the other side. "How about the next time we meet, it's for a beer a the Lyons folk fest. Who knows, maybe the band will be there to play Resilient and we'll both truly know we are."