My body went through a trauma. I went through a trauma. I can finally say those words.
On Wednesday, I met with the surgeon for a follow-up appointment. It’s been three weeks since I had emergency surgery to remove my appendix. During the appointment, I asked him a few questions regarding when I can exercise again, lifting, any restrictions. He told me what others had told me, but I refused to believe: my body has been through a trauma. In his words, my body is reacting and responding to the surgery the same way as if it had been stabbed. Which, he clarified, it was: three times in my abdomen. Granted, it was with my permission and for healing, but my body doesn’t know that. It knows something sharp pierced through the skin and worked on the insides.
I awoke from the surgery crying out. I remember that, even through the fog of the anesthesia and drugs they gave me. I started hyperventilating and getting upset, so much so that the nurse told me I needed to breathe or else I was going to kill myself. I didn’t understand why I reacted that way out of surgery. I wasn’t in pain. They put an anti-motion sickness patch on me prior to surgery so as to avoid waking feeling nauseous. No. I awoke crying out as I came to consciousness because my body knew what happened. I may not have been awake during the procedure, but my body was.
My body was in pain. Not physical pain; instead, it was in its own sort of emotional pain at having had the boundary of skin crossed with a blade. Of missing a piece of itself it had known for its entire life, albeit, an inflamed one that was no longer healthy.
My body is starting to understand that it was done for healing and that I am, in fact, healing because I am starting to understand what my body has been trying to desperately tell me: trauma.
The body and self are finally communicating.