When I broke my hand two weeks before a scheduled hip replacement surgery, my hopes temporarily evaporated. My worst fear wasn’t the prospect of postponing the hip procedure.
When preparing for hip surgery, I was told to set a goal to motivate my recovery. I dreamed of accompanying my husband on long bike rides. How could I possibly purchase an eBike for use after the hip healed when I couldn’t even avoid falling off a stationary bike? I cried in discouragement. I would never ride the gravel trails again.
Then a friend suggested, “What about a recumbent bike?” Hope rekindled in a heartbeat. Of course! I’d be on three wheels and close to the ground! I started looking at options.
Earlier, when I traveled to urgent care for the hand, I prayed with hope that the X-ray would show no break. “Funny story,” I told the nurse. “It starts with the cell phone I was holding instead of the handlebars and ends when my foot slipped off the pedal.” Even as I feared my hand was broken, I hoped and joked.
Pessimism nipped at my heels when I got a splint all the way up to my elbow. Would my hip surgeon, who I would see seven days later for a pre-op appointment, keep me on schedule for hip replacement? I had waited six long months for that appointment. I anticipated walking pain-free post-procedure. What would happen now?
The seven-day wait to see the surgeon seemed like 70. I dared to cling to hopefulness. When the surgeon looked at both the hand and hip X-rays, he shook his head. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this? Your hand is fractured. It will certainly add a complication.” Hope swelled in me; he wasn’t saying no.
“I want to go ahead,” I said. He prescribed a walker accommodation so I could push it with my elbow. Hope turned to elation.
And yet, waiting for major surgery is fraught with ups and downs. How much pain would I experience, before and after? When I arrived at the hospital, a part of me wanted to run away screaming. My devotion to Mary via the Miraculous Medal helped me through the temptation to bolt. I prayed, “Jesus, through the intercession of your loving mother, I surrender this procedure and everyone in pre-op, in the operating room, and in recovery to you. Please take care of everything.”
While waiting, I listened to instrumental Christian music to calm my nerves and fight the temptation to put on my clothes and leave. I prayed for whoever would be in this bed the next day. I knew I could choose either to give in to worry and despondency or act against it.
Now, there’s something to know about me. I love giving away Miraculous Medals to strangers. Ride-share drivers, cashiers, parking-lot attendants, and others who seem to need a blessing find me pressing a medal into their palms with a promise of my prayers. Of course I gave one to everyone I met in the hospital, from the receptionist, who accepted it excitedly, to the anesthesiologist, who rolled his eyes, and most importantly to my surgeon, who agreed to say an Our Father with me before I entered the operating theater.
Now three weeks past that surgery, as I type with one hand because the other is still in a brace, I’m healing very well. What stays with me most is a deep consolation as I remember the surgeon bowing his head and praying with me. He kept the Miraculous Medal in his pocket during the surgery. And I pray still with hope for everyone treated in the hospital that day. I imagine Mary, in scrubs, walking around the hospital long after I checked out.
Today in 31 Days with St. Ignatius, read The Devil Comes Cloaked as an Angel of Light by William A. Barry, SJ. Use the hashtag #31DayswithIgnatius to share this or any of our articles on social media.