Human Touch

Very early this morning, as I awaited the anesthesiologist to come in and poke needles in my neck, I started feeling a little "alone".

For a mother in my position, that's a RARE feeling to experience. 

I was preparing to have a manipulation done on my frozen shoulder, because I still have such limited range of motion following the bigger surgery last March.  Comparatively, this is a dinky little procedure.  I might have achieved similar results had I drank some tequila and catapulted myself off a large jungle gym (as a dear friend had suggested).  I opted for Doctor's assistance and pain medication.

Because Kel stayed home to hold down the fort, Brennan generously agreed to take me.  The nurse encouraged him to stay in the waiting room, and she would call him back to post-op for discharge orders.

And I heard a toddler crying as he was coming out of surgery sleep, and a young boy wailing over having a casted arm, and an elderly woman slipping in and out of consciousness as her husband tried to engage her in conversation.

But in the minute of realizing I was alone, my nurse came in, adjusted my blood pressure cuff, checked my IV drip, smiled at me, and touched my leg.  At that moment I was reminded of the love and sacrifices of my family, and the prayers and assistance of my friends.  At that moment, I felt comforted.

Having SO many children in the house, I take it for granted that I might not one day have grimy fingers offer me a hug and a bouquet of dandelions.  Or that a teen with a set of car keys might not stop a split second for a "goodbye-I'll be home by curfew" hug.  Or a spouse whose hugs don't need anything to accompany them.

Today I could appreciate the implication of how we are all so deeply connected,  especially when a human touch can bring comfort when even family and friends are not present.

I want to be more generous with the way I touch, because we're a lot less alone than we think.