I laid crying on the exam table, exhausted in every way from the first night home with my newborn baby, as the doctor peered down at my surgical wound. My emotions were fried, I hadn’t slept a solid hour in days, and I was in pain…and then the doctor poked a giant cotton-tipped swab right into the most painful part of my surgical wound. I winced, and my super-chill OB said, “yikes, don’t look down” and started grabbing gauze pads.
Not twenty-four hours earlier I had come home from the hospital after my second c-section, and right before bedtime, upon looking at my awkward post baby body in the bathroom mirror, I realized that the wound was gaping…GAPING. You do not want to look down and see a gaping abdominal wound, folks. I panicked and spoke with the doctor on-call, who assured me that no, my insides were not going to “all fall out” and I wasn’t going to bleed to death in my sleep, but that I should come first thing in the morning.
So there I was, bright and early, oozing nasty stuff all over the exam table while my momma comforted my newborn in the corner. I learned something really important about wounds. The reason the doctor was so surprised by what happened when she poked (she would probably say she was “assessing the depth” or something like that, but y’all…it was a poke) is because the wound had begun healing from the outside. What happens when your surgical wound heals from the outside in (as opposed to the inside out) is that bacteria and “gross stuff” gets trapped in the wound and festers…and leads to infection. Luckily, my amazing OB took care of me in time. Unfortunately, that meant on top of a crazy two year old, a newborn who wanted to be permanently attached to mommy, a complete and total lack of sleep, a partial facial paralysis, and a brainstem lesion (which would be spotted two days later), I got to go to visit the wound care center multiple times per week for “wound packing.” Essentially, they would continue to poke the wound, and pack it full of medicated “stuff” that kept the wound from healing from the outside again. My momma and my husband (who obviously love me to do something so gross) also got to take turns packing my surgical wound…which was super fun for all of us.
So why am I sharing this nasty story with you? Because this sure feels like where I am today, folks.
When our family decided to step out of ministry and into something different a few years ago, there was a lot of woundedness involved. My instincts were strong…to make sure I healed it up from the outside so that it would appear to everyone that I was “handling things” or “together” or strong. I worked so hard to heal from the outside-in…absorbing all of the negative feelings into myself and not letting them escape – even to people who I know wanted to see me whole. And you know what happens when wounds heal from the outside in… infection, nasty stuff dripping all over the table…and a wound that takes a lot longer to heal.
A few weeks ago, when I shared some of my story about leaving, it felt just as painful as the doctor poking me with the giant q-tip. Nasty stuff dripped out everywhere, it hurt, and while support and encouragement abounded, I was shocked to be re-experiencing so much pain. I didn’t realize that there was still so much festering under the surface, and by sharing and letting some of the air hit the wound, I was re-opening it. Hopefully, this time, to let it heal from the inside.
Here’s the thing, sometimes healing the “right” way, the way that leads to sustainable health and wholeness, is incredibly painful. Sometimes you have to let the nasty stuff drain out and let the air hit the wound again. Sometimes, you have to let the people who are close to you help you tend to your wound, in moments and ways that you are unable.
But I will say one thing. When I look down at my surgical wound, I certainly remember the pain – but I also remember new life. Though the thick scar tissue still pulls and aches from time to time, the joy and love that entered the world through that wound is more precious than anything. My church-wounds are the same…painful and lasting, but also the portal to new life. With each birth there is a new identity – even if you were already a mother, you have never yet been a mother to “this” new child, and you never know how it will shape you. I am learning to be grateful for my wounds and the Life that has come forth from them. I am grateful for every second – both painful and joyful – for bringing me here.
Love and peace.
Photo by Piron Guillaume on Unsplash
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