Brave Enough to Breathe

The first and last time that I was put to sleep using anesthesia was 4 years ago. I had my gallbladder removed, and according to The Hubster and family, coming out of the anesthesia wasn't pretty. Fists were swinging, tools flying, and they wouldn't let me leave the hospital until I could say my name. The Hubster desperately asked me to say my name so we could go home. All that came from my mouth for the next hour was, "Bu-Bu-Bu-Bubble?"

The surgery was scheduled for 9 a.m. and didn't take place until 8 p.m. because just as the surgeon was about to begin, I whispered something in his ear.

"I ate a cookie. Lies. I ate two."

You should've seen the reaction in the hospital. I was informed why when told not to eat after midnight, I should do just that, and not eat after midnight. I was scared out of my mind and wheeled into the corner for the next 11 hours. Still hungry.

So when I went to my oral surgeon this morning to have my last two wisdom teeth removed, he already knew the deal. This girl was not being put to sleep. Being outside of myself and vulnerable makes me extremely uncomfortable. Not to mention, what happens to me when I come out of it deserves its own reality show.

Instead I had the local anesthesia. This meant I sat in the chair, he swabbed some numbing cream on my gums, and stabbed me about 8 times. I'm not going to lie, the last two hurt. A lot. Like a baby I held the assistant's hand and squeezed it as if I were giving birth. Somehow, this was still better than being put to sleep. Once the hard part was over, the teeth were eventually removed. (I'll spare you the details.)

What stood out to me though was that after I received the shots, the surgeon left to visit another patient and let the numbing do its magic. The assistant stayed behind to make sure I was okay. After about two minutes she brought out a tube and tried to put it in my nose. As you can imagine, I freaked out.

I waved my hands frantically and moaned 'Nooooo'. Drooling and all. I thought she was coming with the sneak attack of some sleepy gas. (After reading my post titled A Ten Dollar Bill, it's clear that I always think someone is out to get me.) She laughed and said, "Girl, it's just oxygen."

Just oxygen. Air. That's all. I was so tense, nervous, and full of anxieties about the unknown and inevitable pain that I had forgotten how simple it was to just breathe. I had forgotten how much it would benefit me during the procedure to just inhale and exhale through my nose.

Sometimes being brave means just that, breathing. Waking up, putting your feet on the floor and breathing. Despite your yesterday, remembering to breathe today can definitely impact your tomorrow.

Bravery for you may mean getting through the work day. It may mean choosing joy. Bravery may mean standing your ground with a toddler having a tantrum. It may mean taking daily medicine to cure an ailment. It may mean fighting for your marriage. Bravery comes in all shapes and sizes and no two stories are the same. No matter our fight, our struggle, or circumstance that requires us to be brave. . . we must remember to breathe.


Jeanell