The number ten.

Significant to some–their lucky number, the number of fingers and toes, the ten commandments, the ten plagues of the Book of Exodus, just hopefully not the number of marriages they have had, but I know a few who have gotten close! (Can you even imagine!?)

The number ten often represents the completion of a cycle–a time for your guardian angel to step beside you and provide you guidance for the next steps in your journey. It is said it symbolizes encouragement–a constant reminder that God is always there.

Ten, to me, represents the number of surgeries I have gone through since 1982. Crazy, right? Ten and that does not include any skin procedures, just big, under the knife, under anesthesia and hospital stay procedures.

I guess to look at me you would never think I have battled so much with my health, but it seems I inherited more than my Daddy’s blue eyes and Momma’s demeanor. I brought with me many of the same health issues they both had while my siblings have walked through unscathed from the family tree.

At 59, I have seen my share of freak medical moments, frightening after surgical scares and a few (now) funny moments including the ambulance which threw the axle at 65 mph on a dark country highway and my Mike Tyson experience coming out of anesthesia. In 1992, I lost a fallopian tube and appendix in what started out as a laparoscopic surgery that quickly moved to a Cesarean cut when both ruptured while I was on the operating table. I had a difficult time coming out from the cloudiness of the drugs and awoke to Mike Tyson three inches from my face. The nurse was actually reading a magazine while she was waiting for me to “come to” with the champ’s face on the cover. I screamed a blood curdling scream thinking he was about to knock me out…not so funny to the nurse who screamed louder than I did, but funny now.

I have been cut Cesarean three times with no children. I have had six nodules removed from my vocal cords with total voice rest for six weeks which many people would consider quite the blessing. I have parted ways with my gallbladder, have had tendons in both hands repaired from a nasty allergic bout with Ciproflaxin and have had cartilage removed from my jaw due to TMJ. I have fought a battle with diverticulitis for years which placed me with an eighteen-inch colon resection. I have experienced painful episodes from scar tissue which resulted in surgery earlier this year. Needless to say, I am the sum of my scars–each one with its own story and recovery.

Tomorrow I will face the number ten and it will be the longest recovery I have yet to experience, a period of six to eight weeks. Post-menopausal bleeding has placed a full hysterectomy on my plate. It seems with the high rate of cervical and uterine cancers these days, the answer is surgery.

I am packed for my surgical journey. I have my rosary, my husband and my bear. Yes, my bear. He found his way to me during my resection surgery in 2017 and has accompanied me to every overnight hospital stay since. In some ways, he represents the Pooh in me coupled with a bit of my childhood–a symbol of bravery and loss. I think I am now growing strong enough to be able to tell that story, but I first have to get through ten.

In the book of Genesis, it says “God said” ten times. I am reminded of my Creator as I prepare for tomorrow. As He created the universe, He also created me. I have learned through the journey and the scars to trust Him, for I am never alone.

I sit back, breathe and remember: Fear not. Just like my bear, a little comfort, a little safe, a little brave.