Surgery Day

We didn't deliver most of the Girl Scout cookies. My dishwasher is full of clean dishes, and my counter is stacked with rinsed dirty ones. My house looks like someone ransacked it, and we were 10 minutes late this morning.

These things don't matter. I'm sitting in the prep room with Mark, who's scanning through his phone. Our nurse is a long-time friend from church; Tracey has the children, and this feels both terrifying and boring. "Let's get on with it!" I want to scream. But there's medication to be given, tubes and wires to connect. Verifications of medical history, medications taken. 

I'm not scared, and I don't think Mark is either. We both just have a grimly stoic resignation. Pray for us today. For the doctors, nurses, hospital staff. 

It's Ash Wednesday. I haven't even thought about Lent. I'm sure there's something fitting and appropriate about having Mark's rectum cut out on Ash Wednesday, but I don't have it in me to figure that out.

We had to take off his ring. He wanted me to put it in his bag, but I want to wear it to feel a little closer today.