Let the Healing Begin

I was reading Haruki Murakami at that time and this was the last line I barely understood before my parents rushed me to the hospital for the third time this week: "The Earth, after all, doesn't creak and groan its way around the sun just so human beings can have a good time and chuckle." And so God created pain. And even if I had the ability to make the world spin in another orbit, I certainly couldn't just laugh the pain off. But now I say enough now. Enough of this that I didn't see coming, enough of the pounding in my back, the stabbing feeling near my liver, and the heavy throbbing in my lower left chest. The most meaningless thing in the world right now is to dwell on that twinge of sorrow. As if shoveling steaming white rice to your mouth with quick deep breaths, shifting gears in careful calculation, brave and instinctive as a baby's first step, we move on.

Now that I that I'm back to this drawing board, I'm going to map out what's remarkable enough to look back to and what I should be grateful for: the euphoria of Orudis (a strong sedative), the warmth of having a family behind you, people who willingly made an effort for you, a God out there whom in your most desperate gave heed and gave mercy, and having D., who is the most effective medicine without whom none of this pain can ever be assuaged. True healing is not within the confines of the hospital and the efficacy of medicine.

There is everything to be thankful for, and this is when the real healing should begin.