My husband is in surgery right now. Oh, it’s nothing too serious. Just a hernia. Not to worry.
But he’s never been in surgery before. Well, not since he was a teenager and accidentally put his hand through a pale glass window. He almost lost his hand. But that was a long time ago.
Now, he’s got a little bump in his belly. They got him all prepped and shot the happy juice into his IV. “Not to worry, ” I said. Then I kissed him. As they wheeled him into surgery I called out, “nighty night.”
Neither of us slept very well last night. He’s nervous about the surgery. I feel sorry for his feeling nervous. I said, “Not to worry. Everything’ll be fine.”
The prep nurse is terrific. She’s got an Aussie accent and has a great sense of humor.
Bruce is a dignified guy, not used to donning those awful hospital gowns. He’s embarrassed, and trying to tamp down the natural shaky feeling you get before surgery.
The surgeon comes in for a very brief talk. He’s extremely tall, with a deep voice and enormous hands. I wonder how hands that large can possibly perform such delicate surgery.
He leaves and the anesthesiologist comes in with a few questions and information about the kind of stuff they’ll use to knock Bruce out.
I see my husband squirm. “Not to worry,” I say in my head. Everything’ll be fine.” And I pray for Bruce.
He’ll be in there for an hour. In fact, as I write, I imagine that they’re just getting their scalpels ready.
Ach! Now I’m nervous. I’m praying.
God speaks into my heart, “Not to worry. Every’ll be just fine.”