Gallbladder Eviction Day

I'm writing this to you on Sunday evening. Ryan is asleep on Mo, and if I'm guessing my logos right, it appears the Packers and the Cowboys are duking it out on TV. Braeya is curled up beside me, which is rare. She always picks Ryan over me.

And right now, I'm thinking about tomorrow, which will be today when you read it. Today Ryan gets to have his gallbladder evicted. I'm not even sure I really caught everyone up to speed on that in a formal way last week. We went to see the surgeon on Wednesday, and as he listened to Ryan's heartbeat through his stethoscope, he sort of randomly threw out the information as a side note.

"Oh, by the way. Found a cancellation on my schedule. We can do the surgery Monday."

Monday? As in less than a week from now Monday?

Indeed, apparently. Ryan and I just sat, jaws dropped, staring at one another across the examination room. One of those moments when God hands you the exact answer you prayed for, but you're shocked out of your ever-loving mind because you never actually imagined you'd get that answer. Surgery in five days is unheard of! I mean, the doctor told me mine needed to come out immediately, and one month later it did. We were expecting a repeat of that.

But history did not repeat itself, and that is how today came to be surgery day. Ryan is perfectly calm about it. Excited, even. He misses his pizza and, well, most food. He's eager to have options beyond chicken and fish. He's excited to think about days that don't include ongoing discomfort. He misses normal, and so do I.

But I'm nervous, and if you know me, this should not surprise you at all. I know gallbladder surgery is ridiculously routine. This surgeon probably has hundreds - even thousands - of them under his belt. This is just another day at the office for him, and for the routineness of it, I am profoundly grateful. People certainly go in for much more serious and delicate procedures, and that is not lost to me.

But just the same, it's surgery, and it's Ryan's first surgery ever in life, actually. And he's my love, and I get teary-eyed thinking about handing him over to a guy I met five days ago and a team of helpers I've never met. {And I've secretly hoped the really nice nurse that prayed over me when I freaked out in the OR gets to be on that team. She was amazing.}

I spent part of today {yesterday, for you} scrapbooking our Christmas, and I just laughed and cried all the way through the pictures. The ridiculous set of awkward family photos we tried to take with Braeya, where she gouged Ryan and led to all manner of crazy faces.

The joy on his face when he opened Daryl the drone and the joy he's had in the many days since, learning to operate him, while I duck and dive out of the way from my perch on the couch.

The way he stood and prayed over his brother at the family Christmas, after his brother prayed for all the men of the family.

And not just Christmas, but every day. Every day is sweeter when lived by Ryan's side. He always makes me laugh. Always.

He prays over me, encourages me, supports my dreams, invests himself wholeheartedly in our families and friendships, and works hard every day to bring joy to everyone around him.

He has taken the last almost month of illness like a champ. He's changed his diet {and subsequently his lifestyle} without complaint. He's braved the pain, and because I've had it, I know how much it hurts. He's gone to every test and waited with much more patience and trust than I have. He's been a great example, even in this mess.

This man is my love, and today I'm praying for a safe and successful surgery. One that will relieve his pain and let him return to the life and food he loves.

On the day of my surgery, Ryan wrote the blog, and he ended it by telling me he loved me and he'd be there when I woke up. And he was. He sat with me and helped me get safely home and cared for me in recovery. He took care of my sickness in his health. And now I return the favor.

Ryan, I love you so much. I'm grateful for this miracle of a quick surgery, and today I am praying over you and the team who cares for you. You are my joy, and I"ll be here when you wake up.

Forever my love,

Your Awesome Sauce