If you read yesterday's Life with Lynnie (LwL) entry, you'll know that I wrote about going to hospital September 15th, and being diagnosed, requiring emergency surgery.
As you are aware, both my daughters were with me at the hospital. For this I will always be thankful.
Once it was decided that surgery was an absolute necessity, something happened that I wasn't sure you would want to hear about. Still, I decided that I would humble myself and tell you.
Some may feel that what I am about to tell you was crazy. Others may understand completely. Some may absolutely be disgusted.
But, the truth is, it happened.
Once the decision was made that I needed immediate surgery, a surgeon was called. He, along with a surgical medical student, joined me and my daughters.
After introducing himself and his shadow student to me, he explained what was wrong with me, and what was required in surgery.
Please cut me some slack, here. I had never before even heard of this surgeon, never mind ever required his services, or ever heard of anyone who knew of him.
But, I had beforehand been praying. Praying that God would bring a Christian surgeon to be directed by His hands.
Knowing that the shadow student surgeon was of Arabic heritage, I suspected he probably wasn't Christian. As for the surgeon himself, well... that was not so easy to determine, either. Even though this surgeon looked more Mexican than anything else, he had a Japanese-sounding name.
I asked if the surgeon was Christian.
You could have heard a pin drop in that room, where I was lying awaiting surgery. The surgeon, whose arms had been at his side, took a step back, bending his elbows and raising his arms into the air. The shadow student also took a step back.
Both my daughters began talking to me, insisting it didn't matter. But, to me, it did.
For the sake of this entry, I will not use any physician's names here, but I will tell you that I commented to all in the room, that it was important to me.
I rhetorically asked what Dr. _____, my Muslim doctor had done for me, other than to cause me physical grief. Then, I did the same asking what Dr. _____, my now deceased husband Gordon's Muslim doctor had done for him. For those who are not aware, my husband suffered greatly, with no assistance for treatment of a brain tumour, and no medications to assist him, even for pain.
Then, my daughters began talking to me making comments like the fact that God had brought this doctor here for me, and reminding me that if I didn't have surgery, I could die.
My response was that if I were to die, at least I knew where I was going. And, commented that they might be better off without me, anyway.
My daughters' replies were shocking and surprising to me. They told me how they didn't want me to die. That they loved me, etc.
But, when I heard them comment that they felt I needed to trust God and allow this surgeon to help me, I felt like I heard from God himself at that second.
That's when I agreed to not even discuss the issue further. After agreeing to move forward with the necessary surgery, I apologized to both doctors in the room, letting them know that it was nothing personal with regards to them. It was more of a case, where I needed to deal with the past issues of my life.
Thinking about how my daughters had reminded me that I needed to trust God, brought to mind Psalm 9:9-10, "The Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee."
How blessed I felt. How my heart beat almost out of my chest, just hearing my daughters refer to God.
I'm sure you'll understand that there is more for me to say, but it will have to wait.
Until next time...
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