Navigating the unknown

It’s the night before my surgery and I’ve checked into the Plastics Ward, home for the next couple of weeks or so. I’ve donned my standard issue hospital pyjamas, a loose-fitting - dare I say airy - ensemble in tastefully subtle shades of green on white, decorated with the repeat phrase “hospital property”. There are many unknowns ahead in the next few days, but one thing is for certain: I won’t be nicking off with the kit.

Getting settled in the night before surgery, at Hutt Hospital

While my surgeons have now mapped out a precise procedure for tomorrow, there are of course no guarantees. Fortunately, I have the advantages of some experience from my cancer treatment last time - these are familiar unknowns, and I’ve come well equipped.

First, a compass. I’ll be keeping a special compass bedside this time. Knowing my love for the mountains, my sister Bron (who is a skilled jeweller) made me a beautiful silver compass fashioned with the silhouttes of the peaks from my favourite mountain runs, in New Zealand and of course, Japan.

Silver compass made by my sister Bron. There are five mountains, each marked with its altitude in metres.

Next, to navigate the darkness, some guiding stars. I grew up in New Zealand guided by the Southern Cross. (Don’t ask me what a “North Star” is; that’d swiftly see my navigation go to pot).

While I have only the haziest of memories from my previous stay in intensive care, I do remember the physical and mental demands of the first couple of days post-surgery. There are some dark places. In those dark places, I’ll be thinking of my shining stars Maree and Mia, and my brilliant galaxy of family and friends beyond.

Keep shining, all of you :)

The Southern Cross shining brightly over our place in Paekakariki