[insert title about community]

It takes a village, etc. etc.

“Sorry, I can’t. The doctor said stress isn’t good for the baby. (I’m the baby.)”

I love that joke. When they say “it takes a village,” they usually mean caring for a baby. I’m the baby.

I had a gnarly surgery back in February which involved a little slice under my tongue and a bigger slice under my jaw, to remove an ill-behaved salivary gland. My mindset leading up was “no big deal, I had my wisdom teeth out as a teenager. I sat around with an ice pack and watched movies for 2 days. How bad could it be?” Turns out, pretty dang bad. I was miserable, and deeply unprepared for that misery.

So, when the itinerant salivary stone, which had escaped from its infectious glandular prison during Surgery 1, caused a new infection leading to the need for Surgery 2 in July, I started making noise. “Pray for me,” “bring me soup,” “wish me luck,” “I’m so nervous,” “I need help.”

Behold my 1 cm long calcium deposit shaped like a grain of rice. It now lives in a jar.

Fun fact: I HATE asking for help. Loathe it with a red-hot passion. You know the videos of the burning hot metal balls landing on and melting various objects? The objects are the tender, personal wants and needs of my delicate heart, all sizzled into deformity by the hot iron ball of my refusal to ask for support. But I did it, because I was deeply afraid of Everything Sucking As Bad As Or Worse Than Last Time.

And here’s what happened:

• Maddie and her toddler took me to the hospital.
• Heather sat with me after surgery, held my hand while I cried until the painkillers kicked in, and took me home.
• Lexi brought me bone broth - all I could manage to “eat” for two days.
• Emily offered baby cuddles.
• Ashley brought tomato bisque.
• RyAnne brought potato soup and applesauce.
• Megan and Naomi brought gazpacho.
• Kelci brought me chia pudding.

Prayers went up. Texts flooded in. I had to turn down offers for more food because my fridge was already full of wholesome, no-chewing-required meals. My well-being was on people’s minds, and I could see it, feel it, and taste it. This is what it is to be loved well, to be part of a community. It (whatever it is) takes a village, and my village showed up.

And I felt guilty! This surgery was leagues easier than the last one. Everything went so seamlessly. The recovery was far less fraught and painful. It was physically, mentally, and emotionally easier in every way. Surgery was Tuesday morning, and I felt almost normal by Wednesday night, besides for the stitches under my tongue.

It’s been a week now, and every time someone has reached out and said “feel better soon!” “I hope you’re doing okay!” “praying for your healing!” I’ve felt like a FRAUD. If they were so busy caring about me, I should have been busy being more miserable! What a waste of all that asking for help, to turn out pretty much fine! If they were going to support me during my suffering, I should have SUFFERED!

Anyway, I don’t have some grand point I’m getting to. This surgery was a lot easier. And I did still need support. And, I reckon if my friends wanted me to feel better soon, they’re probably glad I did. It was good practice in flexing my Community Mindset Muscle, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude.

what’s better than unexpected mail? unexpected possum

This month, my friends have:

• Helped me recover from surgery.
• Sent me goodies in the mail for no reason.
• Believed in my new hobby business and gave my first sales.
• Let me raid several closets for a wedding guest outfit.

incredibly sacrificial to buy such cute stuff from me…

So, you could say I’m feeling pretty loved and supported. And, I guess, getting slightly more comfortable asking for help—just don’t expect me to stop saying “no worries if not” yet.

LOVE YOU GUYS.