Liberation: Breaking The Chains To Survival And Freedom.
“I could hear the surgery going on in the room next to mine. They were trying to wake a patient and I could hear him moaning in pain. My anxiety shot through the roof. Shit.
Professor Choong came in then, said hello, and walked straight over to a bench filled with papers and other hospital equipment. I wondered what he was doing? His head was bowed down, like he was writing, but he didn’t have a pen in his hand. He stayed that way for a couple of minutes, then lifted his head up and with his hands, gesturing the cross across his chest. He was praying? Really? Wait a second, he’s praying for me?
Tears swelled in my eyes, as I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
He came over to me, and explained to me again that the chance of dying on the table was high. He reminded me that he would be cutting through my flesh with no visibility to what was lying in front of the scalpel — that the blood vessels surrounding the tumour had been moved around due to its size and growth.
He was deadly serious and amazingly honest.
Holding my hand, he told me to pray, not only for the surgery to go well, but to pray for him and his team: to pray that God would use their hands to serve as useful tools for me, to provide me with the answers I needed to save my life. To pray that the tumour would be easily accessible through the tangle of vessels, and that the ultra sound machine give them enough of a clear window to what was inside.
Pray that they would be able to cut a good-sized piece of the tumour for a sample, and that if something should go wrong, he and his team would have sufficient help from Him to get me out of it. Pray that I wake up when it was over for my children…for my family.
I lost it. I smiled at him through the fog of tears and the massive lump in my throat, thanking him repeatedly, not used to having a complete stranger care about me the way he did.
Watching him walk back into the operating room, I had to talk myself into finding some sort of strength or courage. My hands were ice cold from fear and my mouth as dry as dust. I didn’t want to go in there giving up before it had even started. I didn’t want to be scared any more. I wanted to be strong.
I visualised myself waking up after surgery, seeing Paul and holding my babies in my arms. I may not have known what to expect, but in that moment, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to live…..”
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