Stitches in my mouth,
a month of gentle eating,
a big bill,
and a prayer. Yesterday, I returned to the periodontist for a month checkup and had a disquieting feeling because I couldn’t tell that anything had improved post-surgery. Vague sense of dread in my belly.
Sure enough, my suspicions were confirmed: my body had rejected the graft.
My immediate response? “I’m sorry. I failed.”
I actually said that to the doctor as he entered.
Up came all the automatic ways I had learned to avoid rebuke. Apologize…fawn…ingratiate.
What jolted me out of my stupor was a single sentence from the nurse.
“Don’t apologize for your body,” she briskly chided.
I had been acting like I should have been able to do better, to command the cells in my body to perform in such a way that they would have accepted the graft, as if it were all “under my control.”
The nurse spoke such a truth into me that tears sprang to my eyes.
There’s a nature at work inside us, an innate wisdom of the body that I had forgotten…and not for the first time.
A day later, I’m using my journal to create a space of allowing. Not apologizing for my body, but to it.
I’m sorry I worked you beyond your capacity.
I’m sorry I perpetuated the false narrative.
I’m sorry I abandoned myself.
I’m sorry I surrendered my own knowing.
I’m sorry.
And I love you.
Nancy
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