An ad on Ebay recently touted the sale of vintage French infantry weapons thusly:
“For Sale: French Muskets… like new, hardly used, only dropped twice.”
Of course, this is an old joke. But it does segue nicely into today’s topic for discussion.
Last time I blathered about the world according to me, I was ready to tackle a second round of heart surgery in less than a month. Obviously, since I am writing this blog 
and you are reading it, I survived. So, with that news flash out-of-the-way, I think I’ll take it from here in a little less predictable direction. If you don’t mind?
No. Good! Let’s proceed.
I chose “surrender” as my theme, because Monday is June 18th – the 197th Anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo. Why is that so doggone important, you ask? Well, let me tell you. But first… Here’s a little history lesson for you:
The Battle of Waterloo was fought on Sunday, 18 June 1815 near Waterloo in present-day Belgium, then part of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands. AnImperial French army under the command of Emperor Napoleon was 
defeated by combined armies of the Seventh Coalition, an Anglo-Allied army under the command of the Duke of Wellington combined with a Prussian army under the command of Gebhard von Blücher. It was the culminating battle of theWaterloo Campaign and Napoleon’s last. The defeat at Waterloo ended his rule as Emperor of the French, marking the end of his Hundred Days return from exile. (source: Wikipedia)
Don’t worry. These things do have a way of coming together in the end. There’s no use worrying that a beaten Emperor Napoleon standing in front of the Duke of Wellington 197 years ago with his hands reaching for the sky has precisely zero connection to heart surgery performed in Fort Worth, Texas in 2012. It’s a funny image, but it’s nonetheless a disconnect. Or is it?
I arrived at the hospital on time – 7:30AM sharp – just like they told me to. I had no coffee in me, so the fact that I was standing up at all and not sleeping on a waiting
room sofa was a miracle in and of itself.
The receptionist greeted me with a cheery smile too bright for that time of day and noted that everything was “all systems go” for surgery. That was going happen at 10:30AM.
(So, why did I have to get here at this hour again?)
The prep staff performed like clockwork – I was whisked to a “pre-screening” room where they surgically removed $150-bucks from my wallet to cover the hospital co-pay and then a very nice lady in a business suit entered all of my personal insurance information, living will, emergency contacts, and shoe size into the data base.
I was only kidding about the shoe size… wanted to see if you were still paying attention.
But that was only the beginning…
From there – the pre-screening room – they took me straight to pre-op. Now the only
thing I know about pre-op I learned from watching the hit TV show M*A*S*H. Not much, I guess? I was stripped naked and in a hospital gown faster than Napoleon said, “I surrender!” (Cheap shot, I know.)
That’s another thing… the hospital gown.
When I had my heart attack less than a month ago, it took two – count ’em two – gowns to cover my big pale keester. I wore one forward and one (thank God) backwards too. This time they gave me one and it wrapped around me four times. I know I’ve lost some weight, but I looked like someone the mob planned to dump into the river after a hit. Sorry, got my Chicago showing. But man… this thing could have covered a wagon.
(Seriously! Do I have to wear this? And how’s the surgeon gonna find my heart in here?)
Well, he found it alright – I spent the next twelve hours wrapped in a king sized bed sheet and was hangin’ out all over the place, because it kept falling off. Thanks a lot y’all!
Anyway, I was thinking about all the jokes I cracked about the Cardiologist the last time I was lying around in the hospital waiting for him to visit:
“The Doctor is running a little behind schedule today, sir.” The nurse told me in a bright but ever so apologetic voice.
I snarked back, “Bet he has to finish the back nine first, huh?”
(Oh, God. Please don’t let the nurse tell him I said that – he’ll pull the plug on me for sure. He’ll put tiny flags on all eighteen holes he drills into my heart. She’s probably texting him right now: “You’re not gonna believe what your wise guy patient said about you, Doctor? No! No! Let him lie here a while, he’ll be fine. It’s forty-degrees in the O-R right now. And he’s wearing a sheet! Ha! Ha!” I sure hope he gets a hole-in-one today. Ugh!)
It was raining out and no golf was going to be played. Well, the Doctor surely was going to play through a few holes in me. He walked into the operating room just as the team was preparing me for surgery.
(No golf jokes today – I promise!)
He shook my hand and said, “Are you ready for this?”
I don’t know if you ever had surgery, but this is all very new to me. Last time I went “under the knife” (Do they even say that anymore?) they did some kind of a ceremonial dance around a camp fire, sacrificed a live chicken, and bled me with a leech. Really, it was a long, long time ago – I was about five years old.
I liked all the high-tech stuff, but did it have to be so cold? I think I saw a side of beef hanging in the corner? Oh, maybe that was the Anesthetist? They had begun sending drugs my way and I was beginning to get a bit fuzzy.
Doc excused himself to “go scrub” and one of the nurses said, “Okay, get his music going.”
(Music? I like music. Can they play music and still operate? Won’t they get distracted? Oh, who cares. I feel pretty darn good right now and… Ah!!!)
Then they cranked it with some solid bass reflex to shake me awake for just a few seconds more.
(Waterloo? They’re playing… ABBA. Noooooooooo!)
I told you it’d all come together.
Then I belted out uncontrollably, “The Doctor likes ABBA?! Bah ha!”
He can’t be serious?
My shrill couldn’t have been any more condescending if I wanted it to be. The Anesthetist leaned over and said, “ABBA calms Doctor down when he operates and we want Doctor to be calm today, right?”
Well, since you put it that way. As a matter of fact, yes I do.
All’s well that ends well, I guess? Unless you’re Napoleon.
Speaking of surrender…
Our will as human beings can be something we cling to with tight fists and a closed heart. I know that I have always been “strong-willed” as it were. But unless we turn our lives over to God we can’t get away from the shackles of this life. And there are many things that bind us, whether we chose to admit it, or not.
I spent a long time insisting my own way. I thought I could do it all. I gave God a bit part in the story that is my life and I took-off with a reckless abandon that only a drunk with no compass heading out into the wilderness in a storm could have had. I was lost and in big trouble in no time at all – didn’t know it either. Duh!
God has roped me in. He has addressed every corner of my life, on His time, with His amazing Grace, and for His good. He told us all that He would.
For a long time I knew I had it right. Boy, was I wrong about that! I was losing the 
fight. Then I surrendered to God’s will and it all started to move in the right direction. The four-year metamorphosis has changed me in so many ways. And all I did was give it to God.
Some of you might think that all this sounds hokey, or sentimental, or “too religious” for you. I did surrender my will to God though and He has changed me completely.
Four years ago I lost my job, I lost my health insurance, I lost my dignity, I lost friends… I suffered great financial losses too, duked it out with the IRS, fell into debt, and had to search for work – a fifty year old man – during arguably the worst economic times since The Great Depression.
I knew that I suffered from out of control type II diabetes and yet I let it slide. What I did not know was the surprise my heart had in store, slowly creeping-up on me. It knocked me down last month with a force I had never experienced in my whole life.
I thrive today in a brand new career, with good health care, and the debt monkeys are off my back. I can’t imagine life without my students, my church family, and some of the new friends I’ve met along the way. I also have renewed relationships that began years ago, when I was a different guy. Today I can see those relationships more clearly and eternally.
I thank God for it all. To surrender to His will for my life was the best choice I ever made. It was a forever choice. I am forever grateful for what He has done and what He continues to do for me. I am blessed.
How’s that for the bright side?
I know it’s normal to be depressed after going through what I’ve gone through. Even the doctors and nurses at the hospital told me this. Buy hey, they also listen to ABBA.
Under a Glass Moon 