This is Chapter 3 in the Wellness Memoir. Catch up on previous chapters here.
Managing two major surgeries during the first half of my husband’s 12-month deployment meant juggling my health, caring for a baby, maintaining a household, and sustaining a long-distance marriage. Deployment is difficult for any military spouse, but dealing with a health crisis while solo parenting made it overwhelming. Shifting from being a caregiver to relying on others to care for me was uncomfortable—I wasn’t great at accepting help.
My disease symptoms led to a scheduled surgery. With my baby only nine months old and without a local support network, I faced challenges I couldn’t tackle on my own. Traveling three hours to a hospital for surgery meant I needed to call on my family to help, as there was no way I could manage alone. Both my in-laws and my parents immediately offered to assist, responding without hesitation. My in-laws arrived a few days before my surgery and stayed with my son during my hospital stay. My mom also flew in to support me as my primary caregiver.
On the day of the operation, the surgeon explained he wouldn’t know how much of my colon he’d need to remove until he began. There was a possibility I’d wake up with an ostomy bag to allow my GI tract to heal, a thought that terrified me. I hoped the worst-case scenario would not become my reality.
This was my fifth surgery. Since childhood, I’d become unusually comfortable in medical environments, having faced needles, IVs and anesthesia many times. However, when I woke up in the recovery room, dread set in. I immediately asked the nurse if I had an ostomy bag. She paused, clearly reluctant to answer, then asked another staff member to bring in my mom.
When my mom came in, she took my hand and gently explained that the surgeon had indeed placed an ostomy bag to ensure proper healing. I burst into tears, feeling the weight of this challenging season of life. My husband was halfway through a year-long deployment, my baby was three hours away, and my body felt irrevocably changed. At that moment, life felt as if it had been altered forever.
As a young 20-something, the idea of living with an ostomy bag was overwhelming. I felt deformed, almost imprisoned in my own body. I knew I had to focus on controlling my emotions and healing, despite feeling like a shadow of my former self.
Fortunately, my mom—a nurse—was the best possible caregiver during my recovery. After a week in the hospital, she took me home, making a late-night pharmacy stop for my pain medication. With her support, I made it through the three-hour drive back home. My in-laws had cared for my son, keeping his daily routine steady and filled with activities like playground visits and walks.
While I had hoped for support from a military spouse community, it was ultimately my family who became my village. Their presence and care made recovery bearable. Not only did my parents and in-laws help me through this first surgery, but they also committed to supporting me again six weeks later for a follow-up surgery to remove the ostomy bag.
Thankfully, surgery number two went well, and the ostomy bag was removed. My husband returned home for two weeks of leave, a brief reprieve during his year-long deployment. His visit was bittersweet, marked by conflicting emotions as I tried to savor our time as a family while grappling with the weight of the experience he’d missed. Though he had no choice in being away, it was still hard to reconcile.
After two weeks, I dropped him off at the airport to complete the final six months of his deployment. We said goodbye once more, but I carried with me a profound lesson: when I needed support, family was there. This experience taught me that, at times, relying on those willing to help is the only way forward.