In February 2016, my doctor discovered I had a cyst on my right ovary. "We'll watch it and measure it," she said. "Sometimes they clear up on their own. Sometimes they grow larger."
Several months and ultrasound tests later, the thing had added two more centimeters; my doctor decided it was growing fast enough that it was time to take action. In September I was given blood tests to see if my little hop-on was malignant. Thankfully it wasn't. We scheduled a laparoscopic surgery to remove it, the ovary it had probably "eaten", and the affected Fallopian tube, on October 20.
Surgery went well. My husband bundled me up, took me home, walked me up the stairs to bed and made sure I took my pills.
There I lay, for eight days.
All this time, I updated my status on Facebook. "Home from the chop shop," I said the first day. "These pills are great," Day 2 said. "Getting a little sick of this lying around stuff," Day 3 surmised. Just goofy little missives while I lay there healing. My friends were nice and left comments. I got sick of talking about my surgery, but really there was nothing else going on, so I had nothing more to say. People stopped commenting. That was fine.
After that, my phone stayed silent. No one called, texted, or commented again. Of course people cared, I knew; but I heard nothing from anyone - family, friends, church (I had told my visiting teacher not to worry about meals or any kind of help - my husband and children are more than capable of cooking and cleaning for themselves). It really, really sucked. I was bored, lonely, hurting, and weak.
By Day 6 - keep in mind that I was using narcotics - I was fed up. No one cares, I thought. I could be dead right now and no one cares, except my husband and kids. In a fit of pouty rage I changed my name to something that would direct my "true" friends to my Twitter account; I then deactivated my Facebook account (making it impossible for any of my "true" friends to find me and therefore locate my Twitter account - like I said, narcotics). Afterward, I thought long and hard about friendship.
I knew people cared about me and my well being, but where were they? Using Facebook, just like me. I couldn't remember a time when I had ever texted a friend and asked "How are you?" while they were recovering from something, let alone call or visit or bring them something. I depended on their Facebook status updates to keep me in the loop. That's the kind of relationships we all have now.
I blame myself for depending on Facebook to maintain my relationships. Because I'd done that for so long, I no longer had physical people around me, except the people I see and talk to every day - my husband and children. All my other relationships felt superficial.
Facebook lies to us about our relationships. It gives us a false sense of friendship, of caring, of love. Love is service, something that I've neglected terribly in the last seven years that I've used Facebook. "Liking" a post isn't love or service. It's nice, but it's a distraction from what people really need.
I've dumped Facebook, and have replaced it with texting, calling, inviting friends out to lunch, making plans for the future, actual conversations and hugs and laughing. Staying close to the people I love, so that if they ever need my help, I'll know it, and I'll act on it.
Thanks, eight-days-in-bed. My life will be greatly improved after this, because of you.
