Sunday, August 26, 2012

Themepark Holiday

This morning, while preparing breakfast for the family, my wife Jenny and I were talking about the many comments and well-wishes we have received over the past two days. Having been together, apart, at church, on Facebook, email, at the shops and elsewhere — we have encountered many people and many comments in different contexts.

I have received two very clear messages, loud and strong: I am loved and I am not alone. It is amazing how many other people have gone through tumors, major surgery or some other life-altering crisis. 

My comment in Do You Love what You Do? that “perhaps each of us are a mixture of healer and sufferer” is proving to be very true. So many people have gone through so much. And, after emerging on the other side of their personal crisis, they have become ministers of compassion to those in suffering. It’s a wonderful and terrible thing.

So, back to our conversation over breakfast prep. Jenny said, “It's amazing how many people seem to think you are having a holiday and enjoying doing what you want instead of what you have to do for work.” 

“Yeah, it’s a holiday,” I said. “A holiday with a theme. It’s a themepark holiday.” 

We shared a laugh and then Jenny said, “Just like a themepark: boredom with the occasional moment of terror.”

“And lots of standing in line,” I added. “You know the ride is coming, but you’re not quite sure you’re ready for it.” It’s at those moments that another bout of preemptive terror sets in.

I’m a very relaxed person by nature. Very little phases me. And so, it is with some unpreparedness that I approach this surgery. How do you get ready for something that is so foreign to your reality. I’ve never even had a minor surgery. Stitches, when I was a kid, that’s about it.

Last night, I woke from one of those dreams when your heart is racing and your brow is sweating and you study the darkness in the room until you realise, It was only a dream! Whew! 

Only last night, when I woke up racing and sweaty, the only a dream moment morphed into one of those Themepark Holiday moments of terror. It’s not a dream. It’s not even a nightmare. It’s real. I laid there for a moment convincing myself it was real and not a dream and wondering why I would want to convince myself of such a thing. Let it be a dream, my mind said. Go back to sleep.

But I couldn’t. So, I started counting my blessings. And that worked. I’ve got so many. Great kids. A wonderful wife. Loving parents. And a lot of support from so many compassionate people. If you are one of the many who have sent love our way these past few days, Thanks.

If you have yet to send an email, Facebook message, blog comment or text message... What are you waiting for? I’m here waiting patiently — on my Themepark Holiday. Any distraction will be most appreciated!


  1. Hi Dave, sorry to hear about you. Our prayers are with you & your family. God still needs you here so I'm sure he's got you in his hands. God bless from the Quodrill's.

  2. Thats so it! I can totally relate! 9 months later I still wake up every morning and clutch my deformed chest/have a sharp intake of breath and realise, its all true. Its not going to go away or get better, its just my new truth. I love the themepark analogy. Clever Jenny!


Dave Edgren ~ Story: Teller, Author, Trainer ~

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