It was a beautiful autumn Sunday. The air was still, crisp, and clear, and through the open window I could hear tui and other birds chattering in the pohutukawa trees outside. The sounds of a Sunday afternoon were distant and comforting, a power tool involved in garden maintenance, car doors slamming as people come and go, gentle traffic sounds in the distance. Less comforting was the soundtrack from the major public hospital about a mile down the road - occasional sirens, and the deep throbbing of the Rescue Helicopter as it flew in to land.
But I was one of the lucky ones. I lay inside feeling safe and relaxed, peaceful after a stressful and sometimes scary week. A part of my body that had never done anything for me was gone. I knew I should be relieved. And I was. But it was still a little too soon. Too many memories had been brought back with this surgery. And there was an unexpected loneliness too. Out there, out the window, beyond the grounds of the private hospital where I was admitted, was a city full of people going about life, enjoying a beautiful day that I could not, that I never will. It was Mother's Day. Timing is everything.