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I began the morning in abject terror---having experienced, during recent hospitalization, two extremely painful catheter exchangces.   Today's procedure was done by my urologist's PA, Jenny, who, in the past has done the utmost to minimize the pain experience.  However, I had been told that the two hospital exchanges had created internal damage, and I feared that this would be a source of additional excruciation.

    However, random (but, I believe, directed) browsing led me to a wonderful Orthodox prayer site; like an online prayerbook, in which I found a brief, but comforting, prayer about seeking God's help in a difficult and terrifying situation.  Furthermore, I also listened to an Orthodox choir on YouTube, singing "Be Still, My Soul" set to the tune of Finlandia by Sibelius.  

     Many of Orthodoxy's holiest and most sacred writers have testified to the power of the Jesus Prayer.  For this visit, which was as terrifying as my first visit (in April, 2020; before I had reconnected with the Orthodox Church and its practices), I began to say the Jesus Prayer, quietly, according to the knots on my prayer rope (which is a beautiful metallic blue).  Fundamentalists sneer at the use of a prayer rope (my relatives called it some "Kath-lick stuff").  The prayer rope has no power in a superstitious way; but it is a tangible focus by which my hands---fingertips---remind my brain to keep concentrating on the prayer.  I am one of these whose minds tend to wander during extemporaneous prayer.  In my adolescence, I was raised to be a prayerbook Christian, although I did not have the interior, sustaining belief to go along with it.  The person transporting me, a relative, sneered at the prayer rope in my hand ("Why you got that Kath-lik thing?") but I, having taken the anxiety pill prescribed for this incident, needed even more assistance to keep my focus, so the prayer rope began to provide that centering for me.  

    When we arrived at the office, some of the appointments were back up, so a bit of a wait followed.  I continued saying the Jesus prayer, although my transporter had told me---loud enough to be overheard---to "put that thing away so no one sees it."

     Once taken back to what they call the "short-stay" clinic, I was examined for the damage of which I had been told, two months ago, at the rehab center.  That damage was not exterior; so Jenny was skeptical how the nurse at the rehab center could have assessed that.  When she was ready to remove the existing catheter, I said another Jesus Prayer while clutching the rope, and the pain was far less intense than ever it had been before.  The insertion of the new catheter proceeded with, again, a minimum of discomfort.  

     On July 7th, I will undergo an outpatient surgery for the insertion of a supra-pubic catheter which will eliminate the need for the Foley Catheter.  This will allow me to resume my Physical Therapy for learning how to walk, as my left leg (on which the legband to anchor the Foley has always been placed) will not be inhibited in its range of movement.  The supra-pubic catheter will eliminate some of the possibility of UTI, and is said to be easier to maintain.  My daughter, an LPN, and some of her friends who are RN's, have assured me that the supra-pubic will eliminate all manner of inconveniences, and will be far less irritating in my day to day existence.

Ii now know the spiritual pattern to follow for July 7th.

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