You Haven’t a Prayer
Part of my joy in writing Backwards and Forwards is my opportunity to stay in touch with people in ways more meaningful to me than Facebook likes. I heard from a friend of mine in Alabama who had, by his account, a not too serious surgery. Y’all know the old saw: The difference between major surgery and minor surgery? Minor surgery is what happens to someone else. Major surgery is when someone puts you under and slashes you with a knife and moves your body parts around and you cannot take a shower or get on the floor with your grandkids for several days or weeks afterwards. As far as I am concerned, any day that comes with instructions not to eat or drink anything after midnight is a major day in my life. I feel nothing minor anticipating what’s to come.
Friends, you can tell that I have had my moments.
I am pleased to report that my friend’s surgery went well.
But my friend asked me how he should have handled this mostly Southern phenomenon.
As he was on the gurney and I suspect pumped up with a little valium to make it easier for him in the pre-op stage (I don’t know this for a fact, but I have never had surgery without a little valium to keep me from crawling out of my skin before I get rolled into the operating room by the nurses wearing those paper shower caps), the surgeon stood over him and asked if he could pray for him. Jewish doctors don’t do this. But this is the South, rather de rigueur and not surprising. And the prayers always have that Jesus codicil that doesn’t work for Jewish folks.
My friend asked me, “What’s a Jew to do?”
I wrote back. “It’s a little complicated.”
It seems odd to me that a surgeon would pray for me when I am knocked out and sliced and diced under his care. Going into surgery, patients surrender all agency. Remember all those forms we must sign before they roll us in? I think it wiser for the surgeon to pray for himself. The surgeon should offer a prayer before he dives into our internal body parts and say whatever she needs to say to stay focused and successfully complete the task.
When I was wheeled into the operating room, I thought it foolish to pray for myself. I always prayed for the surgeon, for God to make sure that all her skills are with her and to guide his hands and keep him focused. If he wants to do a Jesus or Mohammed or a Shiva prayer, by all means, do whatever works best. And hopefully the Hindu Lord Shiva and the Jewish apres-funeral customs do not get confused by the chat-GPT that answers all prayer.
When I had my extensive spinal surgeries, I thought of sending the surgeon a letter describing me as a human being with pictures of my family and my hopes and aspirations. I wanted to humanize myself. But then I thought, “Nah, that would be stupid.” It’s a whole lot better for the surgeon to think of me as a case, as a problem he can fix. For him, I did not want to be Jonathan Miller, a full human being. Instead, I thought it better to be the 67-year-old male with a crooked spine T-10 through S-1. Ultimately, that would be better for both of us.
So, before I have any further surgeries—none planned!!--I would instruct my surgeon to pray for herself and not for me. And whatever works for him—in Jesus’ name, “Bismillah al rahman al rahim,” or to Repha’el, the angel of healing, whatever works for him or her, I am good with it. I am depending on you. You depend on God.
Theologically, the prayer request poses some thorny questions. Should a supplicant pray for an outcome after she surrenders to Divine providence? In other words, if I put my body and soul into God’s hands, shouldn’t I defer to God’s wisdom and accept whatever outcome is in store for me in the recovery room and beyond? I am not a child. I do not believe in magic; that if I say the correct thing in a certain way, very nicely and sweetly, that God will do what I want God to do for me and for those tending to me in the operating room? That is silliness.
So what do I pray for on the journey down the hallway to operating room #6? I pray that God will give me the strength to heal and be strong and determined in my recovery. I pray for my wife, my children, their husband and wives, and my grandchildren, each one of them. And when the anesthesiologist says, “Count backwards from 100, I choose to recite Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad. If I say it fast enough, I can get to the last word before I am enveloped in the care of my trusted physicians and nurses. That is what I do.
So here is my suggestion to you. The day before you go without your morning coffee, read some Psalms. Focus. Appreciate. Love. Express gratitude to your family and friends and those cheering you on from afar, even as you feel anxious and fearful. Express gratitude to the admitting nurses and the anesthesiologists and the doctors and their teams when they come in to see you. And if your surgeon wants to pray for you, might I suggest that instead, you pray for her. Assuming your prayers are answered, everyone will be happy.
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Whether we are going backwards or forwards, none of us is standing still. And successful people can move both forwards and backwards at the same time.
Until next time, shalom,
Jonathan