I just had emergency gallbladder surgery. Not ’emergency’ as in–you’re going to die right now if this isn’t done, but ’emergency’ in the sense that it was totally unexpected, out of the blue, and had to be done right away because there was no other way to alleviate the problem. It was scary and chaotic and overwhelming. In less than twelve hours, I went from making the decision to go to the Urgent Care Clinic, to waking up in the recovery area at the hospital. When the doctor tells you that the surgeon is waiting and that you cannot take the time to pick up the kids from school before heading to the hospital, THAT’S when the panic sets in. But this stressful, panic-inducing ordeal was not a BAD thing, and I’ll tell you why in a minute. First, let’s back up a bit…

I, like almost everyone else out there, am not a stranger to having BAD things happen in my life. Things that, at the time they are happening, feel like being stuck at the bottom of a deep dark hole, facing an insurmountable obstacle. Here are some important examples from my life.

When I was in college, I had a serious boyfriend. Looking back, I can tell you in all honesty that I was truly in love with him. There was nothing puppy-doggish or immature about it. I still love him to this day, and he is a wonderful friend who ended up marrying my college roommate years later. I hope, if he reads this, that he will forgive me for anything I say here that may cause him pain. That is not what I’m trying to do, but relating MY pain is part of explaining my gallbladder. (Just roll with it. You’ll understand in the end.) But, I digress… I truly loved him, and as far as I was concerned, he was The One. However, after dating for a little over a year, he suddenly broke off the relationship. He said he just didn’t love me anymore; that being with me was too much of a burden for him to live up to. Needless to say, I was devastated. I was more than brokenhearted. Something inside me, inside my psyche, actually broke. There was no doubt in my mind. I was unlovable.

Another example in my life is when I flunked out of college. And I mean flunked. I didn’t quit, I didn’t intend to fail, and if I could have managed to pull my grades up, I would have continued my college education. However, I flunked, with a capital F. I failed, after being put on academic probation, and that’s when they took away all of my financial aid. To truly understand the enormity of this failure, you need to understand that I was a straight A student from the moment I entered Kindergarten to the day I walked out of the High School gym with my diploma. I was even on the Dean’s List for two of the semesters I was in college. So I was left asking myself, “What the hell happened? How can I be getting these grades, when I know for a fact that I can do better?” The only answer I could come up with, was that I failed because I AM a failure. It wasn’t just something that happened to me, it became what I was. It was part of my identity.

My final example comes from much more recent history, but is no less world-shattering in it’s impact. Soon after giving birth to my third, and final, child, who is now three, I suffered a severe manic episode. I was hospitalized for over nine days in the psych ward. I was separated from my barely-two-week-old son and the rest of my family. I was heavily medicated, and therefore unable to breastfeed, even during the times when my family was allowed to visit me. Breastfeeding was my favorite part of being a Mom with my first two younglings, and I could no longer do it for the third. I couldn’t even take care of him or BE his Mom, because I was locked up in the loony-bin. Having battled with depression since I was a teenager, worrying about mania was far from my mind. The only warning sign was many years before, when an anti-depressant triggered a single manic incident, which did not recur, but left me with no treatment options for my depression. Now, in 2011, I was being told that I am bipolar. That I would need to go on medication to manage my mental disorder, and that I would be on meds for the rest of my life. It was official. I was broken, defective, unable to function normally without medical intervention.

When I was in the middle of these BAD things, there was no silver lining in sight. No tunnel with a light at the end, no matter how small or dim. Nothing. There was only the conviction that nothing positive could ever come from any of these situations.

Fast forward to today. As I sit here writing this, I am a 42 year old, highly intelligent woman, with a wonderful husband and three amazing children. I am four days post-op (I wrote this by hand earlier, and have finally gotten my blog up and running) from an emergency gallbladder surgery, and I can tell you with 100% certainty that none of these BAD things were bad. None. They were GOOD things. They were wonderful things! If you’re still reading this, then you are probably asking yourself if I’m off my meds. I assure you, I am not. Then how, you may ask, can I possibly view these events as GOOD things? Here’s how:

Being dumped by The One was necessary, to make me free and open for when the right man came into my life. I was so convinced I’d found The One, that I would have clung desperately to him, probably to the detriment of both of us. He did what he was prompted to do by his inner voice, and we are both, I feel, in healthier and happier relationships than we would have ever had together. GOOD thing.

Flunking out of college was necessary for two reasons. It made me recognize and accept (eventually) that failure is not the end of the world, and that it’s not who you are. It is just an event in your life. Secondly, it forced me to relocate. I was born and raised in Iowa, but I went to college for two years at USC in Los Angeles, California. I loved it there. I loved the people I found there. (I am still close friends with many of them to this day. Especially my college roommate and my college ex-boyfriend.) It was the happiest two years of my life, and I would have held on with all my might, if the decision to stay had been in my hands. Leaving put me where I needed to be to meet my husband, and by extension, blessed me with the three wonderful children that I have today. GOOD thing.

My extended stay in the psych ward, and all of the pain, heartache, and trauma I endured while separated from my family was necessary. It was the catalyst that forced me to recognize the true state of my mental health, and that it needed to be prioritized. It is important for me to be here for my family, and to be the best I can be for them while I’m here. It made me willing to accept the need for continuing medication and monitoring of my mental health. I am currently stable on my meds, and more present and involved in my family’s lives than I have been in a long time. GOOD thing.

Now, back to my gallbladder. (I told you we’d get here eventually.) My gallbladder is more than a GOOD thing. My gallbladder is great. It is awesome. It is life-changing. It is gone. With it’s removal has come an amazing sense of freedom and peace. How can the extraction of a lowly gallbladder transform into such a powerful force for GOOD? In three ways.

First, it’s removal is symbolic. There was a swift, major change, and a cutting away of something harmful, possibly even toxic to me. In another way, it is an actual physical release. The removal of an obstacle that could get in my way at any time and prevent me from living my life in the manner I feel is healthy. Finally, it’s removal is emotional. It forced me to let go of control and rely on the people around me (who weren’t family) to provide support and assistance to my family, with absolutely no notice. Facebook lent super powers to the emotional aspect of my gallbladder. One short post, asking for prayers because I was heading to the hospital for surgery, seemed to open a floodgate of love and support from all directions. There were messages from people I’d never met, some I hadn’t seen in over 20 years, and from near and far. It was an amazing, moving experience to realize that there were so many people who loved me, cared, and were interested in how I was doing and what was happening to me.

My gallbladder was a culmination of all that has come before. It’s removal put together all of the pieces previously laid before me, and brought out in me all the things I have learned along the way. These things have all been cemented together into an amazing, unshakable foundation that I can stand firmly on for the rest of my life, and which will save me from ever falling back into that deep dark pit. GOOD thing.

As a Christian, I can look back upon all of these events, and see the gentle hand of God’s guidance shaping things around me and inside of me. In the past, it has taken me many years before I can step back and gain the perspective to recognize the GOOD things that were inside the BAD. I have been immensely blessed that in only four days my eyes have been opened, and I am able to clearly see the interconnectedness of all of these events. I also know that this is somehow the first step toward an even greater GOOD that I cannot yet even imagine. That is why BAD is GOOD, and that is how I know God was in my gallbladder.