Saturday, 16 August 2025, past midnight “Bu, bu, operasinya sudah selesai ya Bu.” “Dingin… dingin…” Those were the first words that came out of my mouth when I woke up from surgery. Not exactly poetic, but hey, when you’ve just survived laparoscopy and hysterectomy-laparotomy in one go, you don’t wake up quoting Shakespeare. You wake up asking for blankets. I remember shivering, my teeth chattering, my body completely confused about what just happened. The nurses rushed to wrap me in layers, and I drifted in and out of consciousness, half-aware that my life had just been handed back to me, stitched and stapled and sewn together. And honestly, that’s the thing about life, isn’t it? We often imagine survival arriving in big, cinematic ways. Dramatic music, bright lights, maybe even a slow clap. In reality, sometimes it shows up with a shaky whisper: “dingin… dingin…” The doctors told my husband it was quite long, delicate surgery. My appendix alone took nearly an hour, and removing my my...
