Exactly one year ago today, a severe ear infection and sudden hearing loss took me to hospital - an experience that unknowingly marked the beginning of a journey I couldn't have foreseen at the time. What followed was a year of uncertainty, decision-making, and deeper listening to my body. Today, one year to the day, I have had my final appointment and formally discharged from hospital, bringing a sense of closure to that chapter. This post reflects on the path in between: the questions it raised, the choices I made, the release of what no longer served, and the healing that followed. I share it now with deep gratitude to those who supported me along the way - from the medical team whose skill, care, and compassion guided me through surgery, to the friends and loved ones who have offered their care and support in recent times, and especially my Mum, whose presence during and after surgery in the last weeks since November 12th carried me more than she knows.
A Full Year, From Beginning to End
Exactly one year ago today, I was sent for an emergency hospital appointment after a nasty ear infection caused significant hearing loss. As a precaution, I was advised to have an MRI six weeks later to ensure all was well with my inner ear.
It was.
But the scan revealed an incidental finding, entirely unrelated to my ears: a small, sporadic lump in my parotid (salivary) gland.
The consultant reassured me that my ears were fine, but explained that this lump needed attention. A biopsy confirmed it was benign. He went on to explain that there are no known causes, no patterns, no prevention, no lifestyle links. In his words, it was "an unfortunate act of God." (I did challenge that phrasing!)
He was telling me I was healthy. I hadn't done anything wrong. There was nothing I could have done differently. This was simply one of those things life places in your hands and quietly asks, "What will you do with this?"
For someone who takes responsibility for her health and wellbeing, that was a difficult pill to swallow. Yes, I'm human - I get ill like anyone else - but I live consciously and aligned as best I know how, and yet here I was faced with a situation that I was being told was entirely 'sporadic' that I couldn't influence or control.
I had no choice but to surrender. And still, I found myself exploring deeper meaning - my own theories, my own inner layers of understanding. Being told it was benign was, of course, a relief. But there were complications.
Firstly, these lumps grow slowly over many years, which in itself can cause problems. Secondly, after around 20 years, there is a small - but increasing - risk they can become malignant.
If I were older, the recommendation might have been to leave it alone. But at 50 (I'll happily take being called "young"!), healthy, and with decades ahead of me, the long-term "what if" became part of the conversation.
And then came the bigger challenge. "Lisa, it's complicated," the surgeon said. My lump was unusually deep in the gland - right where the facial nerve branches. That meant a more complex procedure and a very real risk of facial nerve damage which could affect facial function.
And that's when everything became emotionally paralysing.
A Year of Questions, Resistance, and Insight
For almost nine months, I moved through every human response imaginable. I lived in the space between knowing and not knowing - between "I can heal this myself" and "Perhaps I was shown this for a reason." There was denial. Negotiation. A quiet, private sense of injustice. And moments of deep gratitude for being 'shown'.
At a follow-up appointment, I arrived determined. "I'm going to leave it alone," I said, "but can we monitor it?" The answer was no. MRIs show size, not biology. Repeated biopsies aren't viable. And so, within the space of 30 minutes - and with Ian's grounded support - I did a complete 180-degree turn and agreed to surgery. Because there was no urgency, I convinced myself I had a couple of years to prepare.
Then, in October, I got the call. A couple of surgery dates were available. Cue the "EEEK!" moment.
I chose the date that aligned with the lunar phase of release. If you know, you know.
The Lead-Up: Silence, Protection, Inner Work
The weeks beforehand were the hardest. I hadn't shared this publicly - and still hadn't. I needed to conserve my energy and stay centred. I had wobbles. I nearly did another U-turn. I battled anxiety, intrusive thoughts, nightmares.
I drew on every tool I've ever learned to support me holistically, and I knew exactly who I could lean on here too.
The Day of Surgery: Surrender and Strength
I was second on the morning list.
With my mum by my side - my anchor, my nurse, my mother all in one - and after all the emotional and energetic preparation I could possibly have done, I arrived feeling strangely calm. As the nurses, anaesthetist, surgeon, and medical team came in one by one - repeating the risks, the questions, the checks - I held onto that calm.
The surgeon reminded me again that I couldn't "bury my head in the sand." I looked him in the eye and said, "You've got this, haven't you?" He returned it to me like a mirror tilted toward truth: "You've got this, haven't you?"
Before my last trip to the bathroom, I took a moment at the mirror and then I walked into the operating theatre.
That walk broke something open. Memories surfaced - my 15-year-old self in ENT for adenoid cauterisation, Barnaby's emergency C-section, all the times I'd felt powerless. This time would be different. I trusted all the 'work' carried out in the lead up.
Before lying on the operating couch, I traced Reiki symbols there and in the space around me - an ancient language woven through air and intention. I practiced breathwork while the cannulas proved difficult thanks to my "wobbly veins."
I thanked the team - out loud and energetically.
I even laughed when the pre-med hit and someone said it would feel like "a gin and tonic for breakfast." I politely informed them I don't drink.
As the general anaesthetic took hold, I managed two and a half rounds of my protection mantra before drifting under.
I had done everything I could.
Waking Up: The Moment That Changed Everything
I surfaced to soft voices around me. "The surgery went well." "You're safe, Lisa."
I remember telling them I already knew - that my consciousness had reached for Ian and my mum just before I woke. I'm still not sure if I said that out loud.
Then I was in recovery. My mum held my hand, kissed my head, told me I looked beautiful. She has been extraordinary.
And then I realised: I could feel my face. I could smile.
I knew I was ok because as I was coming around on the recovery ward, I could hear music playing on the radio and the first song I heard was Ronan Keating's When You Say Nothing At All with the lyrics that sounded like the volume had been turned up: "The smile on your face lets me know that you need me."
And I smiled - because I could.
The surgeon came to check I could: raise my eyebrows, puff my cheeks, scrunch my nose, and show my teeth in a big grin.
And I could.
We had done it.
Recovery: Rest, Reflection, Renewal
The next day and a half in hospital was filled with the most compassionate care. I remain deeply grateful.
Yes, I have a long wound from in front of my ear down my neck, stitched and stapled. Yes, it will take time to heal and soften. And no - the surgeon didn't slip in a cheeky facelift!
But healing is cyclical - and I have been moving through it.
The first week passed mostly in sleep, made possible by Ian and Barnaby quietly holding the world steady around me. By day nine, I felt a definite turning point. The fog lifted. The stitches and staples were removed. My mum bathed me and washed my hair. I began returning to myself.
I have been incredibly patient. For someone for whom movement is a core pillar of life, surrendering to rest and gentle progression has been a lesson in itself. The large incision and internal trauma naturally affect the entire upper body - everything is connected.
And thank goodness for my mum, who dropped everything to come to my rescue one Sunday night when unexpected swelling released and revealed a buried stitch - something she calmly and competently tended to with the steady hands of both nurse and mother.
Today, at my post-surgery check-up, I received confirmation of the biopsy results and was told the scar tissue is healing beautifully. I was officially discharged.
One full year to the day from that first referral.
Closure.
What This Has Taught Me
I have learned more about myself through this experience than I ever expected.
I choose to see it as a blessing, not a trauma.
This journey has reminded me that we can only ever control the controllables - and sometimes the deepest healing comes when we surrender the rest.
The long scar on my face is no longer something I fear. It is a sacred line. A seam between who I was and who I am becoming. A reminder that healing is cyclical, and we are always being invited deeper.
Beneath the physical story is the energetic one.
The parotid gland sits within the throat chakra - the centre of self-expression, speaking your truth, and visibility. It is an area where I have historically carried imbalance: energetic imbalances from the stories of my throat - the times I have been silenced, manipulated into silence, had my truth twisted, or silenced myself for fear of retaliation or being fully seen.
Perhaps this was the moment my body said: "Let us release what has been held too long."
And so I am here. Scar and all. Reframing this as a clearing, a reclamation, a return.
This scar - this beautiful, sacred scar - marks a woman who walked into fear and came back more whole than before.