Is it just coincidence that my surgeries come when I’m alone?

Twelve hours ago, I was lying on a hospital bed with an IV in my arm, waiting to be wheeled into surgery.

I wasn’t worried about dying. But I felt completely alone.

I was just having a hernia repaired, so I wasn’t in serious danger. Until I had a sudden abdominal obstruction late last December, I had no idea the problem was even there. Doctors told me at the time that I was fortunate that the intestine which poked through the hernia hadn’t been damaged, which would have caused serious surgery.

Even though it wasn’t considered serious, I was nervous. I’m not fond of being knocked out and cut on. An old friend who I’ve known since high school was kind enough to pick me up early Thursday morning and take me to the hospital. She sat there with me and talked as I was being prepped.

But as much as I appreciated her concern and help, I couldn’t help feeling very alone. I’ve had surgery only three times in my life — all in the last 15 years — and each time I’ve had one of these emergencies, it’s been a time when I’ve been alone in life.

As I laid there this morning having an IV inserted and having various equipment attached, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something symbolic about that. Was it just a coincidence that each of my medical emergencies have happened when I’ve been alone?

When I developed breast cancer in 2012 — something rare enough in men that it caught me completely off guard — and had to have a small lump removed, I was alone. If it had happened a couple of years before that, I would have had a loving woman there taking care of me.

Then when I had my gallbladder removed in 2018 — in surgery that turned out to be life-threatening — I was alone then, too. I drove myself to an emergency room that night and was alone at the hospital as I recovered, other than a few friends who were caring enough to visit.

And here I was again being prepped for surgery. A little scared. A lot alone.

I’m not complaining that the world is terrible and whining that nobody loves me. That’s really not the point. It’s just that being by myself through such an experience is a powerful reminder that I’m alone and need companionship and love from the right woman.

I’ve been loved and cared for at times, of course. I was married once — to a woman who I still consider a remarkable and loving woman. Outside of that, I’ve been engaged to be married twice, both times to women who I hold in high regard. I’ve been loved and wanted. I can’t complain that I haven’t known love.

But I do see a pattern. Maybe it’s not statistically significant. Maybe it’s just coincidence. When I’ve had emergencies during which I would have liked to have love and support from a partner, there was nobody there. And I’m wondering whether the stress and unhappiness of being alone have contributed to my medical problems.

There are plenty of studies which show that those with loving partners have better health outcomes. That doesn’t mean that those with loving husbands and wives can’t suffer horrible problems, but it does suggest there’s a statistical likelihood that you’re going to have better health if you love someone — and if someone loves you.

I’d rather be alone than be with the wrong person, but I’d much rather have a partner who matches me. Unfortunately, my values and personality and interests rarely line up with a woman who might be right for me.

In a podcast interview that I heard this week, Dr. Arthur C. Brooks said something I haven’t been able to get out of my mind. Brooks is a Harvard professor who researches what makes people happy.

He said that nothing matters more to happiness than having a loving partner — and that if you’re 80 percent sure about someone, you should take the chance and commit to working out the other 20 percent.

I once walked away when I was 99.5 percent sure.

When I backed out of marrying someone about 15 years ago, I was 99.5 percent sure that she was right for me. I let that half a percentage point — my lack of certainty — make me back out. That was a mistake.

She went off in another direction, so this isn’t a matter of longing for someone in my past. It’s simply about learning the lesson that we can never have certainty. I gave up what I believe would have been a happy marriage — and I put myself on a path that hasn’t led me to anybody who even meets the 80 percent measure.

Maybe I would’ve had breast cancer in 2012 even if I had been married and happy. Maybe my gallbladder would have been so diseased that it would’ve come close to killing me in 2018. And maybe I would’ve had the same hernia surgery today even if I’d had a loving wife.

But I really do wonder if it’s a coincidence.

I know I should just be grateful that my health has generally been good. I should be thankful that I’ve had friends during these emergencies who have been willing to step in and help. And I really am grateful for those things.

But I also know that I need the right love and the right partner.

Everything went perfectly at the hospital today — and recovery has been smooth so far — but I still had to face it alone. That’s not the way I want my life to be.

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