Dr Shawyer is sending me home. I call Janet at home and can barely talk as I cry into the phone. And home we go, right after we see the nurse who arranges for home care nursing visits. She shows up at 2:30. I slept quite a bit while waiting. Janet showed up around noon.
We take things for granted. Going home was an amazing experience. It is hard to describe. You feel as if you have been gone for years instead of a mere 10 days. Every view is fresh, every smell new. Your nerves are raw, and you are excited beyond belief. The closest experience I can think of is being released from jail.
The last huge emotional upheaval was when they let me take a shower about 5 days after my operation. They disconnected me from the IV machine, covered my wounds with plastic sheets, and led me to the shower. Will you be OK? If you are not, there is the nurse call cable on the wall, OK. Yeah, yeah, just let me take a shower and let the water wash over me. I died that moment and went to heaven. You take for granted that you have the strength to wash yourself. You take for granted that you will have the strength to stand there forever. To get out of the shower and shave. To look really handsome when you come out.
The reality is that you do not have enough strength to wash yourself. You use a washcloth and barely feel it as it passes over your skin. Try as you might, you cannot put any more pressure for a better cleanse. And yet, there you are standing in the water relishing every minute. I was exhausted when I came out, barely able to dry myself. Did not shave, but collapsed in my bed a very happy man.
So here we are driving home. I am the passenger, in a bit of a daze looking at my city with a fresh perspective. Every bump and crack in the road is painful and yet fully bearable. I wince as Janet hits the bumps and dips of our roads. I hold the seat belt away from my stomach. None of it matters, We are going home.
The cats are not even curious about my return. They are peculiar animals, attached to you and yet aloof all at the same time. Content with their lot as long as they have a roof over their heads and food at their beck and call.
I collapse in the living room, already tired. Eventually make my way up the stairs to the third floor negotiating the 150 stairs with remarkable ease. All the way to the third floor where my bed, my very own bed awaits me. I am out of breath and lie down to recoup my strength. This is the new normal. Dr. Kennedy spoke to us about this on her daily visits when we in the hospital. 5 minutes of activity= 1 hour of rest. It has proven to be too true.
We eat, talk, cry, I sense a theme emerging. I go to sleep around 8.
Good to be home.
