Friday Past

I think that the process of getting to leave a hospital is a lot like leaving the toddler years. You start out in a bed. You really can't do much for yourself. Most of the time, you just sleep. When you are awake, you drift in and out of reality. For a long while, in those first hours of healing, it is really all you can do.  The world has changed. You went to sleep with one set of facts and you woke up with a new one. And, as I said, for a while, all you can do is accept that.

Eventually, however, it is time to make progress.  After all, you don't want to stay in the hospital forever. This is the time to insure that you can do as well in life as anyone about to leave toddlerhood.

The first step is to see if you can feed yourself. It doesn't have to be complicated food. In my case, it wasn't even food I had to chew. Just cream of wheat and pudding. For lunch, I had a pureed veggie soup and pudding. You have no idea how happy I was that pudding was an option. It became the thing I looked most forward to. My sister-in-law had kept some bread sticks from Olive Garden and I ate those as well. A bit more solid than the other stuff. I had to actually chew and swallowing somewhat hurt my still damaged throat, but over all, still fairly simple compared to some foods.

The next step was walking. Even before they removed the catheter, I was expected to start walking again. Walking, honestly, wasn't that bad.  Getting up out of the bed was very painful, but I did manage to do it. The worst part about the walking was feeling somewhat dizzy . . . and of course, the fear of tripping up in either my IV or my catheter. Neither is really a desirable outcome.

Finally, you have to be able to handle your bathroom situation. They removed the catheter and told me I needed to pee within the next four hours or they would have to put it back in. I'm sure you can guess how nervous I was at the prospect of it returning. I drank some water and gave myself a nice pep talk. I needed to urinate so I could leave this place. It was the last thing standing between me and freedom. It was the one thing that could keep me from having a simple, happy recovery time and a complicated one.

When I finally did go to the bathroom, everything went very well. I was told I could leave the place. I put on my clothes, called some friends, and waited for my freedom.

Of course, the ride home was awful. It probably did more damage to my body than anything else. Had the nurses seen the level of pain I was in when I stepped out of my SIL's van, they never would have let me go home. I could barely walk. I getting myself into the house took more effort than I thought I really had in me. When I finally made it to my bed, I laid there, feeling so much physical anguish that I considered that maybe coming home was a mistake.

It wasn't though. Pain subsides. Bodies heal. I'm still having issues, but they are no where near as bad as they were this time last week. I'm making progress and I'll well past the toddler stage of things. A week later, life is far better than it was.