Home

Progress has continued to exceed expectations, and after yesterday's conference between my therapists, nurses and doctors, I was told that I would probably be free to leave by this Friday.  I had anticipated that they would cut down the remaining time from the three to five weeks they'd told me after the previous conference, but I was pretty stunned that I could potentially be out in just a matter of days.

And then I started to panic a little.  Not because I didn't think I'd be ready physically -- that would come -- but because I was afraid I wasn't going to have enough time to say goodbye to all the nurses, learn more anatomy, explore more of the hospital, better document the equipment used, order gifts for my therapists, and come to terms with leaving my high-tech hospital bed.  In short, this had become my little world and I wasn't sure I was ready to leave it.

We had requested that my physical therapist and occupational therapist come to the house before discharge to go over strategies for getting into the house, showering, using the stairs, etc.  Jacki and Amy scheduled it right away for this morning, so we all headed downstairs at 8:30, and after a month and a half, I took my first breath outside the hospital compound.

The visit was a little overwhelming.  I hadn't been home since January, and now had to climb a full flight of stairs and maneuver my walker around corners and over thresholds with two therapists in tow.  I never dreamed simply living at home could require so much more energy than therapy, but I was exhausted by the end of our short visit.

Even so, as we drove back to the hospital I realized I didn't need to bump back my return date.  Therapy had served its function, and I had learned a lot and met some great people in the process.  But this was not my world.  The hospital was merely a short step towards healing, not a stopping point, and now it was time to get back to business.