As I lie here in my hospital bed, listening to my roomie’s oxygen machine and the sound of employees coming and going during shift change, I’m thinking about getting out of here. I don’t have an official parole date yet, and my doctor says she wants to keep me until the wound is completely healed. The decision ultimately depends on insurance approval.
What I do know is that my release date is becoming more of a reality. The wound nurse told me today that she can no longer use a tongue depressor to clean inside the wound because she’s afraid it will stretch it. She’s now using a cotton swab. The doctor will see me tomorrow, and they’ll take measurements, and then she’ll make her recommendation.
What I keep thinking about is returning to the outside world. A world that I suspect is, in many ways, vastly different than the one I left. It will take some adaptation, but even with a shelter-in-place order, and the need to wear masks and gloves in public, there’s still much I’m excited about. I’m looking forward to going up and down the stairs in my apartment. I’m actually looking forward to doing laundry, cleaning the house, checking the mail, and all those other things that give one a sense of responsibility and accomplishment. I look forward to being able to eat whatever I want, when I want. I can’t wait to play music and dance around my living room or to be able to have the lights, stero or TV on in the middle of the night when my brain is most active, without worrying that I’m keeping someone else awake. I can’t wait to be able to take a shower EVERY day, whenever I want, and if that’s 12 times a day, so be it. And, I can’t wait to be able to wipe my own ass without fear of reinfecting my wound.
Nursing facilities went on lockdown about a week (or a little more) before everyone else. Since the lockdown, we (patients) aren’t allowed to go outside. We can’t have visitors, and the activity and community areas of the facility are closed to try to reduce the chance of anyone getting sick. I’ve spent most of the last 8+ weeks confined to a space about the size of a prison cell, lying in bed or sitting on the bed. We even eat in or on our beds in our tiny space, which is only a couple of feet wider on each side than the bed. I often use the bathroom in the main hall just so I have an excuse to move a little more.
I have my moments when I’m restless and antsy, and at times I feel a little stir crazy, but that’s because I went to the doctor thinking I was going to return home with antibiotics. I had no idea that I’d end up in the ER with a 2+ month hospital stay. If I’d even remotely suspected such a thing, I’d have packed a bunch of luggage with all the things from home that make me comfortable and mentally stimulated…all of which I so easy took for granted.
But, despite that, I’ve mostly managed to stay positive and relatively happy and find the positives in this difficult and unexpected situation. That’s because I’ve chosen to focus on the good things that have come out of this and the lessons it’s taught me.
This whole experience has reminded me that contrary to what I want to believe, I’m not invincible, and sometimes we all need help. I’ve learned to be careful what I ignore, because sometimes something that initially seems really small and insignificant could kill you–or at a minimum knock you on your ass for a long time. At the same time, there’s no sense fretting over things I have no control over. If I can’t do shit about it, there’s no sense in wasting precious energy worrying. Things will work out. They always do, one way or another.
I have also been reminded just how fortunate I am and how much I’m loved. I didn’t admit it at the time, but the first few days of this adventure were incredibly hard for me. I was devastated to find myself so dependant. For a fleeting moment, I considered not fighting and letting this thing take me, because the idea of a dependent life was not something I could accept.
But the love others showered on me that made me acknowledge what a completely selfish asshole I would be if I gave up so early in the fight when they were trying to take such good care of me and let me know how much they loved me. They were going above and beyond. I couldn’t be a dick. I had to at least do my part. And since then, so many others have helped in some way or another or offered to help. Thank you to everyone who has helped, offered help and supported me. I love you, and I don’t think you know how much I appreciate you.
There’s no denying we are living in a scary and difficult time, and what we are going through is showing the complete idiocy and selfishness of some people, but it’s also showing how utterly kind, helpful, unselfish and loving some people can be, and that makes me smile and makes me excited to rejoin all of you in the “outside” world, even if that means from the safety of our own homes or from a safe 6-foot distance.
I’m also really excited to be able to move. To move around my home. To walk in nature, or sit in a park and feel the sun on my skin and the breeze in my hair. To hear birds chirping and see the colors of spring making their appearance. I can’t wait to drive to a quiet spot to be one with our most sacred Mother.
I suspect I’ll be so excited that I won’t know what to do first, so I’ll probably spend a good 10-15 minutes running around from room to room, shaking my booty like an dog before I settle down and realize I’m free. Heck, I might even hang my head out the car window.
Here’s to the beautiful and amazing people in my life and the light I can finally see at the end of the tunnel!
So what are you choosing to focus on and be excited about?
(Note: I selected this picture because I’m tired my pictures lately looking the same: me in a hospital gown in a nursing facility. I took this picture just a few weeks before I retired, and I remember feeling lucky to have this lovely visitor hanging outside of my kitchen door.)
Phoebe Lulu 