By the time I was discharged that day it was time for evening tea, I had managed to give away some of my tea bags and books / magazines I had read to my fellow inmates. When my parents came to pick me up, I cried, I had to go back to a reality I wasn’t prepared to face – a new me and I was frightened. I could escape in the institution of hospital but going back to reality meant I had to face things again.
When I got home, the first thing I wanted to try out was my chair. It’s a Stocking family trait started by my bat shit crazy dad, that we all knew as kids not to sit in his chair. Now I’m a homeowner, I have my own and I wanted to see if with the stiches I could sit and get out of said chair. I’m delighted to say it was a success, it was another place to vegetate whilst I recover.
I slept badly the first night, mainly because a hospital bed is propped up and there are sidebars so you have to sleep on your back. Back at home in my large bed, old habits start, my body wants to sleep on its side, the front, every way possible and I couldn’t get comfy and every position hurt.
The days following home time were a blur, I had walks around the block to ensure I kept going. I had to inject blood thinners daily in to myself for a month to ensure no clots started, mum and dad stayed with me during this time so meals were cooked and the house was cleaner than ever – mum even hired a window cleaner when I was in hospital (I didn’t notice the windows were clean…..whoops). The fact is post op, I was recovering quickly, new milestones being met and within weeks I was starting to feel not just normal but like I had been thrown a curve ball and could go back to normal life………I was wrong.