going home

Honestly, my overnight at the hospital feels luxurious. The structure itself -- a branch of the UW Hospitals and Clinics -- is new and at the edge of town. The staff that cares for me is energetic, very professional and totally kind. The food choices are good and someone other than me is buying/cooking/cleaning it up. My bed goes up and down, the view out onto the forest is lovely. Pain is readily controlled, and I have time.

And what do I do with that time? I worry about my garden. There wont be frost (knock on fake wood!), but none of the new transplants like it when the wind blows and it feels very cold. We have one more weekend of chilly weather and I know I have some unhappy campers out there. Just a few more days, I want to tell them -- hang in there!

The night was, of course, wakeful, but who cares. Drifting in and out of sleep can be relaxing. My legs are wrapped in some kind of gizmo that blows up like a balloon every minute or so -- as if someone was taking deep belly breaths next to me, squeezing me as they expand, releasing when they exhale. Rhythmic, comforting. The fake knee leg also has an ice machine attached to it. I get to keep it, even though ice at the farmhouse is very hard to come by.

Breakfast? Oatmeal! Okay, not as good as my own, but this one was placed for me on a tray in bed. When was the last time that I had breakfast in bed?? (Admittedly, I don't really love eating in bed, unless that bed goes up and down and a tray is wheeled to me, in which case I am totally delighted.)

In midmorning, the PT/OT person shows up in my room to help me live with my new knee (made of titanium and plastic, to the best of my knowledge). Tricks how to put on socks. Tricks how to navigate steep stairs. Exercises to do 7 times a day. Others to do 3 times a day. Walkers, ice pack machines. Phew! My vacation time is over!!

By noon, Ed shows up. I can see his eye scanning all the equipment! But, he has taken on the burdens of taking care of Gorgeous and so we pack it all up and, along with maybe 100 bottles of medications, we take it all home. With me, learning how to gingerly get in and then out of the car. And then up one step to the mudroom. And another two to the kitchen. And that's it folks! I need to sit down!

Of course, much as I appear to be the center of familial attention at the moment, there's a lot going on in the lives of others and I spend some time catching up on that in the afternoon. Until I can catch up no more and I plop down with my tea, not on the up and down hospital bed, but on the old and somewhat destroyed by cat paws love seat.

Photos? What possible photos could I take on a day of institutional decor, cars on highway and then finally of home, pretty much from the vantage point of the love seat?!  My knee is puffy, sort of like that of a Pillsbury dough boy. I know! Let me go out and attempt to water the tubs. This is a challenge: to get myself and the walker out, to hang the big camera around my neck and then to drag the hose to each pot. While leaning on the walker. Which is being wheeled on wood chips. 

The chickens are wondering -- what is she doing??

I manage!

The doc had said -- whatever you do, do not fall! I take that direction seriously because he is a man of few words and so anything that comes out of his mouth is indeed important. I move slowly. And perhaps I overdid it. Who can tell. (I let Ed water the porch flowers. I cant manage the porch steps! Yet.)

I return to my spot on the loveseat, plug in the ice pack machine and exhale.

The house is clean. The fridge is stocked. I am home with my new knee.