Discharged

On Tuesday morning I was told that after two physical therapy sessions to learn how to use a walker, I would be sent home.

Yes, a walker.

A very nice physical therapist showed me how to get in and out of bed, how to walk around, and how to tackle stairs. For the first time in several days, I was able to take myself to the bathroom. Very exciting.

"I really wish I could take a shower," I said to the PT, hoping that she might have a solution. I hadn't showered since the bout and was at an all time low in terms of personal hygiene.

"Well, I can bring you a bucket of warm water and a wash rag," she offered.

"Okay, thanks."

I did some minor scrubbing, but still felt pretty nasty. My hair was super greasy and stuck to my head and I desperately needed to shave. If my mom had been around I would have probably found a way to get in the handicapped accessible shower just a few feet away from me. But she wasn't and none of the nurses seemed to want to really help me. Nate, the grunt nurse of the day, told me he was "busy doing everything but my job" when he heard that I had been reduced to tears after being left on the bedpan for 15 minutes by him earlier in the day. I suddenly felt a deep sympathy for my incredibly independent, but invalid, grandmother who was moved to a nursing home at age 94.

I was ready to go home and clearly the nurses were ready for me to go home, but there was one hitch. I needed a walker. Apparently the one that had been ordered for me was MIA. Thankfully my brother, the doctor, had come to visit me (in his scrubs and lab coat). Before I knew it I had a small group of dedicated, enthusiastic nurses oohing and aahing over me, going out of their way to help me get dressed, get my discharge papers and numerous prescriptions, and find my walker. It was amazing.

"I didn't know your brother was a doctor," they said. (His nickname at the hospital where he works is Dr. McDreamy.)

Soon, I was officially sprung and Dr. McDreamy dropped my prescriptions at the pharmacy and escorted me home. I was enthusiastically greeted on the lawn by the monkeys and Warren. I hobbled my way in and--after moving the bed and several other obstacles--went directly to the bathroom.

By the time I made my way out, Jill B. Nimble and Rattleskate of the PrissKilla Prezleys, were in standing in the diningroom with a giant bucket of chicken and two kids meals. After some reminiscing about the bout and some big hugs, I settled in on the sofa and had a welcome home feast with the monkeys.

It was fantastic.