away from hospital

Away From Hospital

The Journey Home

I left the hospital with a bit of pain and some difficulty breathing. It had been thought that this was a simple hangover from the surgery.  With pillow bracing my recently operated on-abdomen, I waited for my ride to approach the drop-off (and pick-up) are.

As we, now in a motor-vehicle, departed from the hospital carpark, I realised how in need it was of resurfacing (the hospital carpark, not the vehicle).  Every dip and slump and bump and ridge and area of patched up bitumen had an impact on my tender torso.  I grimaced, bracing for the impact of every topological feature of what ought to have been a completely level surface.

Emphatic apologies issued forth from the mouth of my driver as I attempted to deflect them with my eyes.  She was doing her best given the circumstances.

Arriving home, I gingerly emerged from the car and shuffled towards the door, pillow still tightly clutched.  As I opened the door, the greatest of challenges lay before me – a set of stairs.  The prize at the top of these steps was the comfort and ease of my very own bed.

Out the corner of my eye, I spotted another prize.  A package had arrived in my absence and I was looking forward to opening it and availing myself of the joy it promised.  Unpacked and plugged in, I sat, almost tentatively on the couch.  It was then that I felt the effects of the sevredol: nausea, a feeling of deep muscular relaxation, light-headedness (perhaps it would be better to dub this “away-with-the-fairies-ness).

The Next Move

Bedtime was approaching – or at least a time when it would be acceptable to go to bed.  Unless I was prepared to sleep on the couch (which I wasn’t, I had long pined for my bed), this meant I would need to ascend the stairs.  As I sat, in a prescribed-drug induced daze, I steeled myself for what was becoming more and more inevitable.

Standing, shuffling, and then actual stepping.   One foot on one stair, pushing my weight upwards.  Each step followed by a rest, and repeat.  With one hand I braced my abdomen with a pillow; with the other, I strangled the handrail.

Exhausted, I reached the top.  It was like I had scaled an Everest and the air was thin.  Unlike the actual mountain, there were lodgings at the top of my mountain, lodgings I had long anticipated.  Puffed, I shuffled on.  There it was – my El Dorado.  A new challenge emerged – getting from the shuffling standing position to a level lower than the couch.  Bending my knees, I allowed gravity to aid as I brace (physically, and mentally) for a kind of impact.

I was home and in my bed – and here I would spend the majority of my time for the next week.


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