I got home late yesterday, after four months of either hospital care or nursing home/rehabilitation. I wasn’t sure I belonged at home. Four months away isn’t a vacation, it’s long enough to believe I belonged there. Not the place I discharged from, just care in general.
- Iced Water
- Room cleaning/bathroom cleaning
- Bed made
- Utilities paid
- Nursing care/medication management
- CNA bath/shower assistance
- Transportation to appointments
This is a short list not including physical or occupational therapy, of things that were done for me, that I’ve forgotten how to do.
So I found myself not wanting to jump right back in, and not just from amputations causing me grief. However, I had to. Had to live again. The good, the bad, or the ugly. Even the ugliest. I had to once again get into life. Into recovery. Into the ‘all the things’ that makes life so endearing.
Yes, that was sarcasm. I use humor as a higher power, to cope with things. Unfortunately it’s not powerful enough for everything. I have to reach out to a loving, caring power greater than myself for the big things. And yes, this transition qualifies as a big thing.
If home is where the heart is, my heart is halfway home. Even if I am smack in the middle of my modest apartment.
I haven’t yet tackled a thing. No laundry, no cooking, nothing. And I am deeply ok with it, for now.
I haven’t even sorted out my meds, beyond insulin. I just took whatever is on the label. I hope it was medication and not rat poison. I was just given a huge supply of whatever I was prescribed, and the insulins were separate, since they had to be cooled.
I even have opiates. That surprised me. I had requested none, in that I had said I did not think I’d need them. Another thing to sort out. Historical evidence strongly suggests I should leave painkillers alone, if it’s not in an environment of care (e. g. hospital).
So that’s got to be sorted out. I took a moment looking at this photo, realizing I had a sponsor. People to help sort it out. I will have to dig a little deeper in the recovery community though. I know the battle cry is abstinence at all costs. I also know the people on those front lines don’t all deal with multiple amputations and serious medical conditions.
After all, I was once a happy trooper on those front lines. I even participated in shooting down the hope a cancer patient had, who opted for pain killers in her struggles. 16 years clean, on painkillers? No. You are using. You don’t belong.
I just went along with the mob, judging her, crushing her sense of belonging. I don’t know her outcome but I know mine. I felt like shit for what I did – endorsing sick groupthink. I don’t do that any more.
I digress though. Maybe not. This is a blog of recovery stuff, after all.
In a way, this post is a request for help. I just don’t know how to ask for help all the time.
Help! I just got out of a four month hospitalization. My entire world is at least four months out of date. Laundry is not done. I had to throw away anything refrigerated. I have no idea how to cook for my new condition. I don’t know for sure where my bills stand, many are paid thanks to e-pay, but not all. So help! Please! I guess that’s a good start.
Oh, and help! please! In the sense of support. Can you relate? That’s a good kinda support. Pain shared is pain lessened. Something like that.
Home is where the heart is, but indeed, my heart isn’t quite home yet.