On April 27, 2009 I was admitted to the hospital.  On April 28, 2009 I had surgery and 4 days later on May 2, 2009 I went home.  I was excited and nervous.  Happy to be leaving the hospital, my crazy roommate, the terrible food, the bed alarms, the 2AM blood pressure checks, the smell of... sterile.  Nervous to not have doctors checking in on me, nurses at the call of a button, drugs to be injected for instant relief, putting pants on again.  But everyone felt it was time to go home.  So armed with half dozen prescriptions for everything from Oxycontin to steroids, I went home.

I decided I wanted to stay at my house instead of shacking up with my parents during my recovery.  After all, I have a 50 inch flat screen TV, every movie channel, countless DVDs and an over-sized super comfortable couch.  I did have to ask Amanda to “parent proof” the house.  Not that we had anything that bad in there, but still, you don’t want your mother to find anything… questionable. 

It was also decided that I would not be sleeping in my bed – which is on the second floor of the house – but instead in Amanda’s room – on the main floor.  My mom – at her request – slept on the couch...  Yes,it is that comfortable.  And we were one big happy family.

I was on a lot of drugs.  Two different pain pills everyone 4 hours, steroids, and two other medications specifically for my condition.  I was still in some pain and not quite “with it.”  I basically slept and ate.  When I wasn’t in my (sister’s) bed, I was on the couch.  If I wasn’t in either of those places I was in the bathroom and that was about it.  Everything I did was slow and delayed – including interacting with people.  I didn’t move much.  I was just kind of present.  And I slept.  A lot.  Like, 18 hours a day.  I was like a small child or cat.  Except I don’t poop myself or lick myself clean – well, most of the time, anyway.

I also was never alone for very long in the first few weeks I was home.  My mom had taken time off of work to stay with me.  My dad came over and my older sister – who worked from home – stayed with me as well.  Amanda even stayed home a few times to sit with me.  A few friends came and saw me while I was recovering and I always felt bad I wasn’t more entertaining.  Though, I am sure some of the things that came out of my mouth on all those drugs were probably entertaining. 

There wasn’t much to be happy or excited about while I was home – except that I was home.  But there was the fact that I wore sweat pants all the time – which is pretty much a dream come true for me.  And I didn’t really shower much – I couldn’t quite muster up the energy to stand for that long.  But when you are going from the bed, to the couch and back to bed with a few pit stops to the bathroom, there isn’t much need to wear real pants or wash yourself.  Besides, real pants - the kinds with zippers and buttons and back pockets - and showering - the kinds with water and soap on a rope - are overrated.  And I was more than happy to take comfort in that.