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  • Writer's pictureMatt

Home Sweet Home

The last time I had surgery, I was a bit surprised at how quickly I was discharged - 2.5 days. Ever since that time, I've spent my time trying to take care of myself, balancing work and life, and getting strong as fuck again. It wasn't with any real purpose in mind (well, the squats and deadlifts were VERY purposeful) other than living well and trying to honour the gift God has given me. When I found out we were having surgery again, I had it in my mind that there was NO way I was spending any more than the same amount of time in hospital. Turns out we were there slightly longer - discharged around 5:00 pm on Wednesday instead of 1:00 pm like last time - but a quick turnaround nonetheless.

Ready to get some coffee and get on the road.

Hospitals are a funny place because they seem so counterintuitive to the process of recovery. The neuro-observation room I was in had five other patients, and we were all hooked up to our own blood pressure and heart rate monitors that beeped pretty steadily all day long and through the night. Beyond that, we all had to be woken up by one of the three nurses at least twice during the night to have meds administered and to run through a series of cognitive tests. Long story short, there was not much rest happening. Oh yeah, the beds are terrible too. And the food. All of this is why I made it my aim to get out and back home as possible. Home is quiet, comfy, a constant, agreeable temperature and, of course, a place filled with the love and support of friends and family. And doggos. I loved my nurses and appreciated everything they did for me but there are some intangibles they just can't provide. I had to chuckle when more than one of them said "It was nice meeting you, but I hope you're not still here when I come back for the night shift". You and me both, sister. Again, my nurses all kicked ass. Despite being terribly overworked, they brought a sense of calm, positivity, and an exceptional standard of care. That being said, home is where it's at. Last night, I slept for eight solid, quiet hours in a comfy new recliner chair that lets me stay a bit more upright (head pressure, you know). The only thing I heard was the steady rhythmic breathing of Max who joined me downstairs for a sleepover and slept on the couch. Intangibles. It's good to be home.

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