On the down side, I still can't read worth a damn. Even tracking a decently long article on the Web is tough. I continue to have no interest in picking up books. This is only my second attempt at a blog post since leaving the hospital last Sunday, as even that much narrative awareness is only available to me in fits and starts.
Over the next week or three I'll try to document my hospital experience. We're definitely in the anticlimax right now, that trough between surgery and the pathology report. Next Monday morning, calendula_witch and I go in to see the thoracic surgery team, then the oncologist. We'll have the last stitches on the drain port taken out, followed by a discussion of the chemo path. shelly_rae will be in town Monday midday, and the three of us will spend some time sorting through what it all means.
Right now, I don't know. And I won't even have a glimpse until then. All the grief and terror is still out there. It's just waiting for another turn of the wheel, for the business of the moment to come spilling out like blood on sand.
This has been a tough road, in all the obvious ways and in more than a few non obvious ones as well. I don't suppose it will get any easier, though eventually losing the 'busted ribs' sensation from the chest incision will be helpful. Details to come, as I understand or can recall them. For now, suffice to say my hospital experience was good to excellent, the food wasn't bad, and friends and family really came through.
I swear I'm getting back on this horse. One stirrup at a time. There's just a freaky lot of stirrups here.
I'll leave you with a thought. Not so long ago, the single overriding sensory impression of hospitals, at least in my experience, was the smell. Nothing has an odor quite like the damp, disinfected, bandage reek of a hospital. Lately, though, the quality of the cleansers has improved. Or perhaps my nose has been stunned with age. Because now my single overriding sensory impression of hospitals is the beeping. Literally two or three dozen different alarms which beep in the nurses' stations in the halls outside the rooms. Different volumes, keys, pitches, tempii. It's a symphony for one-note sonics, written large across my waking dreams and sleeping thoughts.
That noise will follow me all my life, I suspect. When the time comes, please don't wire my coffin for it, ok?
Meanwhile, I leave you with this cheerful image of me eating in the hospital.
© 2009 Shannon Page
This work by Shannon Page is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
So far I've come...