I’m going home tomorrow. I’ve been away since October 19. I wish I could tell you I’ve been on an extended vacation. But I have not. I’m happy, however, to report that I can chuckle as I take a moment to remember the dreamlike haze of many of the nights I spent here under the influence of drugs, given to me to help dull the pain enough for me to sleep.
I hope to write more about the use of drugs to manage pain. That will have to be a future post. This post must be short because I’m tired, sleepy (but can’t sleep). I’m both excited and scared about being home again. You see, my home, my safe haven betrayed me and took me down back in October. Or maybe my body was the betrayer. Maybe it was a combination of the two.
Just after midnight on October 19, I had insomnia and so I decided to get up and go downstairs. Sometimes moving to the couch allows me to doze off and sleep for the rest of the night. I managed to descend about four steps when suddenly I found myself skiing down the stairs at an olympic pace. I still don’t know quite how it happened.
I sustained several injuries — the worst being multiple fractures in the sacrum. I was fortunate enough to get my hand on my cell phone and was able to dial 911. (In the US that’s the call to report an emergency.) The service is quite good. I heard the siren start almost immediately.
So, I have spent the last 40-something days in the hospital, and then the rehabilitation center.
I’ve missed reading your blogs and hope to get back in touch soon as I work my way back to I’m not sure what. I thinking a full recovery with lots of determination and patience. Oh, and therapy. Communicating with all of you in the meantime will become a part of my emotional therapy, I’m sure.
And life is still good.