There are, in life, few things that eclipse the joy of getting released from the hospital. No more needless interruptions in the wee hours of night to take a blood pressure or draw blood (I knew I was in trouble one morning when the lab tech kept saying "shucks."). No more bland food, no more bright lights that make you squint in a most unbecoming manner. No more pillows that resemble balloons.
Home. Where everybody knows your name. Your bed calls your name and you willingly respond with open arms and a deep sigh.
This is what I was anticipating.
This is what I got.
It takes hours for discharge paperwork to process. Having a nurse who was PRN or a sub or a temp did not help. She finally got all my stuff in order and went to get a wheelchair. She came back in the room, muttering something about "these chairs are all different..." She couldn't figure out how to adjust the footrests and my range of motion was pretty dismal so I couldn't bend my knee to put it on the footrest. I finally just told her to fold the footrest against the front of the wheelchair and I'd just rest my foot against it.
Then she couldn't get the other footrest to lock into place so I was trying to keep my right leg from banging around, while at the same time keeping my left leg suspended in mid air so it wouldn't drag on the floor...remember, just two days prior I'd had all of my major leg muscles thoroughly traumatized.
And I was holding a walker in my lap.
This Angel of No Mercy clearly didn't know the lay of the land because she kept changing the route...still trying to balance, control and be congenial. Once we finally got to the main floor, she picked the pace and then IT happened. I don't know exactly what went down, but the result was my left foot being jammed into the floor. The one with all those traumatized muscles. Pretty sure I cussed.
There were a couple more jolts and jounces before we made it outside. I suggested that it might just be easiest to strap me on top of the car. In hindsight, that would most definitely been the best idea.
I tried getting in the front seat by hoisting my rear end over as far as I could go, but no go. I then opted for the old "scoot your bum across the back seat and sit sideways." It completely wore me out.
I was sitting there, just resting, planning one last scoot to make sure my foot was far enough inside when "WHAM" Ron slammed the door, shoving my leg (again, those traumatized muscles) inside the door. Not sure what came out of my mouth, but whatever it was, it got Ron's attention and he yanked open the door and my foot responded like a jack-in-the-box, minus the goofy grin. I am pretty sure I heard the whole "boooiiiinnnnggg" sound.
At this point in this comedy of errors, I'm just laughing. Because any alternative probably would have gotten me locked up.
Or back into the arms of The Angel of No Mercy.
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