Thoughts about finally going home
I am finally going home on Saturday. Home from hospital. Home, after almost 5 months. Home, able to walk with a one-handed walking aid, when 5 months ago I was in so much pain that I was supine and bed-bound for weeks.
Over the next few days, I will be stressed. Because I've been in a controlled environment for so long, even home will be a mentally and physically dangerous place to be. I told Asshole Dr from CGH (that controls my psychiatric meds) this very fact, but of course he not only didn't alter my medication with this in mind, he also decided that after seeing me for grand total of 5 times over 5 months, the psychiatrists who treated me for years before he did, were all wrong: I have Borderline Personality Disorder and not an organic form of depression. (Which is not true. May I also add that during each of these consults he had with me, he did not listen to me with a shred of empathy, preferring instead to pontificate eloquently on his theories.) I am being released into the real world with far less reuptake-inhibitors I need to simply not-feel-sad. Not even asking to be happy, I just want to be stable. But that's not on Asshole Dr's agenda.
Over the next few days, I will need to think about every logistic detail for my return home, including the right sized quadstick I can safely walk with. The nice one I wanted to buy costs too much to ship; my second option has a narrow base, but I trained to walk with a broad base, and haven't learned the narrow base yet (though I will eventually, through outpatient rehab). The furniture at home may need some shifting; at the very least, as much floor space as possible needs to be clutter-free, things I need to use have to be within reach. I also need to think about every minute detail of walking from doorstep to lift-lobby, where hopefully I can get an Uber driver to wait for me downstairs to help me to a parked car taking me to outpatient appointments. And then, the way back home, which is the aforementioned in reverse.
Over the next few days, I will need to start packing the stuff I have here in hospital, to get J to bring home in batches; otherwise there will simply be just too much to bring home on Saturday. I also need to buy diapers, disposable drawsheets to protect my bed from diaper leaks, exercise aids such as ankle weights and a hand gripper thingie. J needs to bring me clothes from home on Saturday. I know he won't want to, but he might also need to take leave - again - to trial-run with me a trip to the doctor's, and downstairs to the nearby shops.
Over the next few days, even after I make a hospital-discharge checklist, I will keep on thinking about "recovery" and how it translates into actual daily activities. Besides outpatient appointments, exercise, reading, journalling - is there any more time to do anything else? Or will I be taking on recovery as a full-time job now, and forget about my desire to work my heart out trying to make a difference in this world?
When I reach home and finally see my kids again (banned from visiting me while I was warded because they are pets) am I going to to withstand the barrage of emotions that come around? That I was willing to abandon them because I thought I was a burden to their father?
I am so, so sorry.
I could go on with this but I've reached the threshold where tears obfuscate my vision and my nose is getting clogged. I'm more than ready now than before, but going home is still gonna be a rollercoaster ride for me.
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