5 February

Things I’m grateful for:

1, My twisted sense of humor, which allows me to step away from present events and see the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

2. Geez, I’m struggling a bit here. I guess a body still young and healthy enough to withstand all the poisons it’s being asked to absorb. Poor body… we’ll get you some better fuel soon.

3. The gift of each new day.

So… this day will most likely consist of waiting. Waiting for discharge papers, waiting to have someone come in and pull this cursed line out of my right arm, waiting for the final all-clear. I’ve been told I can go home today and my infectious diseases specialist says that since my white cell counts are back to normal, I don’t have to jump through any special hoops once I get home in order to stay healthy. I may decide to wear a mask anyway though.

Still waiting.

Still waiting.

Finally, some movement around 3:30. My discharge paperwork is finished and now all that needs to be done is to take the PICC line out.

Still more waiting.

Right, I’m beginning to lose it a little bit now. And then Hope, my nurse, tells me that all I need is confirmation that Rory is on his way in order for the line-from-hell to be pulled out. Well, don’t I feel like a dork. Hubbie is phoned, confirmation is received, and out comes the damn line, just in time for Rory to arrive. I throw on some civilian clothes, Abbie the PCA bundles me into a wheelchair, and we’re out of there. We have to hold up traffic for a moment in order for me to get in the car, which some yahoo in an urban assault vehicle doesn’t appreciate much and lets it be known, loudly, but that’s our last hurdle.