Chapter 8 : Going home

The next day Lorna comes and tells me, “You are going home.”

What do I have to take with myself?  Everything I own is on the table or dresser. There is a book, a pen and some underclothes. My worldly possessions after six weeks.  I am told that I have been in hospital for six weeks.  I have no idea how long. I am leaving the security of this place. The place that looked after me, provided everything that I wanted. Which was a shower, a bed and food. There was always a clock on the wall to tell me something. The staff were always polite and always by the script. Always appear caring.  Never yelled at me. Never criticized me or my personality. They were always there. Always polite and then gone. Never rough or unexpected.

It is the end of waiting. In this ward I always waited for something. Waited quietly and patiently. I was never in control of anything.  When and where something got eventually done was completely at someone else’s whim. I would wait for them to come, or wait for them to decide they were doing it or wait for them to decide how it was going to be done. I was the passive one. The one without any control.

But we must go with the truth. I enjoyed being there. I loved the lack of power, the lack of control, the lack of deciding anything and the endless stream of sympathy. I was a patient. I was continually waited on. And the food. They always bought it to your bed and it was always nice. Now I’m going home. Tomorrow I might be treated like a normal person; an ex-patient.

And my children. What can I say about them as I go home. My life has changed. It will never be the same again.  And them as well.  My relationship with all of them has changed. Irrevocable and unavoidable. I will start this blog to try and connect with my children. Hopefully to tell them something. To tell them my view of the last few weeks.  They have to know what I have been through.