Could this really signal the end of my transplant hospitalization? Should I dare believe this is it? Would I actually be released into the wild with my brand new chunkers?
When the humungo scale rolled through the door, followed by a cheery nurse, I have to admit I was nervous. Did more fluid climb on board my body and seep its way in? Just how long would I have to carry this water tank around? How long would I be sloshing up and down the halls?
Just when would I be able to get my pajama bottoms on all by myself again?
Friday, January 4th - 126 lbs
Monday, January 7th - 119 lbs!!!!!
Audios fluid monster. Cue fancy schmancy exit music.
First thing after breakfast (and my mountain-high pile of medication) was X-ray. Had my usual fun porter dude. When I rolled into the x-ray room I just threw out the answers before they even had time to ask the questions: my date of birth, "no chance of pregnancy" and "yes I can stand for the x-ray". It wasn't my first time at this rodeo.
Dr. T came cruising through the door and advised me that my x-ray looked fantastic...likely cause I gave my new chunkers a good stern talking to the night before. However, the medical team wanted to wait for the surgical team to give the okay to remove the chest tube.
So we waited.
Finally Dr. T came in and said his team had decided to go ahead and remove it. Lights, camera, action - Dr. T is the star of this flick titled "Chest Tube extubation without breathing exercises, any count down or warning, but with surprising pain".
Okay, it's done. Let's just move on. Forget the whole thing ever happened.
One more x-ray was needed to confirm the lung was okay. A new porter appeared at the door. I may have almost given him a heart attack; I was so excited to get it done. Pamela came down with me, while June babysat Carman. I speed through that like a champ and then we all sat around drinking coffee and visiting with other transplant friends, while waiting for the green light to escape.
At freaking last! Final x-ray was a beaut and I was cleared to go.
We hauled my stuff out of there and as we were leaving there may have been some singing and stuff and I may have told the nurses I wouldn't miss them, but no offense.
I had just planted myself in the back of the Hamobile when Dr. T came out of the hospital. I took one look at him and said "I'm not going back in there". Turns out he wasn't hunting me down...he was just getting off work.
Yaaaaaa, I knew that.
Minutes later, when I walked through the condo door, the G-man nearly lost his mind. His tail wagged all over the place, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, his heart beating out of his chest and his little squeaks echoing off the walls.
Home...at last...with new chunkers.
******I believe it's critical to mention here that I am still #2 in the NBA fantasy league, despite being under the chainsaw and duct tape - which is 3 spots above my brother******