My imprinted memories from the hospital go far beyond the episode with the toilet. I am full of many memories I wish would vanish; disappear, because maybe they never happened. We all have those memories, those we wish never happened. If we just don’t speak of it, or think about it, we will one day forget. Until recently, I was still trying to forget, still trying to get a magic eraser, but it really was all to no avail. Somehow, along the path to forgetting, I realized that it was the path, the journey, which made me–me.
My journey at the hospital was long and arduous. Privacy was ripped away from me, and my life and personal hygiene was in the hands of other people. To make matters much worse, I was menstrual two days after surgery, and all I wish I could do was take care of it by myself–but I was dependent on other people for everything. Which meant that too was in someone else’s hands. Luckily, morphine hid any embarrassment I might have had, hid any feelings of dread, and it just left me numb.
Undesirably, my morphine was taken away two days prior to going home. Those were the worst two days. I couldn’t sleep. Everything hurt. I couldn’t get comfortable. My body was in array of sharp pain from the top of my spine to the bottom. I was given a high dose of oxicondine, but it did nothing. I still felt every ounce of pain in my body, and I thought I that this was just how it was going to be. Pain would be with me forever, and perhaps I would never feel normal again.
The day I left the hospital, my brother came in followed by a nurse and a wheel chair. He pushed the wheel chair all through the hospital, while my mom parked the car in the front of the hospital. This memory is foggy. But I remember feeling as if I couldn’t really believe it had just happened to me, but it had, and it was now one step closer to being over. Surgery was now over, and what was left was recovery. But no one ever told me what to expect, and my expectations of what was to come was far different from the reality I was faced with, because my life would never be the way I once knew it. So being pushed through the halls of the hospital, was my transition, leaving my life I once knew, and entering a completely new life. The journey had only just begun.
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