It's harder than you think, the transition back to "normality". Well, I say normal, the whole dropping everything out of the blue at less than a moment's notice to be transferred to hospital to stay for weeks at a time IS my normal. That transition always goes without a hitch. The first night is hard with the sudden increase in noise and light, having to always ask and wait hours for pain relief, but within a day or so it's as if I've never left.
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| "Sleeping" an original cartoon by Rosie P |
Like slipping on an old pair of gloves. Warm and familiar. Coming back to the flat takes a lot longer. It all has an effect. The weeks of sleeping with one eye open all the time. The constant uncertainty over medication. I sleep like the living dead for the first day. Not even a nuclear explosion could wake me up.
But that uncertainty doesn't leave. It just hides. Like the monster under the bed. Lurking until you think you've settled back in to a routine, then it hits you like a tonne of bricks...
.. Usually in the middle of the night. It feels wrong lying in my own bed I the dark listening to the silence. This is my house. I'm in my own space, meds are on time, I have control of my own movement, my own light. I get my TPN reliably. I don't have to fight for the basics. So why do I feel so lost and disoriented? I should be this way when in hospital. But it's not. There I have a routine. I wake at 6, have meds and start my day as the ward comes to. 10 is when the doctors arrive. Then self enforced rest at lunch time to avoid the smells and the sounds of food. Visitors arrive at 4pm. They stay till 7. After handover at 8, it's films whilst I wait for my night time meds.
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| "Heart Returns Home" an original cartoon by Rosie P |
Home is the unknown. The unexplored frontier. I don't know where I am. The freedom is too vast. The choice of what to do too broad. Home feels like the dream. I'm not usually here long enough to form a proper routine. These things take time. And most of mine is spent away from my castle, in a distant land. From there the grass surrounding my home and castle looks greener, more luscious. But then again, things in dreams always seem brighter and shinier than they really ever were.
Home is scary because it should feel right and it doesn't. Home takes time to adjust to. Like a tiger used to its cage, suddenly released back into the wild. There's a million and one things to do and worry about. Is nursing and care cover sorted for the week? Do we have enough medications to see us through till the next trip to the pharmacy? When is the next batch of uni work due?
Oh god uni work. I'm behind. I tried to keep up in hospital, but resistance is futile so they say. No. I must keep fighting. Home wil become home again sure enough, and a new routine will form. Change is scary. And change happens AT home in my castle. Hospital is always the same. Predictably unpredictable.
The Flat of Rosie IS where my heart belongs, even if it does take it a while to get there.
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