By the time the doctors released me from the hospital, I was a train wreck. Walking back to the car I couldn’t stop shaking. Miniature earthquakes took over my body and I was extremely cold. I was wearing my shirt, jacket, and still my boyfriend’s shirt. There was nothing that could be done to shake the chill off me. Walking was painful, every step felt like someone was slamming a bat into my sides.
I was tired, drained, and defeated. I was grateful that he was there because that meant I had somebody who cared. It disappointed me that my dad thought I was making the whole situation up for attention. I was more upset that my mom didn’t fight him to come see me. She was my mom and I needed her, but my dad won again.
I didn’t reach home until two or three in the morning. I was still floating on morphine and the sensation was blissful. He walked me to my door and my mom met me to the top of the stairs. If my mom had any doubts about me being sick the look on my face proved her wrong. Walking was becoming challenging because I was so tired. I was still shaking even after the drive home. He never turned on the ac or cracked a window just to keep me warm. My teeth kept knocking and I bit my tongue/lips several times.
My mom took me into the room and undressed me. She found the warmest pajamas she could find and dressed me. Her eyes widened at the dried blood on my clothes and my arms. Finding humor in the situation and telling her that I was fine was probably the only thing that stopped her from breaking down.
She tucked me into bed and the most I could say was that I was sorry. I was sorry because I was being selfish in wanting her to drop everything to come to me. I knew the business was more important. I knew my dad needed help and I was sick. I apologized because she had to carry the brunt of the work since I was now officially on bed rest. More importantly I apologized because I added to her workload.
Recovering wasn’t an easy feat. I basically slept in until after twelve. It was something that I wasn’t allowed to do since my son was born. My body was barely functioning like it should. I was still cold in ninety degree weather. The shakes seemed to be getting worse instead of better. The worse part wasn’t the headaches that made me black out but it was the fact that I could not control my bodily functions. If I had to go, it just happened. If I sneezed, I wet myself. It got a point where my mom put padding on the bed. It was that or depends and I wasn’t going to do that.
My boyfriend brought my medication from the drug store and that was the best part of the day. Honestly, I just wanted to recover by him instead of in my house with the chaos. My dad was convinced that my actions were intentional. He also felt that if I stayed home instead of escaping by my boyfriend’s house then I would have never gotten sick. My mom was just thankful that I was getting better bit by bit.
Every day that I stayed home, I grew weary and antsy. I was annoyed but doing better. I just didn’t want to go back to the follow up appointment at the doctor. I hate doctors. I cannot stress this enough. I really truly hate doctors. The good news about the appointment was that I didn’t have to go alone….
To Be Continued…
Day Six: The Hospital
Day Four: The Appointment