Saturday, June 16, 2012
After Two and half months of living in a hospital, Matt and I were more than happy to go home, to say the least. For whatever reason, I've been thinking a lot about my first few weeks back at home lately and I have some thoughts, the homecoming wasn't all bluebirds and roses like I thought it would be, my first few weeks back at home were probably some of the most difficult weeks of my recovery. I now have some thoughts about why this was the case and here they are, First of all, when I pictured being home with my new baby for the first time, I pictured myself running up and down the stairs with her, changing her, feeding her, playing with her but what actually happened was I ended up watching a lot of people doing all of those things with her, I was on the sidelines for an event that I thought I was going to be front and center for. I was still very weak when I came home, unable to walk unassisted, in fact Matt made sure to spot me as I walked to and went to the bathroom and he would accompany me as I climbed the stairs, I was still at a high risk for falling, my balance was still pretty poor. My mental state was still cloudy at best, I'm now calling it "checked out", because that's what it felt like. I could barely focus on the narrative of an hour long television program, let alone remember which episode I had watched last. I think home is the hardest place to be because it's the place you are most familiar with, the place where your daily routines are performed, it is here where it becomes painfully obvious how different things now are, all of the routines are gone, this is where the grieving process begins and I was not prepared for that at all. But now home is once again where my routines are, brand new routines, in fact. And I am no longer on the isdelines of my daughter's life, but a very active participant I am happy to say that all that patience I had to learn to use, has paid off and I am perfectly content right where I am now. Home.