The months passed, and the physical therapy was painful. My words were clearer. I could grip things and feed myself. I was able to stand and walk. I probably wasn’t at 100% -- I mean, even though I was able to stand and walk, I couldn’t do it for more than a few minutes, and running was still out of the question.
However, I was well enough to be released from the hospital. I sat on the bed waiting for my sister to arrive and pick me up. I wanted to lie down. Even sitting this long was sometimes painful, but I wanted to prove I could do it.
“Are you ready?” She asked.
“I could use some help getting dressed,” I replied, “But otherwise I’m good to go.”
“I’m sorry you couldn’t go to your own home.”
“Sarah visited once. I don’t think she likes seeing me like this.”
Sarah was (and still technically is, I suppose) my wife. Her signature was on the paperwork right beside mine. I don’t think she expected them to transplant my brain into a woman’s body, and it was hard for her to see me like this. She had apparently been around quite frequently initially, and then less so after the transplant. And only once after I woke up. She was nearly in tears the entire time. So when it was time for release, I had called up my sister. As she helped me hook the bra in the back, I found myself thankful for her support. It had been difficult since the accident, and with Sarah not even wanting to talk to me, it was good to have someone...
No comments:
Post a Comment