My Journal (continued) Page 3

December 21, 1999
I still can't explain why, but going up and down stairs was terrifying to me, and still is. An incline can throw me off faster than a bucking bronco. But, as my P.T. told me, I couldn't go home unless I could manage at least ONE step.

One lousy step was all that was keeping me from home! My fear of that one step was beyond anything I could control with persistence or stubborness. I couldn't do it and I knew I couldn't! I could feel the tears starting to well in my eyes as I looked at my P.T. with failure written all over my face. I can remember him looking around to see if anyone was within listening distance. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, "If you tell anyone I'm doing this, I'll deny it" he told me. With that said, and my very suspicious expression, he told me to turn around with my back to the step. I did as he asked. He then showed me how to go UP a stair BACKWARD!!! I did it!! I really did it!!! I was stunned, it was so easy!! To say the least, I knew at that exact moment, I WAS GOING HOME!!

December 22, 1999
Three days before Christmas and I was finally home. Three weeks in the hospital was a lifetime to me and going home with my husband and my son was the highlight of my year. Being in my own surroundings, seeing my own furniture, computer, chairs, and most of all our dogs (Muncie, half Rotty, half beagle mix) and Tiffen, (our Shih Tzu) made the real meaning of 'home' a reality. With my stump wrapped tightly and  a secure brace on it, the ride home was still scary to me. Strangely enough, not being around traffic, and not in control of the car frightened me. I was grateful when we finally got to our driveway.

I surprised my husband and son by getting into the house with very little trouble on my walker. Once inside, I sat in my husbands chair (he gladly relinquished it to me:-) until my wheelchair was delivered. The Discharge Planner at the hospital had made sure everything was to be delivered that day. A wheelchair, bath bench, and toilet frames were delivered within 3 hours of my arrival at home. I was thankful for them all.

Finally being at home was a two-fold emotion. I was glad to be home, away from the hospital and it's reminder of what I had lost, but again, I was away from my security too. The security being if anything happened, there would be someone there to help. At home, I didn't have the security of a doctor, nurse or aide to help me. My husband was always there in the hospital, doing for me, helping me with exercises and doing some things the marriage vows never intended. I knew I could count on him. But...he wasn't a doctor, he wasn't a nurse, and the realization that I was now on my own, hit me hard. I never let him know of my fear, I never once said "Take me back, I'm not ready", though the thought had crossed my mind. I had to face the fact I was home, and home is where I belonged.

That first day at home was nice. My husband made dinner though I could hardly eat. Food tasted awful and my appetite was gone. About 8:00pm I decided it was time to go to bed. My husband went with me, partially I know because he was as exausted as I was and partially because he didn't want me to be alone. I remember not having any trouble getting ready for bed. He laid my nightgown out for me and pulled back the covers. I do remember thinking to myself as I drifted off to sleep how good it felt to be in my own bed at last.

December 23, 1999
I woke up and saw that it was 2:30am. I HAD to go to the bathroom! So I grabbed my walker and lifted myself off the side of the bed and took a step. Unfortunately, I look a step with my left leg, the amputated leg and down I went! I landed hard on my stump, screaming loud enough to wake neighbors a mile away. My son came running out of his room and my husband was up and next to me in a split second. I grabbed my stump, rocking back and forth again from the pain of landing so hard on it. I sat on the floor for a few minutes, crying to myself because I'd been so stupid. My husband wanted to lift me up and get me back on the bed but I wouldn't let him. I forced myself to crawl to the side of the bed, using both of my legs. I used the knee of my left leg and leaned on it, keeping my stump safe while I lifted myself back onto the bed. I could feel the pain in my stump moving up my leg and I knew this time I wouldn't get away with just Tylenol. So I took the pain pills that the doctor had given me and finally made my way to the bathroom. It's amazing how quickly you forget what you were going to do when you fall. I can say proudly, that has been my only fall to date. I learned a hard lesson that night. NEVER, NEVER get up from bed without being FULLY AWAKE! When I told Dr. E. about it on my next appointment, he asked me, "Was it in the middle of the night?". He knew because that is usually when most falls for amputees happen. In the middle of the night, when you aren't awake. It was a lesson I learned quickly.

January 12, 2000
Christmas had come and gone and New Year's the same. I was going to Dr. E. once a week for him to check on the progress of my stump. I was healing, slowly but surely. I kept running a fever every now and then, but I'd take the antibiotic he prescribed and it would go away. On this day though, it wouldn't. I had hit a temperature of 103.2 and my husband insisted on calling the doctor. Of course, my greatest fear was having to go back to the hospital, but he wouldn't listen to me, he called Dr. E. anyway.

My fear was realized when my husband came into the bedroom and said I had to go to the Emergency Room. I cried like a 5 year old who had just scraped their knee. I DIDN'T want to go!! I can be stubborn, but my stubborness doesn't come close to my husbands, especially when it comes to my health now. He said I was going and I was going whether I liked it or not. I am grateful to him, for everything he has done for me and is still doing for me. He's always been my best support and critic.

Once at the hospital and in my room, Dr. E. came by to check on me. I asked him how long I'd have to stay in the hospital.

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