Familiarity Does Not Breed Contempt: Returning Home to Cook, Remembering The Care

I am finally home. Ready for some cooking and baking. Ready to re-set and begin anew with a fresh eye. I won't say that a seven day stay in the hospital is just what you need to get back your appreciation for home stuffs, but what I will say is that my time away cooped up in a hospital room without outside air touching my face, sun overhead, mostly seeing nurses and doctors, eating nearly intolerable "faux-vegan" hospital food choices (which helped me shed ten pounds--hooray!)--all makes for elation in returning home. When I had the energy, I'd wander the halls during sunny days and found myself moving along the corridors, following the sun's path. Even if the sun was just beginning to disappear over the corner of the building and it shone through in a tiny corner, I'd just stand there soaking it all in--the warmth and energy I got from those few minutes were precious to me.

My dogs will not leave my side. They were so happy to see mommy--it wore us all down to just have our big group hugs and tail-wagging reunion last night. They are my anchor. They will always be my anchor. I cannot imagine living without them. Some have worried about this "changing" me in any way, i.e., am I afraid? Fear? Of what? Of this happening again? Nope. I am of the canine, love the canine, will still rescue the canines needing homes, will still raise money to help there be fewer homeless and unwanted canines. (I just worry about the next full moon.)


I won't bore you any longer with too much medical speak, but here's the skinny on my situation as it stands right now. In the hospital, I had a PICC line inserted in my left arm--a "procedure" in which a long, thin tube is placed directly into a vein, then sits atop your heart in a central vein portion aiding in the distribution of 4xs a day IV antibiotics. A home health nurse was here last night explaining in layman's terms how to operate and insert my own meds into the fun contraption--which I will have for the next seven days. I had a problem emerge from this PICC after it was in a day or so--it felt like something was pressing down on my heart--which put me in a bit of a "state" as I thought something was wrong--and more importantly, I thought I'd never be able to run again. I still feel this pressure, but apparently, there is not "visible" reason for it. (*Really, my biggest concern at this point is getting back to running, well, and cooking--but cooking will come before running.) So, more tests were performed to determine if there were any "problems" with the PICC line, and nothing showed up, only a few things were mentioned as possibilities in contributing to this pain. I have some swollen glands, as is to be expected as part of the bite hit my neck--aka, close to my glands (which is never a good thing). No vampire or werewolf movies for me, thank you very much. Aside from that, the worst part of last week's procedure (no details here--just know, if anyone ever comes at your face with a knife and you are not asleep or under anesthesia--then smack your doctor around and demand to be put under--demand!) and my screaming-in-pain-till-I-nearly-passed-out moment-procedure--seems to have been the right thing to do. I will say, all kidding aside--it was important to have this done--there was a sense of urgency to the matter, so I am grateful I was atteneded to--but next time, I will be "under". I have a week with Mr. PICC--no biggie. I am adjusting. I have gauze still on my face. Have to monitor the wound and its healing--doing that on my own.

One more thing about the hospital. It is a sacred place. So many of us hear of healthcare misery and woe, and so many equate the hospital with Nurse Ratchets and Nurse Jackies. Instead, I met wonderful, strong women who work twelve hour shifts, work through the night, were there for me no matter what. Yesterday a young nurse attending to me got to discussing this PICC line and stuff with me. I asked her, Have you ever had one? She said, Yes, I had something similar when I had Hodgkins Lymphoma cancer. This stunned me. We talked more. She's been through it all in dealing with her illness, then recovery, and again, she is a mere child nearly. I almost wept hearing her re-tell her story. I felt silly for my "worry" and panic over my incident. She is so brave. Then, my attending--a new doctor, partner with my original doctor who took a much-needed day off, entered the room (not five minutes after I had this first conversation). He was wearing a baseball cap. He introduced himself, then apologized for the cap saying he'd just been through some treatement that left all of his hair gone. After his assessment and Q&A with me, I asked if he'd mind sharing what had happened? He said he'd been through radiation treatment for brain cancer. My god. He, too, was very young. Another hero. Unbelievable.

Today I gathered a pile of cookbooks, some I own, some from my last visit to the library. Seems I nearly always come home with a King Arthur baking book--when-oh-when will I just buy my own copy? I have a big hankering for my own cooking and my own baking. Last night I whipped up the utlimate in comfort foods: Match Meats fried chicken patties, mashed potatoes, a mushroom gravy to douse over it all, and one of my all time faves--raosted carrots with rosemary and thyme. Mmmm. Mr. Thyme promptly came to my rescue and while I was receiving nurse training on my "line"--he took over and cooked as I oversaw the operation from a distance--then, we asked the home nurse to stay and please have supper with us. She was, after all, going to have to remain with me for my first hour's dose. She was in complete surprise over the taste and goodness of the "vegan" foods--never really having had a vegan meal before! I was honored to have had her company. She loved it! I hope she gives vegan a try!