I love blanket.
February 23nd 2017
Doe and then a city name is given to female patients who are not identified when emitted to the hospital. My name was Doe Harlem. The struggle now becomes real, as they say, the event now begins to sink in, days after the accident many visitors, lots of love and offerings from friends and family, people in and out, but in the midst of all this my mind is drenched in a heavy muck of disconnect from reality and the outward projection of "all is well" and "no big deal". I am grateful that my mind played this game. The nurses assigned to me kept my spirits up as well, water seemed to be the theme and my nurse would tease and bring three filled bottles to me at a time. My friend (who was single) hung around a little longer to greet the male attractive nurse with hellos and "do you need to check my pulse?". The pain and event seemed to linger in the background. It was very rainy in February this year and day and night seemed to mesh together. In the haze I felt a soft heavy comfort placed on my shoulders and then wrapped around my neck, my head supported by this hug. A blanket of soon to be "the greatest tool in recovery". A gift to add comfort. I remember now why we have a "blankie" as a toddler. It's your comfort companion, your buddy. It's soft and holds tears, it's warm and fills spaces as you lie waiting to dream. I will never let you go, blanket. I'm sure the morphine added to this comfort, but my body lay held in all the nooks and crannies, warm, and completely still in comfort.
A lawyer my husband had contacted had arrived and I was told a man had turned himself into to police saying that he had hit "something". I believe you feel a wood stick if it is run over in the road.. I have a hard time with a 160lb, 5'9" "something". He then lawyered up and denied any involvement. My response was "huh...". That was as much emotion as I could feel.
My tenacious will accelerated my movement out of the hospital and into my home. I live in a three story townhouse, concerns for how I was to move about in this place played a big role in discharge from the hospital. I knew that if I could just make it home all would feel somewhat normal again. I would plant myself on the second floor, where the kitchen is, most important, and sit and wait for my body to heal itself. As soon as I made it home, I, with broken ribs, sternum, hip, and hand, oh yeah... and leg... scooted up the stairs to my living room and crawled my way onto the couch. There I sat resonating in pain and soon my leg was propped, a table set up by my side with my water, medicines, remote, and books, pillows lay by my side and just a short painful walker excursion to the bathroom. I was ready for rest and recovery. Oh wait.. blanket. Now I'm ready for rest and recovery.
