Thursday August 13th, morning

I wake up during the shift change. Good riddance Greta. I can hear her briefing the new nurse on me. “Last night she didn’t feel so good, blah, blah, blah.”

Ahem. It wasn’t “blah, blah, blah.” It was “puke, puke, dizzy, puke.”

Whatever. I have a friend who was a nurse and it’s a tough job.

I hear Greta on the phone and determine that she’s talking to my mom. “She’s asleep right now” she tells my mom. Five seconds later, my cell phone rings.

I’m asleep right now! And she’s calling? I answer the phone knowing exactly who it is and before and hi how are you? I say “I’M the one in the hospital.” This gives my mother pause for five seconds before she asks me questions I don’t really have the energy to answer. I’ve abdicated all communication to Teri and Adam but I know that my mom just needs to hear my voice and she’ll calm down a bit so we talk. Briefly.

I’m awoken a few hours later by Dr. L, the neurosurgeon. I’m concerned I’m going to get dinged on coherency because he’s got a thick accent and I’m half asleep. He tells me what I already know: the cerebral angiogram ruled out the worst possibilities.

Then there’s new information “We’re going to do another cerebral angiogram.” For a moment, I really think he must be kidding. He finishes the sentence “In two to three weeks.” He isn’t kidding. F!

And then I ask him questions where I’m afraid I already know the answer.

“Can I run?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Jog?”
“No”
“Bike Ride?”
“No”
“Crunches?”
“No”
“Swim?”
“Yes, you can swim but carefully.”

A yes! Goodie. Let me try another one.

“Fly?”
“No.”

And there goes my family vacation in Canada. Damn.

“We’re going to discharge you later today.”

Hours later it actually happens.

I’m even up for a photo opp on the way out.