Two weeks ago, four days after I had been discharged the first time, I was readmitted to the hospital. The reasons for this return are complicated, meaning that I don’t feel like getting into them right now, but suffice it to say that my reentry into the world of twenty-four-seven medical supervision was swift, unexpected, and, yep, unwelcome. At the time, anyway.

I’m home as of Friday, and while I’ll probably need a bit to reorientate myself before writing a more substantial blog post, I thought I’d say a quick “hi” now.


The last few months (!), which I’ve spent almost entirely in the hospital, have been a lot of things: challenging, enlightening, and, most of all, healing. I’ve learned that I need to trust, that I have no choice but to slow down, and that my priorities are, in general, more than a little skewed.

I’ve been blown away by the support that I’ve received from family and friends, especially from my husband and from both set of parents (thank you, guys, seriously).

I’ve eaten enough hospital food to last a lifetime although, if I’m honest, I was a big fan of the cuisine at this particular medical institution—salad, sweet chicken curry, and ice cream FTW!

I’ve gathered enough material to write a book that’ll probably sit in the back of my head indefinitely, likely forever.

I’ve discovered that I can make treatment choices that I thought I never could/swore I never would, and with both excellent results and terrifying side effects.

I’ve changed. I’ve really, truly changed. And, in this case, that’s a good thing.


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