Home New Home

The fact that I’m home, in a new home I’d never stepped foot in (rolled into?) before last Sunday, is almost surreal. Sleeping in the same room as my husband? Eating at the same table? What is this?

As you likely anticipated, there’s a catch, for with the exciting (and, for that matter, with the blissfully mundane) comes much to process and work through.

It’s been both the shortest and the longest week I can remember. The transition has been as smooth as it could be. Our building and apartment are beautiful, and I’m stunned by how much work my husband, my dad, and our network of friends put into securing and preparing a safe place for me to be discharged to. Though it’s definitely a work in progress, it’ll be fun to research and purchase furniture, to decorate, etc. I have incredible aftercare—a PSW twice daily, a nurse daily, OT, and, later, PT. We’ll also have a family member here to help out for the majority of the next month.

I’m especially grateful to have these supports in place because I haven’t been feeling fantastic. Nothing major, but medication side effects and general nausea have been hitting me hard, and little accessibility challenges that bother me more than they should keep popping up. My lack of independence stares me in the face. I miss my old life. I’m grieving what used to be. I want it all back.

The key to continuing to move forward will, I think, be simultaneously doing everything I can to make progress, embracing what I have, and recognizing and accepting what’s out of my control. There’s no use pretending that I’m happy about what’s happened; at the same time, it’s important not to forget how far I’ve come. I can embrace every new victory while allowing myself space to wallow when I truly need to.

I too often get caught up in the “shoulds” and the “could haves,” which comes at the cost of focusing on the “cans.” I can wallow, and that’s a gift. I’m here, after all, to do so, and now in the comfort of my own home.