A room with a view… 3/10/16

During the daily meetings with my doctors, they indicated that they were interested in discharging me from the hospital at some point in the future… (Whaa, one would hope)  Bill had been meeting with the Case Manager who had indicated that there was the possibility I would be discharged into Transitional Rehab. This would be for two weeks leading up to my next round of chemo.  However, the doctors had concerns about that plan.  With the compromised immune system that occurs with chemotherapy they were interested in getting me out of the hospital.   After all, hospitals are where all the sick people hang out and transitional care is no different. 

Bill immediately starting thinking about me being at home alone in an old house full of stairs, no main floor bedroom, bathroom or laundry among other concerns. (no dishwasher, 60 feet and a flight of stairs just to get to the front door, no garage and a cat) If the stories about fatigue and chemotherapy are true our house would not be ideal to say the least.  You wouldn’t want to recover from a sprained ankle at our house let alone months of intense cancer treatment. 

Bill asked the doctor when exactly I would be getting discharged and he got the standard vague doctor answer of, it depends on how she feels tomorrow.  As Bill is a man who always needs to know what the mission is he was not satisfied with that answer.  While I am a fly by the seat of my pants kind of girl, Bill, much like my father needs to know where things are headed and how they are going to get there.  He doesn’t take vague for an answer and "subtly" reminded the doctor that he received extensive leadership training in the military and was treating my care like a military operation.  Backwards mission planning may have been mentioned.  Our doctor is a clever man, and understood Bill’s point and firmly committed to MAYBE Friday or Saturday at the latest. This was the most direct answer we had received so far.  Bill, who is my resident ninja at getting S*#@ done, sprang into action.  He muttered about going to check something out, gave me a kiss on the forehead and said he would be back later.  

When he returned 2 hours later, he had picked out an apartment for me that was 5 blocks from the hospital with a spectacular view off the Mississippi River.  There are no stairs to navigate, I have my own bathroom and there is a guest room should the need arise for home health nurse at any point in my treatment.  Naturally the fiscally prudent DNA that is hardwired into me resisted Bill’s idea of having me move into an apartment.  I knew I would miss my vintage home, my familiar surroundings and I’d especially miss our cat Betty Boop, who teeters between loving us and barely tolerating our presence in her home.  However deep down I knew that if things got bad down the road our house would not be a safe place for me to recoup and there would be no place for a home health nurse to visit or stay.  Even entertaining the occasional friend or family member would be a challenge for someone on paid meds, side effects from chemo and recovery from surgery.

Bill asked me what my job was when I expressed my apprehension and I said “getting healthy.” He asked me what his job was and I replied, “everything else.”  I knew he was right; and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to change his mind anyway. I also saw the handwriting on the wall. With the inconvenience of our house and uncertainty of my work situation, we would probably have to move from our charming 1920’s home of several years. A pang of sadness swept over me as I thought about how excited we were the day we bought the home. We stood outside on the front lawn as we took the clique picture in front of the "sold" sign both of us beaming with pride.  I reflected on the good times we spent there, but also on how time flies. 

I love our house, the vintage lines, the cool character, big yard (for a city home) and lovely neighborhood, but with the uncertainty we are facing and long treatment ahead we know that we will most likely have to part with it at some point down the road for more practical and cancer friendly one. 

Before I was discharged, Bill was behind the scenes setting up the apartment, making it as relaxing, comfortable and cozy as possible on such short notice.  True to their word, I was discharged sometime on Saturday.  By the time we got the apartment it was dark out and I stood in front of the picture window looking out over the lights of city and the bend in the river and I turned to Bill and said, “Ya done good babe.” The next morning, I awoke before dawn and watched the sun come up over the mighty Mississippi River and I was in awe of beauty I saw.  Bill woke up just in time to watch the sunrise with me.  We sat in silence watching pink, turn to orange, to amber then gold. 

I knew it was going to be a good day.