Discharged.

So, as Keith just posted I get to go home tomorrow!!! Yippee!! But more importantly I get to take a shower tomorrow!!!! For the past nine days I have only been allowed to take sponge baths. (I never want to see another baby wipe again.) You cannot shower or take a bath when you have chest tubes in, and  then you have to wait 24hrs. to bathe after the last one gets pulled. I finally have all four tubes out, three came out yesterday and then the last one this morning.

Keith has already explained to you about the humming as part of the removal process, and this morning I had a very entertaining moment when the last tube came out. 

It was very early in the morning, and I was particularly blitzed out on morphine, and definitely not awake, but trying my best to keep my eyes open and be alert. The Doc had everything set up for tube removal, and he gave me the go ahead to take a few breaths and then hum as soon as I was ready. I took three long, deep breathes, an act that I am endlessly fascinated by these days. I cannot even begin to describe to you how amazing it is to be able to take a full breath. To be able to breath in and not instantly begin coughing is still such a novelty. And being able to pull, and inhale air all throughout my lungs, all the way down in my back to the deepest lobe and have those little aveoli sacs fill and plump up with oxygen, swelling and filling my chest, is almost a religious sensation. I can just sit with my eyes closed and breath endlessly, each breath like opening up yet again my favorite ever christmas present.

I think I was off somewhere deep in this rhythmic breathing orgasm dance when a voice comes floating through asking "Are you okay? You can hum anytime now, whenever you are ready." I opened my eyes and slightly tilted my head, blinked in confusion, and said "yes, I know, I have already hummed a whole song, why haven't you pulled the tube out?" Everyone crowded around the bed busted out laughing, and I realized that only humming taking place was INSIDE my head. 

Last night I made some pretty outragious comments, all morphine induced of course. In the wee hours of morning Peg was helping me get to the bathroom and then back again, and as she was helping support me to lye me back down, I said something to the affect of "What are we going to do when I run out of armpits for getting the refugees to South America?" Don't ask,  I don't remember saying it, and I have no clue as to what I was talking about.

Those are just a few examples of my drugged induced rumblings. Keith and Peg kept all the notes I wrote them while still intubated, and once deciphered those will be out of control. We have also been taking many, many photos, documenting this journey and its many hurdles, steps, and triumphs. We will get some of those up here soon. I am of course inclined to post ones for sheer freak out factor. There are some pretty gnarly ones of bloody chest tube insertion sights, my poor traumatized skin from all of the rebandaging and endless amounts of tape. I have also managed to gain about seven pounds in water weight. The edema has begun to subside, but I kind of look like the Elephant Lady from Barnum and Bailey's Circus. I have the definition of kankles, my toes look like little sauages, and my whole feet are about three times theor normal size. (I am afraid that my tattoo on my foot is going to get stretched out=( A few days ago I was so full of water I looked like I was about seven months pregnant. Also on my left soulder and ribs I have what is called crepitis, air in the space between your bones and skin, it makes you look puffy and swollen, and in my case lopsided, and feels crunchy when you press on it. It is caused when there are holes in the lungs and air is leaking out to wear it is not supposed to be.  

I could go on and on about all of the weird random things I have been experiencing, saying, and doing during the least ten days, but I will save some for later.

Most importantly I have reached one of the first major checkpoints of this process, getting to get out of the hospital in a timely fashion with no major complications, and begin the long road of rehab at home.

Okay, the morphine is making it extremily difficult to piece together whole sentences, so I must go to sleep.

Love you all, and the next check in will be about the first transplant adventure outside of the hospital.