Day 29 and 30

I used my clichés quota up in my last post, so I can't use all the good ones about getting toward the end of things. There are so many that would be perfect, but as crutches must be shed before walking well, clichés must be left behind in the interests of half-decent writing (since this is only a quarter-decent writing, I might throw one or two in towards the end of the line...did I sneak that one past you?).

Day 29

The last full day in the hospital started like all the ones before and the one that will come after; six something and the lights snap on. The cheerful “ohayo gozaimasu” is sweet enough to cause instant cavities, or turn your stomach. My stomach turns, as do I to assume my patented Morning Nurse Evasion technique. It may be that I was half asleep so my fake sleeping wasn't convincing enough, but I am tapped on the arm and roused out of my sleep. Plan two (Hiro and I created this one to try and avoid early morning blood tests), the moment after my arm is shaken I “wake” in a startle and convulse a little bit. It shocks the nurse, but she still hand me the thermometer and takes my pulse. I lie about the number of times I went to the bathroom yesterday, because honestly who keeps track of that with out writing it down. Ah yes, the last full day is going to be just like the others isn't it?

Morning physio and lunch come and pass with nothing special to note. Time is dragging today. Is it because my time is almost served, or is there some other reason that hours fill the spaces between movements of the seconds hand? On top of time being drawn out, I have begun to get a very strange feeling. I have waited so long to be in this position, ready to leave. It is just that thought that is sitting a little strange with me. I have been away from my life for a month, from my kitchen and my bed, my couch and Kuno. As I quickly as I was plucked from that life, I am about to be dropped back in it. I have been having thoughts about whether I am going to handle that well. The excitement surrounding cooking my own food and relaxing in my own space is definitely there, but I am also carrying around some apprehension. This is probably a very normal feeling, especially since I live alone, but to a very minor extent (in comparison) I have now gained a greater understanding of the feelings expressed in The Shawshank Redemption. I have things to go back to, and I have only been away a month, but going from such a regulated environment to one in which your freedoms are almost endless is very daunting. Even the desire for that freedom makes it none the less daunting.

Having just gotten to afternoon physio and strapping on my ankle weights, I am suddenly informed that I have an MRI. The test is no surprise to me, but the fact that I hadn't been informed of the timing earlier is a little annoying. Same old routine, lock up the valuables, take off all metal bits, and stand in front of the dude with the metal detector. I wonder if it is easier to get on a plane in the United States. Finally, I am lying down on the bed and my leg is being fitted into a support. When that is over the bed rises up and slides into the narrow centre of a giant cylinder. As the test begins, the same old sounds are emitted. I can compare them to nothing, as they are extremely unique, and if I were to be head first in the machine, probably quite frightening. Uncontrollably I shake, as I come back awake. As usual the sounds have mesmerized me, I just hope my jolt wasn't enough to screw up the imaging. Soon it is over, and I with drawn from the narrow passage and sent back to physio.

Back in my room I have begun the final stages of my preparation to leave. The trouble last night as actually wound up giving me a great head start on my packing. Most of my clothes are away, and since I know that I only need enough for tomorrow I can put most of the rest away too. I am having a hard time taking down my cards and other decorations, as I don't want my last evening here to be stark and sterile. After that it will really just be my computer and my valuables. Tissue and water are a few items that I will give to my friends in the ward. In these final hours, as I have taken care of most of what is possible so far, I can only sit and wait for that second hand to make it's cycle again and again until the time when I can take care of the rest has finally arrived.

I need to break this cycle of looking around and trying to figure out how I can better prepare for tomorrow. Since there is no Canucks hockey on right now, I am going to play some on my PSP.

Day 30

A month ago this day was unimaginable. Two weeks ago this day was a dream. Last week this day was still too far away. Three days ago this day was still undecided. Yesterday this day was coming all too slowly. Today is this day.

Waking up this morning, I could barely believe that it the last time I would wake up to those awful lights. The feeling could have almost been called joyous, save the fact that I was still woken up by those damn lights. Continuing along with the standard morning routine, check my temperature, make up some number of times I went to the bathroom yesterday, and take a shower. Breakfast wasn't half bad this morning, but then again it wasn't half good either.

The smile that I could feel across my face was stuck there for most of the morning. In physio my knee brace angles changed to 20 and 105. It is amazing how such a small change in angle can make all the difference. The discomfort of twenty degrees of extension is notably different from thirty degrees. Only one new exercise was proscribed today, the exercise bike. It is exciting knowing that I can try to ride slowly. The bikes here are tiny and archaic, and with the limited flex of my knee and the fact that the seat post only goes up to my hip, it is next to impossible for me to ride the damn things. A little modification (a sandbag on the seat) made it a little easier. After the standard routine it was time to start walking. Down the hall and back, up and down the stairs, and all quickly. The feeling was euphoric. If you have ever used crutches you will understand the joy of walking with out the damn things under your arms, but this was even more than that. A month ago I could barely move my leg, and now I can walk. I can go up and down stairs, I can turn, I can carry things. While running and jumping are still out of the picture, I can at least start to get some normality back in my life.

This is it. I am watching the Canucks game online, and finishing the last post I will make from this bed in room 607 of the hospital. In under an hour, I will pay my dues, and get a ride home. It is still almost too much to comprehend. Walking through that front door and knowing I don't have to come back is going to feel so wonderful. I really don't know what more to say about it, because I haven't sorted through my thoughts on it.

Before I go, I want to make some acknowledgements. My thank you list to the people who came to visit me:

Yurio

Kojima-kochosensei

Takayama-sensei

The Gals – Eriko, Tomoko, and Miyuki

Tokunaga-san

Brandon and Aya

Rich and Kaori

Maruyama-sensei and Kobayashi-sensei

Sayuri

Mochida-sensei

Shoko

Yoshikawa-sensei

Koujo Mitsuko

Mera Minako

Kou and Akiko

Jun

Shimoda-sensei and her family

These are the people that took the time from their own lives to visit (some many times) and make my stay in the hospital a little easier. They brought treats and flowers, and most of all support. I feel extremely lucky that I have so many people here that care about me. On that note a big thanks goes to all those in Vancouver who emailed and sent stuff, and to all you who have been reading my updates. While I often felt isolated up here looking out my sixth floor window, it was communication with you in Vancouver, and the support of those here in Nagano that really helped me get through this. I can never express the depth my gratitude to you all, thank you for your loving support, and please know that it made all the difference.

Next time you hear from me I will be on my couch!