Home at Last!

Myla's ANC was 92 this morning, so we were told we could leave the hospital for a few days! Being kicked out was a bit more like it as nurses came through about every five minutes to ask, "Are you still here?" It took me about an hour to load the car using the "Mother of All Red Wagons."

As you may recall, the last time we left Riley as a family, I had backed our car into a light pole on the top of the parking garage. This time, I was committed to avoiding any mishaps; I carefully parked the Country Squire away from a light pole. After delivering my second load with the "Mother of All Red Wagons," I tried to lock the doors before heading inside for another load.

Nothing happened.

I had left the lights on, and the battery was dead.

My father-in-law jump-started the car and then suggested that I repark the car and leave it running while I went to get another load back at the hospital room.

No problem. Pull car forward. I can do that. Leave car on. No problem. But in a few seconds, my mind had raced ahead to the details of packing the next load. So, you guessed it, I turned the car OFF! Meanwhile in mirror, I could see my father-in-law circling around the top of the parking lot to repark. I tried to restart the car, but with no luck.

After RE-restarting the car, I headed back to the hospital room to escort Melissa, Myla, and Mrs. Byrom to the parking garage. We weren't sure how Myla would handle the mask over her face that she was required to wear because of the construction at the hospital, but as it turned out, she laughed a good part of the walk out to the car. That was fun to see.

We made it back home by early afternoon, and found ourselves totally drained. We had left that strange and exotic world of the cancer center behind us. Well, almost. Melissa had put an empty box of "Chemo bloc" diaper changing gloves on top of our kitchen trash can. I can't explain why, but I stood there staring at that box and wondering why THAT THING was in our kitchen.

Despite reminders like this, it was good to be back home, although this is proving to be a significant transition in itself. I'm still expecting nurses to enter the room every five minutes, and there is a strange sense that Myla is no longer the focal point of attention.

Unfortunately, we can't have visitors during our few days at home. We have been instructed to treat our apartment as if it were a hospital room, and that means not having visitors during this critical time as Myla's immune system is rebuilding. One of our nurses, Erin, was quite emphatic about this. We learned that Erin can be entertaining and nurturing, but she can also get really serious when it comes to enforcing the no visitors policy.