Getting back on the horse.

Or, the keyboard. Whatever.

Aiming for regular posts. Post ICU, post hospital. Back in the mountains. Near home.

Lots of life altering. Walking with a walker. Being pushed in a wheelchair. Having Joe, Mary, the grandkids coming to visit me.

One observation from the ICU/hospital experience. I registered in the emergency room. Infantilization began. Questions, lie down. EKG stickers on. Numbers. O2 80, How do you feel? Clothes off, hospital gown. CT scan. Back to the worried room.

A tussle over what to do right now. My agency slipped away and I became a patient with breathing issues. Infectious disease specialists take a day to identify streptococcal pneumonia. In and out of awareness in the dim lights of the ICU. Targeted antibiotics hit.

Gradual turn from death toward life. I missed most of the turn, only catching up to it in my hospital room, one step down from the ICU.

I’m grateful to so many whose kindness and expertise saw me through. A gift, this life, and it can be taken from us so fast.

How to say something hard.

911. “Not getting enough oxygen.” First 911 call. Flurry of uniforms. Stickers. EKG. o2 sats. Low. Firefighter lead: “Nothing physically wrong. Faulty o2 concentrators.”

“Oh.” Mutual. No need for an ambulance ride. They didn’t want to go, neither did I.

Mistake. Down the hill four hours later. Head down, breathing hard. Arjan driving.

E.R. Wheeled in, registered. Exam room. Folks rushing about. This wire, that wire. Confusing. Various things stuck in my face. Resistance. No. I don’t want that. You need it. Felt claustrophobic.

After that I don’t remember much. Woke up in the ICU. Ah, alive. The beautiful Gina cared for me. Kind, quick, confident.

So weak. Hands fluttering. Still hard to breathe. Disoriented. Extra people. That dog. Strange.  A place between.

Step down room. New nurses, more needles. lV’s set. A fog in my mind, the room, my bed. Alone, on a pier of existence distant from home.

Later, a return to the mountains strapped in a wheelchair, head drooping. The Life Care Center of Evergreen. Room 103. Physical therapy, occupational therapy.

Question? What comes next? Joe. Rich. Mary. My team. My job. Work hard on strength, balance. Eat. Rest.

Placid. Neither up nor down. Excited nor anxious. Naps, brief reveries. Seeing maybe a different path. Or a new version of an old path.

Ouch. Fell over. Hit my head. Much blood. Six stitches. Mary, Ruth, and David helped me. Second fall in a month. Not a great pattern.

Vulnerable. Feeling old, hapless. Wondering about living as I have been. A major question for me. Damn it.

More as the news rolls in.