Every time I heard those doors seal shut, I knew I’d be there for a while.
Normally, Dr. Herlihy had a private room for me. Ken always helped me pack a bag before we’d go, but that was a joke. Most everything went home with Ken. I was allowed only certain types of street clothes, but they encouraged us to wear them over hospital garments.
In the mornings, I was visited first by the breakfast tray, then the medicine cart, then Dr. Herlihy.
“Hey, Sister Jefferies!” Doc would say. He always wore a white lab coat with his name stitched in red.
Still, I always looked forward to our evening snack. Peanut butter, crackers, and a drink. And those little cups of ice cream. Got those sometimes too.
Group therapy was every other day … there was never any shame in my game … I just talked and talked and talked …
Three times a week we had occupational therapy … some didn’t get to participate. If they were naughty and didn’t behave.
(That’s all I’m ready to say about that. …)
It was hard for me … I missed Ken and my babies. But Ken came to see me EVERY DAY. By far, the best part. I would cry when he left.
I’m crying now just thinking of it.
I had to go to the hospital a lot. Even in the midst of it all, I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that I was actually THAT sick.
Now, I count my blessings each day.
I gotta tell ya, this has been a difficult blog for me to write and there are a lot of things left unsaid. I’m just not ready. To write it is to relive it. Still, I realize it needs to be shared.
So stay with me. My story’s not over yet … 😉
Until next time …