It’s the eve of day forty in the hospital, and we’re supposed to be discharged tomorrow. Something something with the insurance company and the home health agency. The number forty. Forty days and forty nights. Very Biblical. In the Old Testament, a punitive God made it rain for forty days and forty nights, drowning everything and everyone except for Noah and all those animals he put on the ark. I think Moses went up some mountain for forty days. Jesus prayed and fasted for forty days in the desert and was tempted by the Devil, I think, every single day. This suffering was to prepare him to die for all of us on the cross. There are forty days between Jesus’ resurrection and his ascension to Heaven. Before Jesus, the Israelites wandered for forty years. Observing the fortieth day after death is traditional in Islam and Eastern Orthodox cultures. Women are encouraged to rest for forty days after childbirth. The number forty seems to suggest suffering and then a time of change. Sophie’s spent forty days in the hospital.
I’ve had to take a short leave of absence from work because I need to figure out how we’re going to live now. I’ve had to learn new skills related to tracheostomies and g-tubes. The word suction. I’ve had to embrace new vocabulary and accept stuff that makes my head ache. My head aches nearly all the time but somehow I’m doing it. People keep asking me questions — so many questions — and I look behind me to see whom they’re talking to, and then I realize it’s me. They’re talking to me. I am, apparently, in charge of this circus.
It seems impossible that we’re doing these things, but we’re doing them.
I am so glad Sophie gets to go home.
elm
amazing performance on your part
I know that mix of emotions from hospital releases: Joy at being home again but stress over the daunting job of caring for Sophie without the medicos on whose support you've come to rely. I hope that it will get easier with time as the "new normal" sets in and that you will enjoy the peace of mind you so deserve.