Saturday, January 16, 2010
Three generations of Sollas
Three months ago, I woke up from a month-long chemically induced coma. During the time I was out, my mother came up from Florida twice. I can't imagine being in her shoes... the parent watching their offspring tied to a gurney so as to not pull out all the various tubes and hoses and wires keeping me alive.
My mother spent Christmas afternoon and evening in a panic, waiting for my sister to fly in from England. Only problem was that she was held up in Detroit because of the Holiday Terrorist. Apparently the plane that arrived just before hers made it so that they had to wait on the tarmac for over three hours. Luckily, they eventually released the planes and passengers and Mag made her way to Florida.
As sort of a post-Christmas gift surprise, my mom and sister came up to visit before New Year's. I don't think there has ever been a time when my house has ever held three generations of Solla women. Listening to Aurora cackling like a turkey, totally bowled over laughing, I realized that she, my mother and my sister all have the same laugh. And here it was; all this laughter in my house.
My mother and sister hadn't seen me walk out of the hospital. They hadn't been there when I made any of my "firsts" in PT. More than anything else, they just wanted to see that I was alive, intact and functional. Nevermind that I had already told them this via phone, email and through the blog. They needed to see it.
I am starting to understand now.
Today, I can say with a smile of pride (as though I had something to do with it... not really)...
that all of the horrendous holes that the surgeon drilled into me before Christmas are finally HEALED! I have no more holes in my abdomen!!! Nancy and I celebrated last night by NOT doing a wound change before bedtime. This means so much to me. Most of all, it means I can have my normal routine again. Showering first thing in the morning has always been my way of waking up... since I was a pre-teen. Now I can not only do that, I can manage the post-wound care needs on my own. And best of all... it doesn't hurt.
So what does all of this mean? It means I can begin to work out harder at the gym at PT. It means I can stretch out my walks farther each day. It means that when the winter passes I can start getting out on my bike again. It means I lived.