Our Cancer Story – Part Five – The Homecoming
After spending two weeks flat on his back, determined not to move, the physiotherapists advanced on my husband with enthusiasm. His leg had been repaired with a nine inch rod inserted into his femur. It was time to get out of bed.
‘No’ – ‘Yes’ – ‘No’. This was the way the conversation started. A few days later he was walking with crutches and able to maneuver up steps to prove he was ready to be discharged.
Although James was happy to be home, it was not an entirely smooth transition. Withdrawal from the morphine caused nightmares and confusion. No one had prepared us for that.
He could get around minimally with crutches, but we live in a side split with stairs and no main floor bathroom. His best place to camp out with his hospital bed was in the den.
Recovery can be a lonely road. No one else knows exactly how you are feeling and James was alone all day.
And this brings us to the inspirational part of the story. James did not waste time feeling sorry for himself. His conversation to himself as he told it to me was,
I’ve got this. …What can I do? … I’d better get moving.
And bit by bit, everyday he moved. He walked back and forth in the den. He worked at the stairs until he made it up to the main floor. He did the exercises the physiotherapists taught him. Every day. Every single day. He’s like that.
By early May he was out and about in the neighbourhood. He was rebuilding his stamina — walking partway, running partway.
On his birthday, the doorbell rang. It was a young women, a fellow runner he’d recently met. She had told his broken femur story to a few of her neighbours and collected some funds. She had a card and a bag of health food — coconut water and the like. She didn’t know it was his birthday.
She had recently lost her mother to cancer and just wanted to say he’d been an inspiration.
Welcome home.
Stay safe everyone.
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