The view of Puget Sound from my 10th story window is hazy with muted sunshine. Still, enough sun to cast shadows on the street far below me. I have watched tug boats pull and push several barges into port, like tiny spiders skimming the water surface, quickly moving to and fro.
I can see a clear view of my office building from this window, but I try not to stare at it too long...THAT view only raises more uncertainty, doubt, and fear within me. I prefer to gaze mindlessly across the water or watch the people down below moving about like ants mining an ant hill...everyone has a destination...a plan...somewhere to go.
I'm anxiously awaiting my nurse, "Naz", to come in to hook me up to the final IV that is holding me hostage in this hospital. The last bag of Voodoo medicine to drip into the one vein I have left to use in my arms. My forearms are swollen, bruised, and on fire from repeated infusions and having to search for new veins to start IV's. They tell me the phlebitis will clear up eventually, but I'm supposed to keep a hot pack on my arms at all times...obviously don't have one on right now or I wouldn't be able to write this. LOL
Dr. She Who Will Not Be Named and I are on shaky ground. I'm still perturbed she came searching for me, called 911 last week, and had me dragged into the hospital under such circumstances. I'm also thankful she did, which provides much fodder for conflicted thinking. LOL Sometime over the weekend, she brought me an orchid...sometime over the weekend I recall apologizing to her for "my bad" behavior. Ours is a strange and unique relationship, but one I am certainly very fortunate to have in the world of medical craziness.
She has been insistent I go to a Rehab Unit, which I adamantly (of course) refuse. She has attempted to bully, pressure, and compromise me into submission, but I will not budge on this issue.
It is difficult for me to articulate WHY I feel so strongly about this and I seem to only frustrate the good doctor when I try. There remains within me a deep vein (the one left that hasn't been "poked") of denial about my health and my future prognosis...a denial that feels necessary to uphold in a feeble attempt to "trick" my mind and body into wellness again. My denial gives me a source of strength that I might not otherwise have, lest my mind be allowed to wallow in depression.
"REHAB UNIT" equals giving up to me in a bizarre equation only I seem to understand. And I am not ready or willing to "give up" or "give in"...I am not ready to be labeled "disabled" or needing of such services. I want to return to my work, my life, and my previous health, but without labels or transfers to a unit that will greet me at it's doors with a handicapped sticker.
For now, I'm just going to watch the tug boats push and pull...surely there must be a lesson to be learned from their ambitions...