I was a lot of different people. A traveler by someone else's design. A writer by genetics. A dancer by my mother's past. A speaker of Castillian Spanish and Colombian Spanish and Italian and French. A foreigner in America. An American abroad. A kid with her family overseas and her roots seeking they not knew what.
A catheter is a wonderful thing.
They say that gratitude is a year-round practice, and that we can be thankful on days other than Thanksgiving. Every time I stand up, I am grateful. Every stair I climb, every tangerine I peel, every egg I beat, every swimstroke I pull -- grateful.
I give "community" as one big reason for my survival and recovery from a serious illness in Amsterdam earlier this year. I lay in a single bed for three months but rarely felt alone.
Physical independence has expanded my world: from a single bed, to a hospital hallway, to Oosterpark, to Florida my home and neighborhood. Yesterday, my husband and I ventured further than we've been since our return, and, as always, we are the better for this little taste of travel.
Two months ago today, my husband, Ray, and I flew home to Florida from Amsterdam, where I'd become critical ill during a vacation.
The first hurricane to threaten Florida this year, Hurricane Dorian, is headed our way.
On August 8, after being a hospital patient for 100 days, I was released back into the free world. No more 5:30 AM visits from the blood lab techs. No more blood pressure/temperature/O2 measuring every four hours. No more being restricted to my chair or to my bed for fear of falling. Also, no more…
After the easy intimacy I had developed with my caregivers in Amsterdam, the brisk efficiency of the highly organized unit at Shands was both welcome and offputting.