So, Thursday (the 31st) was intense. My MIL stayed the night and took Roman back with her when Dustin and I left in the morning for my appointment. I swear on all the cheeses, I cried so hard inside and out as we drove away from the house - my first time ever staying the night away from my child.
Traffic wasn't as bad as we expected and we showed up with plenty of time to park and check-in on time. We waited about a half-hour past our in-take time and they finally called me in to prep...
There are a lot of memories attached to hospitals and laying around feeling like death that are rooted deep in my heart. This has been hard on not only my body, but my mind as well. There were a few times where I would just sob and ask Dustin if this was all worth it anyways. What if I got sick again and had wasted a whole week of my life not seeing my child? I remember more than once while I was in major pain, trying to get up (even with Dustin's help) and use the bathroom and after trying for a good thrre minutes with nothing but searing pain and defeat, i would finally make it up, shaking, and would cry out, "Work hard, play hard," -- my last little bit of inspiration to myself. If I can get through this, I will be rewarded. Do it. Push it. Count to 30 and take deep breaths. It has been my personal surgery motto this past week and will continue to be these next few months as I continue my journey towards walking again.
As of this second, I just want to throw my hands up and thank God for blessing me with such an amazing spouse and family. I want to thank Him for helping the pain go away. For not falling. For no fevers. For comfy couches, giant televisions, washcloths and Netflix.