Home Sweet Home

Duvet, carpet, double bed, uninterrupted nighttime sleep, a Bischon Frise alarm clock, countryside quality Internet, an actual television, colour and comfort. I must be at home. Home, sweet home.

I like to think I have two homes. It’s not because I am loaded. It’s because I am spoilt. Yesterday, I got to visit both.

I did not want to go to my flat, because that space, that life, needs to be saved for a time when I can talk to Housemate without sweating profusely with an overwhelming need to nap. In short, my flat is a place for me to aspire. It is my target. I was not there yesterday. I’m still a shell. Circumstance dictated that I temporarily forgot it was my target, because I needed to pick up some pants and crafts.

As my taxi pulled up outside my flat, I had to swallow, for I was greeted by Mamma Jones and a vision in green. I was then greatly relieved to discover that Bruce remembered me. Two and a half weeks in the life of a puppy is a long time you know.

After a quick change, Mamma Jones and I busted a move and headed back to the Fens, to her house. Here is an aside; I challenge anybody who has spent over 10 days lying down, to feel comfortable sitting upright in a car for two hours. It cannot be done. You will fidget. Once we reached the Yellow House, I again found myself having to swallow, because of my welcome home posse, this time, complete with balloons and Sellotape. It was quite something.


And I realised then, that I was actually home. I could relax. No more hospital, not for now at least. I may spend the next 100 days hoping that I do not fall into the 5-10% of transplant patients who get readmitted to hospital. We do not want that, we want the NHS to save some green. After 18 days away from my space, my comfort, it felt rather nice to be back in it. Exhausting and emotional, but nice. Until I escaped, I had no idea how sick of the hospital I was. I was sick of the scenery. As some would say when they cannot think of anything else to say, a change is as good as a rest. For me, I think it was, but that change will now be followed by rest. Lots of rest. I have been told I need to give in to it and I am going to try to. If last night is anything to go by, I’ll be fine on that front.

I slept for ten hours straight. I believe that sort of thing can happen at home.


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One thought on “Home Sweet Home

  1. Terri J says:

    Sleep is a healer. Let Mama Jones mother you. I know as a mother since I couldn’t take this disease on myself instead of my daughter having it, mothering was the best thing I could do.
    Of course we got on each others nerves after a while of being together 24/7. That’s when it is time to call in friends to visit. Don’t let any germy ones in though. The hard part is over now just recuperate.

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