So, here I was

back at the rehab facility with my brand-new change of heart (newly zapped).  I was still eating in the Dysphagia Dining Room, and still working away at learning to walk up stairs, and still having my medications handed to me six times a day.  But I was entertaining joyous thoughts of leaving!

It's true, I confess, the thought of acting as my own doctor, nurse, personal trainer, medical aide and housekeeper [not to mention chef] ) was a bit daunting!  (The Yard Man was intent on filling some of these roles, but, alas,  he had no place to do his internship other than a horse barn!)









The day of departure came and it was rather amazing, Reader Dear, how much paraphernalia one can accumulate in the span of time it takes to struggle through a few weeks of rehab.


Even more astounding was the stack of paper mail that awaited upon my arrival home (at least a foot high, and no more than a fraction of it lovely cards urging me to "Get Well Soon!") Apartment woes awaited, as well.  And all of the odds and ends one must attend to when arriving back from the dead (okay, okay, I plead with you, Reader Dear, just to use your imagination!)