I’ve reached the end of my patience, just when I need it the most. I’ve been here 27 days.
It’s no fault of the hospital, but I’m just ready to go. I felt patient and Zen as a Buddha when the doctors told me I’d be going home soon on Monday and Tuesday.
Today, I’m ready to climb the walls. Or, more specifically, the wall that I seem to have hit. I’m tired. I feel well enough to be bored, but lack the energy to do most things. TV bores me, while reading requires a little too much mental energy. I yawn frequently, but it hurts my throat. I look like I’m crying, because my eyes water so much from being tired. I can’t believe how exhausted I am without the morphine.
Sometimes I do cry, because I’m just tired of being sick. Everything smells hospital-tinged. Then I feel a pang of guilt for those who have been here longer, for those who suffer. For those who check in and never check out.
I estimate I will be here another five to seven days. It’s not an eternity, even in hospital time.