Jan. 22nd, 2017

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I was finally released, the world's most impatient patient, yesterday afternoon. Total damage report by the end of discharge:

* One fractured rib, which I did when I hit the toilet passing out on the way down last week. I wasn't told this until release, but it explains why my back hurt like hell the first couple of days. The doctor was astounded that I hadn't complained about pain while in the hospital. "Well, I mean, it *ached*, but it didn't really HURT after the first couple of days. I thought I just bruised it", I said. She shook her head and said I must have a HELL of a pain tolerance.

* About 15 pounds of edema, to which I am more than happy to let roll off my body naturally. It'll probably take about a month. No drugs, no diuretics, no nothing that will dehydrate me back into illness. I've discovered that the relatively quick fix for my skinny-vanity with drugs is NOT worth further injuring myself.

* The daily usage of the blood pressure cuff Jesse got last week. Suddenly I recognize the importance of these little things called "blood pressure" and "not dying."

* I have ulcers, which I understand isn't exactly an uncommon thing, but mine need to be especially monitored, as I lose precious red blood cells (hemoglobin???) when they act up. Apparently red blood cells are, like, SRS BUZINESS PEOPLES. I did not know this.

* A strange, quiet, and oddly neutral acceptance of the fact that my body is not like other 35 year old peoples bodies, and that it will require a different lifestyle than other 35 year olds.

* Acceptance, I'm finding, is a process, not an event, and I will have to come to this conclusion time and time again. But that's okay, because I think I finally figured out that THAT is how it works.

I've more to write. So much more. Always so much more. But one other thing I have to accept is this: I'm only about 12 hours out of the hospital, 4 days away from almost having died, and exhausted, despite having slept wonderfully. I want to clean, I want to write, I want to be sparkling and twirling with taffeta. But part of accepting my body means accepting that right now, especially now, the smallest things are going to bitchsmack me, and it's okay to rest when that happens.

It's okay to rest when that happens.

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