I can think of better people to hang out with, thank you very much... starting with my very own Hubby happily snoozing away in the bed I recently returned to after sleeping in the recliner for a month. Is that my problem? I'm used to sleeping in Hubby's chair since surgery and not my comfy, warm, memory foam-covered bed? I've stopped taking all of my nighttime pills (all supplements, nothing necessary) in hopes of figuring out these restless legs. I even followed Facebook's advice and bought some tonic water. That stuff is pretty gross. And it didn't work. Maybe I didn't drink enough of it, but I'd rather chug Nyquil. My friend K suggested I add some gin. She may be on to something. Maybe that's why it didn't work...maybe it's the gin and not so much the tonic!
So...It's 1:24am. I've been back to bed twice, once after getting a cough drop and once after riding my bike for ten minutes (isn't that everyone's favorite middle of the night activity?) because I couldn't lay still. Maybe I'm on Australian time or something. Isn't it daytime there?
I have to be up in six hours for a softball tournament, followed by a Christmas party tomorrow night. At this rate I'm going to be comatose by lunchtime. I knew I should have "accidentally" taken those leg compression things from the hospital. I was pretty much stuck in that hospital bed for five straight days and never once did I have restless legs. Ever since I've been home, I have had them every single night, and sometimes during the day, and nothing, not even my prescription meds, gets rid of them.
Cancer, you suck.
On a positive, amazing, glorious note, my dad came home from rehab today.
Did you hear me?
MY DAD CAME HOME FROM REHAB TODAY!!!
Or I guess I should say yesterday, considering what time it is. After over a month in two different hospitals and almost three months at the rehab, he is back in his own home. He called me from his recliner and had his beloved cat Sammy on his lap.
My mom commented on my Facebook post and said if you don't believe in miracles, go talk to Herb. Seriously. I got a call on August 4th and the doctor told me it was a "precarious situation and I might want to make plans". It was touch and go for about a week. I didn't know if I was packing for a visit or a funeral. My dad had heart damage from a heart attack and a major stroke. He had eight different brain bleeds. He couldn't move his right leg, could barely move his right hand and couldn't talk. They couldn't get his blood pressure under control. He fell out of bed more than once. He refused to cooperate with his therapists.
If you had told me my dad would be walking, talking and even climbing the stairs to his living room before Christmas I would have laughed. Miracles do happen. And like I told him two months ago when I visited, he is a fighter. Thank God.
This picture is from the summer of 2013, right before my d-day. Golf has always been my and my dad's favorite thing to do together. After everything I've been through since last August, and everything he's been through since this past August, having another picture like this seems like a pipe dream. Both of our bodies (and minds) have been through their own kinds of hell, but we are coming out on the other side, victorious.
Dad, if you're reading this, I'll do my part to get there if you'll do yours. It may not be pretty. We'll both move slower and shank more balls than we want to and even J will probably beat us, but I would love to get back on the course with you some day. The Lazy Swan is calling our names. Or maybe it's Green Acres. Wherever, whenever - let's get there, ok?