The baseball game

Rapid-fire entries - after this one I foresee a break from my computer for awhile...

This is a continuation of baseball season (an earlier entry - a few back) ... really paralleling baseball with my surgery, kind of. We have a baseball team that could be great, but was missing some links, and didn't have some key people, including a coach.

So, from the previous entry, we had an excellent pitcher who had tunnel vision, but he is an excellent pitcher. That's the orthopedic surgeon. He is incredibly awesome at what he does. It's been 5 days. I'm not on any pain medication. My shoulder hurts, but it's manageable. He did a fantastic job.

The catcher, or the person who is so good at coordinating things, is my rehab doctor. He is also the best. He found out I've been at an acute rehab hospital, and got me a message to call him. I don't know how he does this, but he totally "gets" Beth. So he said (after a stellar pep talk), "What do you think you need to do to get out of there?" (He knows this place was not the plan, and that I want to be home) So I said, "I need to be able to do all transfers independently." He replied, "That sounds reasonable. So as soon as YOU know you can do that, YOU can decide to leave." Something in the way he put all this really brought me around to see I was much closer than I thought. I discovered on my own, unknowingly breaking rules, that I could do all the transfers. And so yesterday, after an ordeal about breaking those rules, I decided I was ready to go home.

At Kaiser Permanente, my case manager, who I know through my rehab doctor (it seems I know so many people at Kaiser), supported this and arranged for home physical therapy and occupational therapy. She wasn't in the game previously, but I suppose she'd be the strong infielder.

And in the end, I became the coach, advocating all along the way.

So I could now insert all the negatives about the week, all the things that went so horribly wrong, but perhaps it is time to somehow move on. In real life, I am somewhat clinging to the negatives because there were so many and they hurt, they were potentially devastating. But things worked out. So I need to let go of them. Perhaps somehow hand them to God, even though I'm not there yet. Perhaps I need to spend time thinking of how God was with me through all of this. And I need to go home, find a bit of alone time and space, and cry. Crying can release so much - it's highly underrated.

So to end on a few more positive notes, there were people along the way who were the best (not part of the original team) ... a night nurse, a student nurse at the hospital. The rehab doctor at this rehab hospital who quickly was able to change my prescriptions back to what they were supposed to be. He knew this was critical. The main physician assistant here tried so hard to make me happy, to get my problems addressed, to get things ordered for me, even if it didn't work 100%. And then some of the nurses here have been great - they have put up with independent, stubborn Beth. Lastly, one physical therapist had me standing using parallel bars. She showed me that I have more leg muscles than I thought, and that perhaps I could relearn walking a bit, and strengthen some muscles I never realized I used for walking.

To end this game, it was a success in some strange, round-about way. Some people don't think I should leave quite yet. But there's been a small, consistent voice coming from the dugout. It says, "Mommy, I love you. Mommy, get better. Mommy, when are you coming home? Mommy, I miss you. Mommy, I want you home." That's a pretty convincing voice. And Dave, my husband, comes every day. I don't think, perhaps, I realized how much I love him, until he has walked through that door smiling. Lori and Dave clearly want me to quit coaching.

Home I go. Thanks be to God for being right with me through this game, and for perhaps showing me the importance of family more.