I miss being in the hospital. Not that I would ever wish to be so ill again that I need to be back in there. But there was something so comforting about the structure and organization and there always someone there taking care of me. I had my own little routine that I grew to love and look forward to. There was no pressure to get things done. Life seemed slower. And a lot of the habits that I created while in the hospital have carried over to me being at home now too.
I had visitors and I was able to read a lot. And I had the time to learn the best I could about my health. And I didn’t have the pressure of the rest of life. It was like a really weird vacation .
And even though at the time I was longing to go home so desperately, once I got home that first night and got into bed, I was scared. My house was quiet. There were no sounds of machines humming or the murmurs of nursers outside my door. And I was alone. And when I got into bed, I remember thinking, “There will be no one checking on me throughout the night to make sure I am alive.” And I cried myself to sleep, feeling that aloneness. And worry. And I remember being relieved waking up that next morning.
When I return to the hospital now for my various appointments, there is a feeling of comfort and familiarity. And longing for a time when my life was so chaotic, that it was simple.