Kage Baker was a firm believer that Sundays should be spent at home – for a given definition of home, of course. Should you find yourself on many Sundays spending the day at a Faire with the family of your heart – why, that was home nor were you out of it. I’ve spent a lot of Sundays at home in the oakwoods and the hayfields and the snowy streets of London, and loved them all.
But today I am home from something – to wit, the hospital. Hospitals are good places and I am grateful they exist; I am also grateful I escaped my latest confinement in one. Kimberly came and fetched me home this morning, and I am now happily at my desk – wading through hundreds of emails, typing around the cats, watched balefully by the Corgi, with the parrot on my shoulder. My family has made me incredibly comfy and safe, and I am so GLAD to be home!
Though apparently no one has fed or petted the animals in a week. So they are claiming, anyway.
Recountings of my adventures will be forthcoming: I have a lot of catching up to do! But I am well, easily tired and very sore but doing well. My doctor is amazed at my level of recuperation. I still don’t have the path results yet, so the stage of my cancer is still unknown: but it looks good. Looks very good.
Thank you all so much, Dear Readers, for your patience and good thoughts. Neassa has been a saint. So has Kimberly, who has managed to be with me every day – in violation of several Newtonian Laws, I suspect – and has now successfully sprung me from the clutches of the medical profession. Some of those folks are great, and luckily one of the great ones is my surgeon/oncologist. But some of them are nuts … our last delay this morning was waiting for them to unbolt the central line installed in my jugular for the past week. It’s unnerving to have escaped the Borg so closely.
Stories coming. I am home and healing. Glad to be back, glad to be here; glad to be anywhere, but especially not in the hospital anymore!