Independence Day

Being cooped up and forced to remain at home is almost torture, although some days like Monday, it’s not boring. My cardiac surgeon, my nurses, and all my therapists have said, “No driving.” I tried to cheat saying I could still mow my yard on my rider, but my sharp-eyed daughter found in one of my discharge instructions, “No mowing the lawn.” SIGH.

Monday began the entourage of home visits. My occupational therapist was the first. After collecting the obligatory vital signs, temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation, she followed me through my house, upstairs and down, warning me of trip hazards. I had to show her I’d made a way to shower. She had me get into bed and back out. I know several off color remarks about that, but no. Her evaluation was that I was fine. I’d remarked when she arrived and was an occupational therapist, “I’m retired. Does that mean you have a place in Florida for me?” She laughed and said, “She could probably find a golf course who  could use me to mow.”

Arriving on her heels was my therapist for cardiac rehabilitation, again my vital signs, questions, and an evaluation. She chased me through my house for nearly five minutes until she had my heart racing. I don’t know what would have happened if she’d have caught me. She seemed to be pleased with my stamina, my ability, and progress since surgery.

My younger daughter Anna Prinkey arrived in the midst of this to make lunch for me. The last to arrive was my visiting nurse. My vital signs first, then I explained as I did with each preceding visitor how a casual remark about chest tightness ended up in a triple bypass surgery. All quiet on the home front; lunch and a nap.

Phone message from my Pastor wanting to visit around 1:30 and I agreed. His remark that he thought I may need a visitor caused me to smile. When I shared my morning, he laughed.

Now comes the part where my limited independence raises its head. It’s all about the reliance on others and their schedules to find someone able to make the run for me. That’s why I can hardly wait until I am permitted to drive again and another personal independence day. I may just celebrate with potato salad, a hot dog, and fireworks.