When I first woke up from being unconscious for a week, I counted in days. The first day I was awake, the second day, etc. I talked to both Ian and K the second day I was awake, and I remember both of the conversations. Or monologues, to be more accurate. I just babbled at them until I got tired.
The next few days were testing days. I met with different therapists to test what I could still do–and what I couldn’t. They tested my memory, my motor abilities, my occupational skills, and my speech. I passed everything with flying colors. I was normal/fine on memory and above that for everything else. The physical therapist (PT) who was helping me with walking said to me the second time we met that she had nothing else to teach me. I’m the most proud of that thought it was not anything to do with me. I mean, I didn’t DO anything to be able to walk like normal–I was just lucky.
One week after I woke up and two weeks after the medical crisis itself, I went home. That’s when it went from days to weeks. I mean, there were things that happened on certain days, but in general, it was, “I’ve been home a week. Two weeks, etc. Not days.”
Side note: It’s easy for me to be glib now about it, but those first few days home were frightening. I could not see very well. Everyone had one big, melted eye in the middle of where their eyes should be, They also had a mely mouth/nose (melted together) and everyone, including Shadow, my cat, looked like a monster.
I could not read the font on the internet websites. My brother had to enlarge the font for me, and I still had to squint in order to be able to read anything. As I messaged with Ian (which I did every day), I had to trust that I was tying the right thing. It didn’t help that I used the Dvorak system but still have a QWERTY keyboard. I’m a touch typist, which is no problem most of the time. But when I had to actually read what I was typing, it was a problem.
The first few days, I was scared out of my mind that I might not ever recover my eyesight. At least the tickertape synesthesia I had experienced in the hospital was gone by the time I left, but I still couldn’t read anything.
Reading and writing were my life. I didn’t know if I wanted to live if I couldn’t do either. I know that sounds like hyperbole, but I spend most of my time doing one or the other. I write at least 3,000 words a day, and it’s usually closer to 5,000.