They took the big wrap off my right ankle today, cleaned things up, and put on a new bandage. It is not exactly a pretty sight, but it is healing—and every step of this process brings me a little closer to home.
I still cannot walk on it, so we are working on getting a wheelchair delivered to my apartment. For reasons I do not completely understand, nobody seems very enthusiastic about releasing me yet. I understand their concern, but I am ready to get back to my own place, my own life, and the business of getting stronger.
An in-home health worker called today and plans to come to my apartment tomorrow. There is a chance I may not be there yet, but I have his number, and we will work it out. The important thing is that help is being arranged for when I do get home.
I also heard that Amanda is moving into a home for women, and I am genuinely happy for her. I hope it gives her the safety, peace, and fresh start she deserves. Maybe our paths will cross again someday, and maybe they will not.
Either way, it was a pleasure to feel that way about a woman again. At eighty years old, my heart still works just fine. I have no regrets. I wished her well, and I meant it.
So here I am: a newly bandaged ankle, a wheelchair somewhere in the works, home health waiting in the wings, and my eyes still fixed on the front door.
I am ready to go home.
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