You don't have to go home..... But you can't stay here

As with any vacation, check out day always sucks.  Back home and back to reality.  A lot of time on my last day of my vacations I get physically sick.  I never want to go back home.  Most of my vacations are on a beach with lots of sand, sun, sea, oh yeah and shells (my weird obsession).  I truly believe this is where I belong, but I somehow got placed in my current life in the middle of Missouri, as far away from the sand and the sea as I could possibly be.  But there must be a reason.  This is my journey fate has chosen.  So, for now, I will just visit my "real" home as much as possible until fate takes me there permanently.  Just a few short months ago, before the C word invaded my happy life, this would be at retirement.  We even already had our condo picked out.  Now I must face reality that life is short and just when you think you have it figured out, another bump in the road turns you down a path that was not in the original well thought out plan.   

Now I realize check out day this time is FAR from a normal vacation, but in some ways it is comparable.  I'm thinking going home is going to suck.  Back home and back to reality.  I was feeling physically sick thinking about this.  Three days before, I entered this place and proceeded to have parts of my body cut off.  Parts that are a huge identifier of being a female and identifying my womanhood.  They are now gone.  In their place, I am feeling a massive amount of pain, nausea, anger, and emptiness.  For the past three days I have had drugs pumped into me 24/7 and have not had to deal with or think about this.  I could just lay here in this room and be blinded as to what I was going to have to face once I walk out of here.  But now it's time to head back into the real world and deal with what has happened to me.  

Signing papers, gathering my stuff, and into the wheel chair for my ride out.  Once home and car is unloaded, I look around.  Everything is the same but oh so very different.  I am different.  I do not know the extent of this yet, but I know that I am. 

There is, however, a great sense of love and support here, from the flowers, candies, warm fuzzy socks and blankets, cards of love and encouragement, PJ's, and "keep you busy" books.  All from loving caring friends and family.  The greatest gift I have received thus far however, was this beautiful wonderful reclining lift chair set up in my bedroom, delivered from an organization called the "Healing Chair".  They loan these chairs to mastectomy patients after cancer surgery for recovery until you do not need the chair any more.  They then come and pick up the chair and on to the next person.  There is a journal that travels with the chair for each person to share their journey who has used the chair.  This is the most amazing generous helpful thing I have received thus far in my journey.  Without it, I doubt I would have slept even the few hours a night that I do sleep.  

So here I am.  Home.  Time to heal.  Time to deal.  Time to figure out who I am now.  Let the journey begin.