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patient_travelr
It's been a long time, and all that time has been mostly hard. Not all of it bad, but a lot of it. So much has fallen apart, and so much left teetering, balancing on what sometimes seems little more than hope and optimism. Two things that are very hard to maintain in bad times.

At the moment I am sitting a wheelchair. This chair has been my primary mode of transportation since the new year. Also since the new year began has been my lack of half of my left foot. Yup, I've been rolling around my apartment with half of an exposed amputated foot with only some gauze and some foam separating exposed bone and muscle from the world. At best it's only mildly noticeable. At worst it feels like I'm walking on glass. Even though there is no walking, there is just rolling around my apartment, or laying in bed waiting for the pain to pass so I can sleep.

It's a hard time to be this lonely. And lonely I am. Occasionally I get visited by one or two people, and it's always the bright spot of my week. Which is about as often as it happens - once or twice a week. The first 1/3 of this year has seen me cry more tears then any year before it, and there's a sinking feeling in my stomach, and a pressure behind my eyes, that tells me there is more to come.

But these particular hard times, the amputated foot, the wheelchair, and the isolation should be ending soon. May 9th I have a surgery scheduled to cover the exposed area of my foot with a skin graft. My birthday is May 10th. Recovery from a skin graft is about 5 days, during which they make sure the graft is healing well.

So many things can go wrong. Hope and optimism are all I have to keep me taking care of myself until that day. Only 11 more days to go but it still seems so damn far. I don't know how long it will be after that until I'm walking again. I hope not long, but even if it's another month before I can ditch this chair, life will be easier after the skin graft. I should be able to do my own shopping at least. Now I have a tube running from the foam covering my exposed foot meat to a machine called a WoundVAC. It's disturbing, and worse than that, troublesome. It gets caught on things, or tangled in the chair wheels, or rolled over, tugging on the foam, and on the tender nerves it rubs against. It's a fucking nightmare, but one that should be over in about 2 weeks.

By then I expect more bad news. I can't escape it, these horrible thoughts. I am apart of no one's life, and the few people left that are apart of mine don't want to be. How many times I can rebuild the bridges I leave to rot, I don't know, but I know that some of them are gone for good.

So goodbye to those who are going and gone. Maybe in a few weeks I can find those of you who are left.

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