Home ❤️
Yesterday afternoon, we packed up a hospital room no longer desperately needed. I put away pajamas built like hospital gowns, comfy, clothes, and electronics. It is not my wish to be prosaic when I say that I left a dream inside that hospital room. But that room represented the last seven years.
Since 2017, I have been told that a bone marrow transplant was the only way to save me. We went through years of consults, at NIH, and Mount Sinai, and UCLA, and yes, my all-time favorite, despite it all: Sloan.
For years, we worried that I was too complicated and too sick. And it turned out to be correct. And while this is not my decision, I feel confident that they know best and that it is the right one.
I know that I am not a failure. I know that my body has failed me. I know that I have aided it in failing me. I have had a fuck it attitude that has not served my health well, and will no longer BE my attitude. Because there is no more golden, miracle cure. There is me. There are my doctors at Sloan and NIH and a healthy lifestyle and me. And there is my commitment to these kids. I don’t want to leave them today more than I didn’t want to leave them the day I left for my admission.
I am home now. I’m about to be reunited with Pete. I’m about to have my favorite Mexican food. I am weak, but I am determined.
I want to thank you all— especially my parents, my brother and my sister. My friends and my cousins and family you have kept me afloat through the last five years and hopefully onward. I promise I am not going to be speeding head fast into a wall anymore. I am going to live. Because I need to keep putting Leo‘s hair in mohawks, and I need to have my talks with Sadie. And I need my Adelaide to make jokes about everybody in the room with me.
This morning I held my head to the sun and I took a deep breath. I have never taken a breath like that, scary, but full of promise.
I love you all. Thank you so much.