And so on...

It took a week to get out of the hospital per se. After a week (with one extra day added because Workman's Comp. / Dept. of Labor dropped the ball) I was transferred from the hospital to the rehab center across the street. This was a major improvement as my room was bigger and the food was better, even if the nursing staff seemed a bit less professional and much slower to respond. I had and could use a wheelchair to get around by myself by this time and I soon began what they called "physical therapy" sessions, otherwise known as: "Ve haf vays of making you talk!". Here, some cute but sadistic young ladies spent a few hours each day making me stretch and walk (with a walker since my fractured wrist ruled out crutches) and do all sorts of other exercises obviously intended to test the limits of my pain tolerance even with max. pain drugs on board. But every day it got a bit easier, and every day I got better, stronger and faster. I spent two more weeks there working and healing and finally I was released three weeks to the day after the original crash. And much to my surprise, when I rolled out the hospital's front door, there was a line of over two dozen officers from my department waiting at attention and they saluted me and gave my full honors as I rolled to the SUV that was going to take me away. The SUV was also my department's and they were going to take me home but there was a detour planned. With a police motorcycle escort, they drove me to the hospital's helipad where my department helicopter was waiting. They then flew me to a municipal picnic that was taking place a short distance away, and I found out that I was one of the guests of honor. It was damned nice and many of my co-workers were there. I also had my first beer in three weeks--and that was great.
After about an hour, I was starting to tire so they drove me back to my house. I guess that I'd thought that it would feel good to be back in my own home again, but that's when reality really set in hard. I suddenly realized all of the things that I couldn't just simply do any more, and it dawned on me just how restricted I was going to be with the wheelchair for a bit, and I had a rough few days. But for the most part I'm past that now too, and I've started going out in public for brief trips to the store, or to eat, but that's taking some getting used to as well.I'm not sure what's worse--the kids who won't stop starting at my leg or the adults who are a little too nice and who often hold doors or talk to me while avoiding making eye contact. But this too shall pass when I get my new foot. And it won't be long. It also got better when Lagniappe came back the next day after I'd gotten home. I'd missed him terribly while in the hospital and it was good to have him back. He was a bit standoffish at first when he got out of the car and he didn't come over to see me like I'd expected. He just went to his favorite spot on the landing and lay down. He was probably miffed that he'd been sent away for a few weeks and he took it out on me by deliberately ignoring me for a bit, but that night he came up to me as I lay on the couch and handed my his most treasured stuffed whale--a toy that before this, neither I nor any other person had ever been allowed to touch. He put it on my stomach and backed away and I took it as a sign that all was good between us again.