A deep, deep breath

Almost one week to the hour from when I went under, under the glare of the overhead lights, I've had the last of various tubes (which numbered 7 at the peak) removed and feel incredibly free. The last one was the second of two drains from my right lung, and it seems like I've been dragging it around and pushing it out of the way and sleeping with it, and sharing meals with it for ages. I was getting close to giving it a name. But I won't miss it for a minute. Its removal heralds the opening of the hospital exit doors tomorrow and I'll be on my way home to finish the recuperation there.

I can't deny the last few days have been driving me crazy. I felt pretty good other than when the drain tube would poke the inside of my lung everytime I took a deep breath. I'd asked one of the nurses, "Can I walk around?" and when she said yes, I waited until no one was around, put on my clothes (the drain bag was still banging my thigh, but wtf) and skipped out. Made it down the street to our old house in Hiroo, just to look around, and wandered around the neighborhood until I got tired. I thought I was home free until the evening when the nurse who was attaching the drip asked me. "Did you go outside today?" "Just around the outside of the hospital," I said. "That's odd," she said. "We got a call from someone who told us some foreigner was wandering around Hiroo. And he had a drain bag hanging out of his jacket."

 "Well, we all look pretty much the same," I said.

I was lightly chewed out by pretty much every one of the staff, but they were all smiling.