Discharge is a endless process. Since I was told that the plastic surgeons had decided they wouldn't operate, I was subsequently told that they might operate. In fact, they had not discharged me from their system at all, whoever told me that was vastly misinformed. Apparently the head plastic surgeon needed to look at my wound so on Wed poked around the area and confirmed it was healing nicely with the vac machine. He did say that they might have to do a skin graft to finish the closing of the wound but that wouldn't be for several weeks.
Since I was cleared by plastics to be discharged, I met with the post-transplant admin assistant who set up all my post-transplant information. She is who I contact anytime I have problems or need an appointment. I have all my stuff prepped for next week as well as info on the microspirometer that I need to buy.
Yesterday, I really thought I was going home, homecare was arranged (the social work finally got the paperwork figured out), meds were ordered from pharmacy, and goodbyes had been said by all. Then I felt nauseous, started vomiting, and my heartrate spiked while walking to physio. I felt nauseous for most of the day so the doctors didn't feel comfortable discharging me and ha bloodwork drawn. I was super frustrated but it's hard to argue while curled up in bed around a basin.
Today looks like it might be the real deal. The doctors are concerned about infection as one of my cultures from yesterday shows that something is growing but it's too early to know what. The doctor said it may be a false positive so my blood work was retaken. I'm told they'll call me if they have horrible news for me to return to hospital. Its still worth fleeing for a night, even if I have to return.
I am pretty much all set to go, I have my discharge papers from pharmacy, I was switched over to the mini vac machine that I'll be using at home, and Isaiah has carted stuff off to the car. I was actually given the "pack up!" by my nurse at one point only to have her come in and say "just one more dose of IV antibiotics before you go." Of course that involved putting in a new IV which meant 2 nurses and 5 more pokes before they could get one in my tiny tortured veins.
We are now just waiting for the IV to finish running before we break out of here. I'm trying to force myself not to get excited until I've actually left the ward and they can no longer haul me back for more testing.