It has been a year.

It has been almost a year since my lungs got infected enough for me to be hospitalized for several weeks, cancelling my trip to Spain, and putting me off work indefinitely. What a year it's been.

I still miss work. I miss getting up every morning and doing something active (that does not involve a treadmill). I miss helping people and feeling part of a team. I miss my co-workers. I miss my giant office. I miss running groups. I mean, to simplify it, it was my job to run cooking, art, gardening, games, and knitting groups. Who wouldn't miss that?

I miss being able to travel, to leave my area, and explore new places. I have no idea when I'm going to be able to do that again. Traveling is my first love (sorry Isaiah) and honestly, it was the hardest part about this time last year. To be told that if I went on my planned vacation, I might not make it home is a hard thing to hear. There is nothing like having a doctor say you shouldn't do the thing you love to ruin your day. No matter how much I tell myself that being in Toronto is like a giant vacation with new adventures, it's not the same as having my toes in the sand in the Canary Islands. 

But, I've made it through the year. I took a tamed down vacation of camping around Newfoundland (more hands-in-mittens than toes-in-sand type of vacation) and visited France when we ferried to St. Pierre for a night. I still am technically employed as they hold my job for me for two years and then I become a general employee of Cumberland Health Authority. That means whenever I am healthy enough to return to work, they have to find a position that I am qualified for. Job security is a wonderful feeling (yay unions!).  

Right now, even though I miss work, I would be scared to return. I know rationally that I've been declining for years and that not one event made it so I am here today but I feel like working with people in a hospital may have accelerated the process a bit. Even though it was a really clean rehab unit, people are still germ-y and no amounts of Virox wipes or Purell can help that.

Thinking about going back post-transplant makes me nervous that I would be putting myself at an unnecessary germ risk.  It makes me feel like I should try to find another job that involves less one-on-one with the public. But then why did I got back to university for three more years if I'm not going to do anything with it in the end?

I have no idea what decision I would make right now. Thankfully, I don't have to make it and have to stop worrying about it because it is so far in the future that everything is still hypothetical. I can plan it all out but then I may never even get to the point where I am deemed healthy enough to return to work.

As I've said a million times, I like to have a plan so thinking about the options is what I do. However, the problem with worrying, that Isaiah likes to remind me about, is that the scenario that actually happens is rarely the one you imagined. There is nothing I can conclude at this time so I need to stop thinking about it. And who knows, maybe there is a plan C where my crayon art will sell for millions and I can travel on the profits (hmmm, actually that will be my new plan A).