I may not be singing that soulful "Monday, Monday" classic today, but I'm optimistically belting out "Tomorrow, Tomorrow" as I pack my PJs. It looks like I'll be checking out of Hotel Hope on Tuesday.
If you missed my comment on yesterday's post, my lungs are rapidly returning to normal. Yesterday, I walked three laps around the floor without extra oxygen. I was breathing, walking and talking simultaneously and felt tintillatingly alive. I felt like I was in one of those farcical musical scenes from Scrubs. Doors opened. Imaginary champagne bottles popped. Other patients grinned with envy as they watched me performing this amazing, three-task feat.
Does it get any better than that? I can only think of one improvement. If someone had pitched a Porto's potato ball at me, I probably would have fallen over in a fit of ecstasy.
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