I was discharged from the hospital. My parents called, “We’re at the shopping mall preparing for your sister’s birthday. Take a bus.” With 3 stitches in my abdomen, I called a taxi, got home, called the bank, and removed her from my life insurance when she.. went to the doctor…
I was discharged from St. Luke’s Regional at 2:40 on a Friday afternoon, with three stitches in my lower abdomen, a bag full of discharge papers, and strict instructions not to lift anything heavier than ten pounds for at least a week.
The nurse wheeled me to the entrance and gently asked, “Is someone coming to pick you up?”Because at that moment, I still believed my parents would come.
I had texted them earlier that morning after the doctor cleared me. Nothing dramatic—just the facts: minor surgery, no complications, I was stable but sore, and I needed a ride because I wasn’t allowed to drive. My mother responded with a thumbs-up emoji. My father didn’t reply, which in my family usually meant he had already made a decision silently.
So I sat outside under the pale Kentucky sky, one hand resting over the bandage beneath my sweater, trying not to wince every time I shifted.
