Home was the ultimate goal. Marie was so unhappy, and she began to feel that everyone was against her. I think she believed, that we were holding her without her consent. She was working hard, but her mind wasn't right. Her mother thought Marie was depressed. I didn't think so. The neuro phycologist never came to that conclusion. I am totally convinced it was the phenobarbital.
And then, with no advanced notice, her attending rehab doctor said he would release her, as long as we guaranteed we wouldn't leave her home alone. He actually spoke to us like we were children. I thought he was pompous. All Marie heard was she was going home. The doctor said it would take a couple of days to complete all the paperwork for the discharge, and set up a rehab schedule for Marie, as an out patient.
It was such a quick decision that Marie would go home, that it made me wonder, if the insurance was running out for inpatient rehab. I never asked. It didn't seem important at the time. I wanted Marie to come home, too.
The next day, when I came to see Marie, I discovered her hand was swollen. My memory now, is that it was her right hand. And when I say swollen, I mean monstrous. Huge. A catchers mitt. I have never seen anything like it, ever. And it was obvious that the doctors had not either. Was this the last straw or just a speed bump. We had no idea.
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