Now on November 9 they did release me from the hospital and sent me to the hospital’s rehab. They told my spouse that their rehab would be the best for me since they would have all my records and know everything I had gone through.
Once again we were hoping the worst was over and things would get better. They did for a short while and then they didn’t. November 18, I had a MLF stroke at the rehab center. My physical therapists noticed that I was in physical distress and told the medical staff at the rehab. Nothing was done until my daughter came to visit later that day to check up on me. She and my spouse raised enough ruckus that I was sent to the hospital.On November 25 they did a brain biopsy to check on the Cryptococcus. No active cryptococcus. Just scar tissue.  The hospital staff then told my spouse that the only rehab that would take me back was their rehab.  Against her better judgment and backed into a corner, she agreed.

I went back to the hospital’s rehab to continue with physical therapy, occupational therapy and speech therapy.  At this point, I was down to 134 lbs and my body just had no reserves.  When my spouse came that weekend the therapists all told her that I was making process and doing well. She even went through therapy with me and watched me walk 81 feet with a walker.  She went home thinking that she had made the right choice.

Two days later my in-laws had done the long drive to do their weekly check on me. That is when they found out in a week, I had lost 13 lbs.  This should not come as a surprise to the medical staff at the rehab.  I was weighed daily, but this was the last straw for my spouse.  The rehab had been giving me medication for nausea just before feeding me.  You would think that was great but the medication would put me to sleep.  I had not eaten a whole meal in they didn’t know how long.

My spouse called my liver transplant coordinator to complain. Unknown to her, the rehab had held a quick meeting and then called the same coordinator that I needed to go back to the hospital or into a nursing home.  They said that I was unable to progress because of my much weakened state.  When the coordinator told my spouse, she then told them she would be taking me home.  The hospital was not for this.  While they could not admit me to the hospital because I was not sick, they did not want to let me get away.  My wife lost it.  She informed them that they would have me ready to go, with my medications immediately because she was taking her 121 lb husband and going home with him.

December 24th, I came home.  The last time I had been in my own home was the night of July 28th.  I came home much differently than we had ever thought I would.  Instead of walking through the door, to start on my way to the rest of my life, my family rolled me through the front door.  I was unable to move on my own. At 121 lbs, my body had pretty much ate away all my muscles.  I was wrapped in bandages from my knees down to protect the open sores.  I wore a diaper because I had no control over my bowel movements.  My mind was still healing from the damage from the meningitis and the stroke.  My connection to the world outside my head was very tenuous at best.

My wife and I spent that Christmas together a little differently than we had planned.  With me in bed and her trying to get food in me while taking care of me physically and a visit from the home nurse to check on my condition and change my leg bandages.  After seeing my condition the home nurse would suggest to my wife that rehab would be the best place for me.  My wife calmly informed the nurse that the reason I was in such a state was because of a rehab.  After the nurse left, she then cried while I lay there unable to do anything.  This would not be the first time she would wonder if she had made the right decision.