I knew going into the hospital and getting TPN wasn’t going to resolve anything other than just preventing me from dying of starvation, but the realization of this really kicked in the last couple days before I was released.

I had discussed with the chief of my case that I was frustrated to be sent home with no answers and not really feeling any better (again aside from malnutrition symptoms being reduced).

I had been walking around a bit more, but my legs were very shaky, and my heart rate would get in the 160s-170s range when I went a distance longer than the hospital bedroom door.

On August 23rd, I woke up and spoke to my dad about going home. We knew that there was nothing else there for us with me as an inpatient, so we contacted the doctors and told them at around 1pm we wanted to go home.

The process to leave took very long. They seemed unprepared to release me, so paperwork was being made throughout the day. This is when shortcuts and errors started occurring.

As my dad was packing my bag and I was changing out of my hospital gown, we requested from one of the nurses a wheelchair so I could get to my house. The hospital is large, and I had barely made it past my doorway. There was no way I could walk all the way to the entrance and then walk in my apartment building up to my room-even with the elevator- it would’ve been too much.

They came back and said I couldn’t have a wheelchair. We asked why and they said the statement that was put on my release papers said a physical therapist had come and evaluated me and deemed me fit to walk.

My dad and I were in shock since no physical therapists visited me that day. We were told that we likely just didn’t see them since they didn’t interact with me. I got frustrated because again, I keep a detailed daily log of everything that happens in my day and during my hospital stay, I documented every name of every doctor down to every CCT nurse. I did not see anyone.

We were informed by someone else that they might’ve just written that on the file in order to release me quicker, without realizing I couldn’t walk.

You’d think that it’d be easy to just cross that out and change it-nope. Not how that works.

We asked if we could borrow a wheelchair-nope. We called around to different places to see if any of them would lend us a wheelchair or if we could buy one-nope.

I was panicked.

Normally, in an Emma fashion, I would push myself and overdo it but, in this instance, I truly knew that I would not be able to make it to my apartment. I wholeheartedly knew I would collapse at some point in my attempt to get there.

It had become such a big problem that the nurses, discharge team and doctors came into my room and kept just saying “sorry”.

I was crying just from the mess of the day and having to fight for my right to get home safely.

It was 7:30p.m. when we asked for the wheelchair, and it was now many hours later.

My dad thankfully was there to help stick up for me and came up with a plan.

He said that if we weren’t sent home with a wheelchair to borrow, we’d hold them liable for any injuries that would occur on my way home.

This worked.

We were given a wheelchair. FINALLY.

I made it home safely at 11:30p.m. that evening. I met with my home nurse who came at the same time that all of my medication supplies and boxes arrived. My dad and I were frantically trying to learn how to change my line with the nurse’s guidance at midnight.

During my time in the hospital, I had been explaining to my dad how to set up my room for when I arrived back home.

After the nurse left and I got to see my roommate, I quickly dosed off to sleep after the very long and mentally draining day.

Unfortunately, I didn’t stay out of the hospital for long…

Read what happens next in, “That’s Some Serious Cardio!”