Saturday night was the final evening at Karolinska hospital. I couldn’t express enough relief, and neither could Ulrica. She stayed at a small hotel across the street from the hospital and departed from my room at 9 pm that evening.
As Sunday morning dawned, anxiety gripped me as we faced the journey ahead. Normally, such concerns wouldn’t bother me, but given my weakened state, I fretted over the possibility of fainting or struggling to walk long distances, especially at the airport.
The taxi delivered us to Terminal 5 of Arlanda airport, where we promptly sought assistance to secure a wheelchair, an arrangement we had made with the airline prior to leaving the hospital. Two individuals swiftly arrived to aid us, guiding me past the lengthy queues and baggage check areas. I only had to rise from the wheelchair once to pass through airport security.
Upon reaching the correct gate, the attendant pushing my wheelchair ensured I boarded the plane first. The process unfolded far more smoothly than anticipated, and soon, our flight departed for Luleå, my hometown.
The moment I crossed the threshold of my apartment, a wave of relief washed over me. It signified a significant psychological milestone, marking the true beginning of my recovery journey.
I was welcomed by Philippa and Oliver – my daughter and son, they gave me a big cuddle and I felt a little emotional and hugged them tight.
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