Escape From The ICU! (part one)

Against all odds, I actually started making progress. They had identified the bug that had almost cost me my life and were treating me accordingly. Every day the doctors on rounds assured me I was improving. Every day, I didn't believe them. I didn't feel any better. I still could barely move. I still had ringing in my ears. I still had "drop foot". I still had tremors (more about those last three later). I think my profound depression precluded me from seeing any light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. And then one day it happened: they told me I was being transferred to a regular room. OH MY G-D! You mean I actually won't die in this G-d forsaken ICU?? Then sure enough there I was, in a room. A private room, no less (apparently having MRSA does have a perk or two). I had a bed and a TV and a call bell...what could be bad? The most amazing thing for me was that there had actually been movement. Now I could no longer question the veracity of the optimistic doctors who had started to tell my family and me that in all likelihood, I would survive. At the beginning they were hedging their bets, but now they were willing to go out on a limb and actually predict that I would (eventually) recover. I wasn't sure I believed it, but it did present a modicum of hope. While being in a real room didn't afford me the kind of attention that I had gotten in the ICU, I gladly took the trade-off. I was starting to feel almost human again. Almost.