Although I was no longer in the hospital, where I was provided with 'round the clock care, I continued to have a small tether to professional health care. On November 18, 2011, it had only been a month since my liver shut down due to my destructive love affair with vodka. A home health nurse was assigned to me, and when she first arrived, I wasn't sure what to expect. Meeting someone new was embarrassing, unlike when I was in a hospital setting, and had given up all humility.
On the previous day, the first at my mother's house, I caught a real look at myself in the mirror for the first time since I fell into the coma. There was a mirror in my hospital room, but I made sure I only caught glimpses of myself. I knew that I did not want to know how frightening my deteriorated reflection was. It was my belief that the least I knew about how dire my condition was, the better. Otherwise, I feared I would begin to dwell on the negativity of my situation, and become more prone to accepting death.
Like most bathrooms, the one at my mother's house has a mirror over the sink. It encompasses most of the wall running sideways along the right wall, directly across from the shower on the left. I had to struggle to hold myself up on the sink counter to make my way to the toilet. During that endeavor, and pausing to suck the oxygen out of the room, I was standing in front of the looking glass.