Reality hit us like a truck when I stepped on the scale for the first time in months. I was 12 pounds underweight, pale, weak, and sickly. But I wasn't infected anymore, I just needed to recover after spending months fighting Pseudomonas. My mom couldn't really find any words when she saw just how skinny I was. All she could do was firmly rub her hand down my side to feel every bone, and she struggled to fight back tears. All I could do was sigh, and say something along the lines of, "Well, at least I'm gonna be ok. I just need to eat the right things, get outside, and I'll be ok." 

All my mom could do was nod, and then hug me, and I tightly hugged her back, before pulling away and slowly limping down the stairs to my bedroom to sleep some more. I was triumphant, but worried. I was deep in the woods still, and I needed to be extra careful. I began to eat heavier and heavier meals. If they made me sick, I'd back off. It was better to digest an entire small meal, than have my body reject most of a large meal. My mom made sure my diet was rich in protein and probiotics, while starving it of carbs and most sugar. If there was any Pseudomonas left, we weren't gonna give it another chance. I didn't have much left in me to fight it a third time. I was a skeleton. My clothes felt heavy, I dragged my feet, I hung my head, and found myself holding larger mugs with both hands to keep them steady. None of my jeans fit me, my hair was split at the ends, I was ghostly pale, and my voice was rougher than usual. But, I was proud of myself, and thankful to God that I was alive and on a slow road to recovery. 

I was alone for most of the time. My mom was at work and my brother was at school. When I was sick, I had to fight my battles alone either in my bed or on the bathroom floor. When I was recovering, I had to cook most of my meals and go alone on short walks, which got longer and longer the stronger I got. The cold winter and early spring air made things easier for me. It helped me breathe better, and I felt good about getting out when I could. I'd take my little dog with me on those walks, since he's a lazy dog and doesn't enjoy walks longer than around the block. When the dog got tired, I was usually tired too. 

The nice thing about being alone for 9 hours a day, was that I had the TV and PS4 all to myself. My mom hates the movies and video games I love, so I got to play all the GTA V, Call of Duty, and Skate 3 I wanted, and watch all the Jackass and Crusty Demons of Dirt movies I could without my mom complaining about it. I still watched those movies and played those games with her around, but every time she'd walk into the room, she'd have some snarky thing to say about it. 

The healthier I got, the worse my cabin fever got. My grandparents and dad would show up to take me places and feed me. My grandpa Lyle took me to church at my old Christian school every Wednesday. My grandma Debbie forced me to go shopping for jeans to wear until I grew back into the pairs I already had, and then took me to my favorite sushi restaurants. My grandpa Shawn took me to the latest movies. My dad took me out for lunch on weekdays and to my jeep over the weekends (which I was never outside to work on, because A) I was too weak to use a wrench correctly, B) March in Elizabeth is extremely windy and unpleasant to breathe in, and C) my dad knew what he wanted, and I had no idea what he wanted.) And my grandma Connie encouraged me to work on my art and writing, which I did, and I discovered some awesome water color techniques by accident. Meanwhile, my mom was working hard to ensure I'd get back in school to graduate on time or maybe even early, without actually going back to school.