Anyhoo, I came home three weeks ago, today.
As with my surgery in 2012, my surgeon left a central line in after surgery. I'm a bad (okay, rotten) stick, and having a hole left in my carotid artery makes it easier to both take blood samples and dump in meds. It's ugly as sin - this time around, I made my mom cover the bathroom mirror in my hospital room so I wouldn't be able to see myself, true story - but it saves me a lot of needless pokes and pricks when the nurses have to check vitals at all hours of the day and night.
Shortly before releasing me to come home, they pulled the line and bandaged me up to come home.
When I got home, my neck looked like this:
I may or may not have (read: I most definitely DID) weep bitter tears of anguish and fear that I'd be permanently disfigured. (My last surgery didn't leave this kind of a mark. And that scar's bothered me for two years. Thirteen inches on my stomach is one thing - a pencil-erarser-sized scar ON MY NECK is quite another.)
Fast forward three weeks, and... voila!
With any luck, these two angry red spots will gloss over and turn white, like the other scars on my neck, from the last line. ... On the other hand, if they DO stay angry and red, I can just tell all the kids in my life that I was bit by a vampire.