Transcript of conversation between XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. November, XX, XXXX.
> You’ve made a decision?
>
> Yes, XXXX. We’d like to send him home this afternoon.
>
> He’s okay with the backstory?
>
> Very much so. He swallowed it whole. Everyone involved agrees that he’s progressed as far as he’s going to in the hospital. It’s time to transition to phase two.
>
> And you are sure he’s ready?
>
> Yes, XXXX. The tech is working much better than expected, across all metrics. His nervous system has fully bonded with it and his control is quickly becoming intuitive.
>
> So what’s next?
>
> With your approval, XXXX, we’ll send him home this afternoon and start the real training tomorrow night.
>
> That’s not too aggressive?
>
> According to our models, delaying his progression is the worst thing we can do.
>
> Do you foresee any complications?
>
> Not really. A few logistical issues, but nothing that should have any significant impact.
>
> Very good. The change in schedule is approved. Keep me apprised.
>
> Yes, XXXX.
- Aiden -
NOVEMBER
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Long day, but a good one. Believe it or not, I’m writing from the comfort of my own couch in my own apartment, which feels good. I’m wearing my own clothes as well, which is even better.
Didn’t get much of a warning, although as I mentioned before, I kind of saw it coming. I met with Dr. Garcia just before lunch, as usual, and she wanted to talk about what my life might be like once I got home, which was strange, because I hadn’t really thought about that.
She asked me what kind of job I might want, but I didn’t have an answer for her. And I still don’t, actually. With everything that has happened, the thought of finding another eight-hour-a-day job just doesn’t interest me.
So anyway, as I was finishing my lunch, Dr. Jacobs came in. He didn’t check my pulse or look at my chart and he certainly didn’t study my disks, as he always does. He started talking and eventually he got to the point that the hospital had decided to release me. Right away, if I wanted.
I had been thinking about going home after my chat with Dr. Garcia, so I told him that I was ready. And then, of course, came the wait.
It’s one thing to say they wanted to get rid of me, but apparently it’s quite another for the bureaucracy to actually cough me up and spit me out, so to speak. Of course, I didn’t know there’d be a wait, so I called Ed to see if he could pick me up and he seemed genuinely pleased at the opportunity. He showed up about a quarter after one and it took another three hours before I was finally asked to sign the last piece of paper that enabled me to be pushed out of the main door on a wheelchair that I very much didn’t need.
As we drove away, I offered to take Ed out to dinner, but he just laughed. I didn’t get the joke and so I sat there looking at him and after a while, he looked over at me and paused for a second and said, “you don’t know what today is, do you?”
“Thursday,” I answered, confidently.
He chuckled at that, then caught himself. “Happy Thanksgiving, my friend. I assume you don’t have any plans for the holiday?”
I should have known, of course. As part of my physical therapy, I’ve been walking all over the hospital, and there were decorations all over the place, turkeys and pumpkins and the like. I had a vague idea the holiday was coming, I just didn’t expect it to be today, which might have been part of the reason they tried to get rid of me all of a sudden.
I told him that I didn’t have plans and he told me that yes, I did. He was going to his daughter’s house for Thanksgiving dinner and he was taking me with him. He didn’t give me a chance to refuse, which was fine with me.
I did request swinging by the house so I could shower and change and he agreed and so I got to go home, briefly.
It smelled weird, but my fish seemed glad to see me. I didn’t see any mail that absolutely required my immediate attention, so I showered, shaved, and dressed in my own clothes, and we went to dinner and I have to admit that I enjoyed myself.
His daughter’s name is Sarah and she’s a few years younger than me and I think divorced, although no one really said for sure. She reminded me a bit of Hannah, but I suspect that reflects less on Sarah and more on my faulty memory of what my fallen co-worker was actually like, which is sad when I put it that way.
We ate and we talked and we drank some wine, although I didn’t drink that much. For some reason I just didn’t feel like drinking, although even now, a few hours later, I’m not sure why. A couple of times, I noticed Sarah staring at my disks, but she didn’t come out and ask about them and I didn’t offer.
So anyway, here I am at home after a long day and a longer few weeks. My fish are alive and it seems weird not being continually interrupted by nurses, but it is good to be back.