Out of Jail with No Bond

Out of Jail with No Bond
Today was a big day. Another milestone on the heart transplant journey. Jeri and I sat down with the transplant team for a routine checkup, and somewhere between the medication updates and blood work reviews, she asked the golden question.
“So… when can he be left alone?”
Now, to be fair, this question has a little backstory. A few days ago, I made a less-than-brilliant decision involving a ladder, a security camera, and a burst of I-feel-great energy. I was only a few feet up (okay, maybe four), but it was enough to send alarms—literal and figurative—through the house and have Jeri reporting me to the medical authorities faster than my watch could dial 911.
So naturally, I figured today’s appointment would come with a lecture, maybe a warning, or at the very least a "don’t push your luck" look from the doctor.
Instead, the transplant doc looked up from his chart and said, “I don’t see any reason why he can’t be left alone.”
Wait… what? I blinked. Did I just get paroled?
Jeri raised an eyebrow. “Even after the ladder incident?”
“Yeah,” he said casually. “Just don’t let him do anything dumb.”
It was at that moment I realized—I’m out of jail. No bond. No ankle monitor. No court date. Just a clean pass to be alone in my own house without a full-time chaperone.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Jeri’s care has been incredible. She’s the warden, nurse, chauffeur, chef, and referee all rolled into one. But even she seemed a little stunned. I think she was expecting the doc to assign me a tracking device and a babysitter for another month or two.
So here I am—officially released on my own recognizance. Still under strict “no ladder” rules, and probably no solo road trips to Costco just yet, but at least I can be trusted to make a sandwich or take a shower without triggering an emergency response.
It feels good. Like I earned a little trust back. Like I’ve moved from solitary to minimum security.
I joked to Jeri on the way home, “I should’ve brought a ‘just paroled’ T-shirt.”
She rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t push it. One wrong move and you're back under house arrest.”
Fair enough. But for now, I’m enjoying the freedom. Just a guy with a new heart, a parole stamp from the doc, and a very patient warden shaking her head in the passenger seat.
Frederick M Hueston. My Heart Journey waiting on a heart