Category Archives for Travel

Tropical Test Trip

Last winter, I took a two-weeklong trip to a tropical island with beautiful sandy beaches where I bathed in saltwater and sun the entire time. That’s exactly where I’d prefer to be now when the weather forecast is -1 C (30 F) and the temperature is expected to drop further; and it’s snowing today.

My destination was a tropical island because my dad built a retirement home and permanently moved there about three years ago. None of my family was thrilled about him making the move, but it was something he had dreamt of for a long time and, besides, it’s not bad knowing you have a place to stay if you feel the need to spend some relaxed time in the sun and blue-green waters of beautiful beaches. That was my intention after my abdominal surgery three years ago. Unfortunately, my pain and the intense fear of being so far away from my doctors and a hospital Emergency Room where my medical history is easily accessible if I need help to cope with an unexpected pain flare up, kept me grounded within the walls of my small home.

Last year, in spite of the pain, I felt determined to take my first trip out of the country since becoming ill. I call it my “test trip” because I was getting on a plane for the first time in four years and leaving the country for an extended period. It took the better part of two weeks to get organized and get everything I needed to take with me into a single suitcase. Whether it was the stress of taking the trip or trying to figure out all I needed to pack – or not – to take on the trip, I felt overwhelmed, anxious and frazzled until the moment I was sitting in my seat on the airplane.

I was anxious and worried about everything. I worried about how I would walk the long distance from the check-in desk to the gate to board my plane. I worried that once the plane took off that its vibrations, much like the vibrations as I travel in other vehicles, would cause my pain to increase while I traveled the thousands of miles to and from my destination. I worried that the cabin pressure might have unpredictable effects on my nervous system and overstimulate my nerves. I worried about how I would cope, if any or all of these things affected me, causing me to have a pain flare up so far away from home and from my doctors.

Thankfully, all of that worry and anxiety was for naught. After I booked my flight, I called the airline to ask about possible accommodations for anyone with needs similar to mine. Because I made that call, when I arrived at the airport check-in desk, they ordered a wheelchair for me so I didn’t have to walk the long distance to the departure gate. My friend I traveled with didn’t even have to wheel me to the gate, that was done by airline and airport staff to make sure I got there without any issues. When it was time to board the plane the airline staff pushed the wheelchair down the ramp to the door of the plane. When I found my seat, I buckled myself in and nervously waited for take-off because even when I was healthy feeling the pressure of the plane’s take-off was always the worst part for me.

The 4.5-hour flight was uneventful. I didn’t experience any unusual spikes in my pain and I even dozed off a few times as we flew above the clouds somewhere between 9,144 m and 12,192 m (30,000 ft. and 40,000 ft.). Shortly after the plane landed then stopped at the gate at the airport in our tropical destination and the other passengers deplaned, there was someone waiting to wheel me from the plane’s door. She wheeled me through Customs then to the baggage carousel, and finally to the Arrivals’ Exit where my dad – who now lives in that tropical paradise – would pick us up. That’s when my nerves finally calmed enough for me to connect with the reality that taking a trip didn’t have to be a frightening experience for me because of my illness.

Thus began a glorious two-week vacation. Actually, by no stretch of the imagination was that enough time to benefit from the warmth and the relaxing pace at which life moves there. Even on the days when we had rain it was better than being in the midst of this cold, gloomy concrete city. During those mornings, lying in bed hearing large raindrops hitting the windows and roof was calming and soothing; and even though it meant delaying plans on those days, when the sun came out from behind the heavy dark clouds it was as if it had never rained.

We didn’t do lots of sightseeing because I knew my body couldn’t handle it and I wanted to enjoy my time away as much as possible. However, we went on a few daytrips with my dad, which gave us a chance to see more of the island. On other days, we spent hours on the local beaches not too far from my dad’s home – one of which was within walking distance. We swam in waves of saltwater and felt soft sand between our toes as we stood on those beaches looking at blue as far as our eyes could see. We ate fresh-caught fish and locally grown fruits and vegetables; and I tried not to let my pain cloud the experience as the warm temperatures and sunlight enveloped my body.

My “test trip” was a success. I made it out of the country on my first attempt. Although, getting out took great effort, caused a great deal of stress, and some added pain. When it was time for me to return home, I was sad. I knew I’d see my dad within a few months when he traveled to our city for a short visit, but I was already missing him and the island. I was already missing the distance the trip had put between me and daily life that is so highly focused on coping with pain. I was already missing the carefree feeling that being thousands of miles away from home brings.

Yet, even with that sadness, I felt something else. I felt a sense of accomplishment. Because of that trip, I discovered that in spite of my illness I can still do one of the things I loved doing so much of in the past. I now know that even with this constant pain, I can still travel and I can find enjoyment in it.

 

Farmhouse Mirage

The first evening we were at the farm I looked out the sitting room window toward the barn and I thought there was an animal perched on a cement block beside the barn.

I was told it was my imagination and that it might help if I put my glasses on. In defiance and determined to prove my friend wrong – and in spite of my pain – I put on my rubber boots and coat and walked out into the damp beginning of a rainfall. I gingerly found a safe path down a small slope in the back yard, squeezed myself through the narrow space between the fence and the chained gate dividing the yard from the field and limped my way over to the barn.

What I found sitting on the cement block was not an animal (dead or alive). It was a pile of rocks that appeared to have been arranged to look like an animal. I supposed it was intended to scare off any more turkey vultures from taking up residence in the barn.

After seeing this, I limped back to the fence, squeezed my way through the narrow space between the gate and much more slowly found my footing back up the sloped mound in the back yard. By then it was raining big, heavy raindrops. Each drop that landed on the top of my head felt enormous. With the rain coming down I crossed the back deck and walked through the sitting room door. I was greeted by the questioning eyes of my friend: was it an animal or are you seeing things? I did not satisfy her with a response.

I was seeing things. I am seeing things. Things that are there and things that may never be. I’ve reached a point where I can accept that my condition – and the chronic pain it has caused – is not temporary. Months ago I was certain that my reluctant surgeon was going to perform surgery that would repair my health and end my pain. But that’s not going to happen. At best my congenital condition – which at this point is a working diagnosis – will be repaired but the repair will give rise to serious complications. And the pain I now live with every day will remain and by all accounts may get worse.

So, there may not have been an animal by the barn, but I was willing to take action to find out what was out there. The determination that made me get up and walk out into the damp evening is what I’ve depended on my whole life to carry me through difficult situations. And it’s the same quality that continues to hold me together as I live through this illness.

 

Santana – Mirage (with lyrics) – Borboletta 1974

Farmhouse Infestation

One night at the farm I fell asleep watching the silhouette of ladybugs move across the screen of my laptop. The two insects flew and crawled in criss-cross paths from the top to the bottom of the lit screen and hypnotized me into slumber. It is safe to assume that when my laptop powered down and the light went out the ladybugs returned to their regular haunts behind the curtains covering the window above my head because I woke the next morning to a gentle buzz coming from that direction. When I finally sat up in bed I was surprised to see about more than a dozen ladybugs flying, crawling, and on their backs in the space between the recessed window and curtains.

I watched them for a while. Some flew a short distance then landed on the curtains and started inching their way over the soft white waves of fabric that probably seemed like an endless sea to them. I grabbed my smartphone from the night table and tried to take a picture of a tiny ladybug as she crawled up the curtain. But the zoom couldn’t focus on her tiny moving body. Then because I got too close she started to open her wings as if anticipating a danger she might have to flee. I backed away.

Determined to get a picture I opened the curtains to get access to her siblings that were moving purposefully along the window sill. I took a shot of one of them – I think the zoom captured enough of her details. Then I lay back in bed and watched a few more of the black-dotted, red bodies move across the curtains a little while longer before moving my sore body out of bed to go downstairs to take my late morning mixture of medications.

Farmhouse Infestation Ladybug

Farmhouse Infestation Ladybug

I cautiously navigated my way down the stairs and found everyone in the sitting room. When I recounted my ladybug tale I learned that there were more of them downstairs and in other rooms of the house. After a brief chat my friend that was hosting the farmhouse getaway turned on a shop-vac to continue vacuuming up another kind of infestation: cluster flies. At any time of the year there are dozens of flies trapped on flypaper that is taped to the inside of all the windows of the house. Those flies that don’t stay stuck to the flypaper die shortly after and fall to their deaths on the window sills, between the panes of the windows, and in hidden corners

Later in the day my friend explained that these infestations are the result of a few things: her farm is a working farm with almost 100 acres of land that gets fertilized with manure to grow grain for animal feed. The fertilized fields attract a variety of bugs and animals – bears have been known to come down from nearby hills. The house itself is about 100 years old and there are crevices that have developed between the baseboards and the walls and floors into which the flies and other bugs lay their eggs. These eggs are able to survive in the safety of the crevices and then hatch to produce this mass of bugs.

I reread that last sentence and realized it makes it sound as if there was a swarm of bugs flying through the house. That is never the case. It’s just easy to notice the intermittent buzzing and their bodies darting around the rooms. And it’s easy to see the flies that have the misfortune of landing on the transparent flypaper on the windows or all the bugs that have come to rest on the window sills.

Bugs aside, I enjoy visiting this farm. I’m getting used to the flies, but I would prefer infestations of red-winged ladybugs because anything that can draw my attention away from my pain for a while is a welcome distraction.

Phish – Farmhouse