At the wire

I will soon be on my way to the airport, and I will be saying goodbye to my sister for awhile. This really is the wire: I was awake all night (I always am, the night before a flight. No idea why-anxiety, perhaps), so I got up and nebulized at 4am. Nuts? Possibly. But I am all packed-and ready to rupture myself carrying a full backpack and rolling a suitcase that weighs 65kg. That will cost me $100 in excess baggage fees-not a pretty sight!!

I would like to say I am rejuvenated-but that isn't exactly true. I might be rejuvenated after a facelift-or, in my case, a body transplant (a healthy one. Perhaps Angelina Jolie is available?). No, really-just joking (about Jolie)-and by the time someone figures out how to transplant a body without killing someone, I will be long gone. You will probably be long gone, too. So I realize I must do the best I can with what I've got-and, really, what I've got isn't too shabby.

It's been a good three weeks. I've rested, hung out with Jessie and the dogs and cats, walked dogs, helped clean the house and even helped do some cooking. And-I've eaten so much, you would think there was a famine on its way. Nobody can ever accuse me of having an eating disorder. When I lost all that weight last year, all someone had to do was send me here. That's the cure-much more fun than the noxious stuff they gave me to drink. Anyway, I didn't drink it (it all went down the drain. My drains were filled with vitamins). I ate pasta. And more pasta. Yum. I don't even need to eat to gain weight. I look at something fattening and I can just apply it to my hips.

So, the next post you read will come from London. Hopefully, the plane will be landing tomorrow morning, and there will be a taxi waiting-so someone else gets the hernia from lifting the suitcase.

I'm happy that I have pockets in my coat-wherever there is a pocket, I have filled it. I feel like a Sherpa. It will take a week to get over jet lag and two weeks for my back to return to normal! Will I ever learn to travel light? Probably not.

I'm sad to leave-I leave my sister behind, and that depresses me, because I am back in a place I don't especially like, among people I hold in the utmost contempt. But-as Jessie said, I am stuck there, and I need to find something good about the place, and focus on the good, not the not-so-good.

I'm thinking about that. I'm considering it. And I'm taking a pound of pastrami with me on the plane, so I can look forward to some decent food tomorrow (unless I get caught).

What can be bad about that?

You can't help but laugh...

On Friday night's television news, there was an article about thyroid cancer (I heard about this on Saturday morning). The newscaster looked earnestly at the camera (they always look earnestly at the camera) and reported that there is a huge increase in thyroid cancer. The newscaster then reported that this is because doctors are diagnosing it too much.

Indeed! This was the late night news-and I had to laugh when Jessie told me on Saturday. Doctors are diagnosing it too much? If they stop diagnosing it, will it go away?

I just had to laugh-it was that absurd (and appeals to my gallows sense of humor). So I naturally had to share this news with you.

I leave to return to London on Thursday afternoon-a twelve hour journey with the guarantee of at least 5-7 days of jet lag at the end of it. Yuck. My flat-sitting friend will still be there when I get back-happily leaving for home as soon as I have settled in. Then the really hard work begins. Immediately.

I need to pack up everything in the kitchen and put it all in the living room. The builders will be arriving on Wednesday morning at 8am to rip out the kitchen-and I do mean, rip out the kitchen. I will have no cabinets, no sink, no floor-nothing but a shell. And my place is not very big, so I will also have to move everything from one side of the living room to the other. And I have to do all this while suffering the effects of jet lag. Add to that the fact that I have to go to Stanmore on Monday morning to have bloodwork done in preparation for the arthroscopy in April. It's only keyhole surgery to fix the torn cartilage in my left knee-but I still will need to hang out in the day surgery ward for several hours. So pre-admission testing is on Monday. What a joy.

These three weeks have been great. I've had much needed rest, and Jessie and I have done really well, We've mucked in and done housework, cleaning, cooking, and laundry as though I am a roommate, not a guest. At the beginning, we both worried that we would kill each other (figuratively speaking, of course) before the first week ended. We're both so accustomed to living on our own that we weren't sure that three weeks in the same house would work. I'm happy to say that it did; somehow I feel that we achieved something unexpected. Age? Maturity? The honest desire not to kill anyone? Whatever. It was a surprise to me, because I've been divorced for a few years and I'm so much of a loner. And Jessie is, too. We don't need to hide any sharp objects now...

Tomorrow I am going to pack my suitcase (that'll be amusing), and we are going to take it to one of the stores that has a commercial scale. I need to see if it weighs more than fifty pounds. Honestly, I'm sure it does. So I need to call the airline to find out how many pints of blood they will charge me for the excess weight. That could be a very painful and expensive experience!

I'm gearing up to go back. I haven't used my stick every day, and I've been walking a lot. I couldn't have done all the walking the last time I was here-so, pseudomonas or no pseudomonas, I've done really well. I can be proud of myself.

When I get back I will need to lose the weight I gained if I want to fit into the new clothes I bought!

Years ago, I used to come home to New York for antiques fairs (I was in the business at the time). I always took a dozen everything bagels, pastrami, corned beef, several bottles of wine and spirits on the plane back from JFK. I never got stopped. But people around me would be smelling cold cuts all the way across the Atlantic. Naturally, I pretended not to know anything. And when I got to Heathrow, I always went through the green "nothing to declare" section. The customs men invariably sniffed-you could smell pastrami fifty feet before I got to them. I always walked next to someone else, just to be on the safe side. If I'd been caught-well, I would have been in trouble. When the alcohol allowance was three bottles, I brought six. Just in case we had a party.

So on Thursday, I will trust my luck. Who knows? After Thursday I could be blogging from jail...but at least I will have my pastrami.

Now you see 'em, now you don't

I can truthfully say that it takes five days (at least) from the time you land to the time your stomach and brain land in the same time zone. For me, at least, that was the case. I landed on Thursday evening and I was horribly jet lagged until Wednesday morning. So that somewhat solves the question of when to start counting the days.

I've had a good two weeks. Jessie loves to cook and I love to eat, so things worked out really well! And neither of us was absolutely certain that we would be speaking to each other after one week, let alone two; we've had a few differences of opinion, but we've always been truthful with each other, and that is what made this time work. For me, it's been a very welcome rest. After the last year, I really needed a rest-and I needed to get away from crazy people and the upstairs neighbor from Hell. Good job, I say!

Florida is a mixture of both good and not so good. Last night we watched the rocket launch from Jessie's back door. That was pretty exciting. Without actually going anywhere near the Cape, we were able to watch, and I like stuff like that. It fires my imagination. I hope humans don't screw up other planets the way we've screwed up this one.

I had a long list of things I wanted to buy while I'm here. I dread weighing my suitcase when I have to check in at the airport next week-that's how much I bought to bring back with me. In many cases, it's much cheaper to buy here and bring back to the UK-even with 7% sales tax. In the UK, VAT (tax) is 20%. And here, gasoline is about $3.40 per gallon; in the UK, it's more like $15 per gallon. That makes me want to get rid of my car.

Yesterday it was 85F, bright sun, and I sat out in the yard for awhile-not too long, because I am fair-skinned and I never tan. I burn. I turn the color of beetroot, then I suffer, then I peel, and then I return to being so pale I look like I am ready for embalming. But-sunburn is supposed to be very bad for you, so I just sit in the shade and envy people who tan. Ewww.

I said that Florida is a mixture of good and not so good: good weather, great food, interesting and unusual greenery, lots of places to go, things to see-and huge spiders, and Palmetto bugs. Now, Palmetto bugs are not as exotic as the name suggests. They are simply cockroaches on steroids. They are disgusting. The first time I saw one I wondered whether to kill it or lasso it. I must have used half a can of Raid to kill the bloody thing. I practically asphyxiated myself - but the thing finally died.

Anyone who has kept up with this blog (my faithful blogees) knows that I am extremely phobic when it comes to spiders, roaches, mice...bugs in general. So when I saw a massive roach (excuse me, I mean Palmetto bug) in the bathroom the other night, I shrieked and Jessie came running. She didn't laugh at me, thank goodness. She calmly got the Raid and sprayed all around the sink. I still didn't sleep that night. And I keep going into the bathroom, turning on the light with the can of Raid in my hand. Talk about phobic! I hope there are other people who are  just as phobic as I am; we should form a club.

And another not so good thing: there are flying bugs that are smaller than gnats, that swarm-and bite. The locals call them "no-see-ums" - because you only see them when they swarm at you, and by that time it's too late. You are breakfast. And there is no way to get rid of them, either. What do you do, take a can of Raid and spray all of Florida?

But-I don't live here, I only visit. So I can heal from all the bites when I return to freezing cold Blighty next week. I even emailed a few people to say how nice and hot it is here. That's called rubbing it in. What goes around comes around. LOL.

On a very positive note: I haven't been using my elbow crutch very much. The Ciprofloxacin makes me feel a bit sick, and very dizzy at times, so I carry it with me when we go shopping. But most of the time it sits in the guest room. We've been walking the dogs and I've been leaving the crutch home. I do sometimes have to take Jessie's arm so I don't wobble-but even she noticed that I am much steadier and more confident than the last time she saw me. Of course, it is now nearly four years since the Gentamicin-but I am still trying very hard to move past it. I think last year's cancer made me think seriously about the direction in which my life is headed. Do I want to continue to hate the people who caused this, when they clearly couldn't care less?

The world is filled with injustice. One of the cornerstones of life: life is unfair. I don't like it, but I need to accept it and move forward and just keep doing all the things I want to do. As long as I don't fall over in front of a moving vehicle, I will be okay.

I've had a pretty awful, miserable four years. Damned if I am going to have more misery. Nobody likes a moaner. And if I see a spider: splat!!

The Stomach Has Landed

It's Wednesday, and my brain and stomach have touched down. They are both in the same time zone as my body. Hopefully.

So far, everything is going well. We had a couple of days of rain when I first arrived-as if I really noticed, I was off in deep space somewhere. And now we had sunshine and temperatures up into the 80s. That is more of a problem for me than rain and cold. Some people are never satisfied!

Today we took a road trip. I was a bit upset because someone has been trying to reach me on my mobile-and I rang back only to find that my last bunch of tests before I left showed pseudomonas. You can imagine how happy I wasn't! But I have the heavy duty antibiotic Ciprofloxacin with me (I was a girl scout: always be prepared), so I started a two week course today. When I get back, I will need to be retested to see if the pseudomonas is well and truly dead. As a dodo.

I asked John-who was totally in shock because I was calling him from my mobile in the USA-long distance-whether I can drink alcohol while on Cipro. He said absolutely-he said he would expect it, too! (He knew about the four Cosmopolitans. I will never live that down).

So Jessie and I went shopping in the afternoon, and I bought a few things I can't get over in the UK without selling my firstborn to do it. Shopping seems to improve my mood-only when I find a bargain- and I wonder how that happens.

I've been telling myself all day to stop worrying, to stop being fearful, and not to allow pseudomonas to ruin my very well deserved holiday. I'm still worrying, though, even though all I can do is take the two week course of Cipro and see what happens.

If all else fails, we will mix up a batch of Cosmopolitans and get wasted. Hang the pseudomonas!

The Curious Case of the Exploding Toothpaste

Last week all the news stations were barking about explosives being found on airlines flying to Russia. Of course, we were all warned to be vigilant-why, I don't know, because if someone wants to blow up a plane, they will find a way. Explosives in a tube of toothpaste: how novel. I wonder which brand they used (my mind works that way. Was it Colgate? Hmmm...).

All this bruhaha began just as I was packing to fly over to see my sister. That didn't give me a lot of confidence, as I stared at my tube of Colgate before packing it. On the way to Heathrow Airport, it also occurred to me that I still haven't written a will. Oops-too late now!

I went through all the performance of going to the hospital and having a big dose of intravenous immunoglobulin to get me through the holiday, since I really didn't feel like carrying all the bottles of antibodies and the associated equipment with me. As it is, I felt like a Sherpa: my backpack was so heavy I had trouble standing upright!

Well. The journey over was okay, except for the fact that I was unable to get a direct, non-stop flight, so flew into Atlanta and had to wait for the connection. The whole journey took fourteen hours. Perhaps I should have walked.

Now, both flights were absolutely full-everyone wanted to get out of the cold, grey British climate and head for sun and sand - understandably - so I felt a bit like a sardine. And airline food-well, it's pretty dire going from the UK, although I have found it better going in the other direction. Nevertheless, I ended up farting my way across the Atlantic. Fortunately, I didn't have a single SBD (silent but deadly); if I'd had the misfortune to have a stinky one, I would have put on an Academy Award winning performance, pretended outrage, and blamed someone else.

That is what happens when you fly: always blame the other guy!

So I am here at Jessica's, the weather is glorious, I've been working on turning the color of a tomato, and I am incredibly jet lagged. Some people never get jet lagged at all (I don't know anyone like that, but if I did, I certainly wouldn't like them), and some (like me) get hit both ways. I got in on Thursday night, it is now Monday afternoon and my stomach is still somewhere around 30,000 feet. So is my brain. My body is here, but the rest of me is AWOL. I'm amazed I can stand upright (ish).

I did some research on Google before I left. I wanted to know if there is a real cure for jet lag (there isn't). I also wondered how long it is supposed to last. And here is what I discovered.

Jet lag lasts one day for every hour of time zones crossed. So, London to New York is a five hour difference, and theoretically jet lag should only last five days. Theoretically indeed! We'll see. And that kills the idea of going abroad for a week, doesn't it?

Jet lag is also supposed to be worse in one direction than the other-allegedly. Like I can tell the difference when I land either way and feel like I am in an induced coma. Where am I? Who am I?

What I want to know is this: when do we start counting? Do we start on the day (and time) we take off, or do we start on the day we land? What if we land in the late afternoon? Does that count as one day, or do we start on the next day?

Seriously, this is very important. I left my house at 5am on Thursday (making myself very popular with my friend, who is apartment-sitting while I am gone), arrived in Orlando at 5:45pm local time (10:45pm UK time), and have been comatose ever since. Do I count Thursday as day 1? Somehow I don't think so. I think I start counting from Friday-which means that tomorrow sometime I should be functional in this time zone. Allegedly.

This is really important. Enquiring minds need to know the correct answer. Meanwhile, I am concentrating on staying upright and not getting run over.

It's all going great so far. My sister loves to cook-and I love to eat-so what more can anyone say? (How about, yippee, I'm home).