The stomach has landed

It feels like I have never been away-and I just got back last Wednesday. What an ordeal it was, too.

The plane was delayed-by three hours-due to weather conditions coming up from Atlanta. Then there was turbulence. But, thank goodness, I didn't have anyone sitting next to me-and nobody farting (not that I could tell, anyway) all the way across the Atlantic. So that was a good thing.Ish.

Heathrow was chaotic, of course-so was JFK. All the big airports seem to be always packed. But at JFK there were men with big guns; at Heathrow there was no sign of security. They were there-I hope-I just didn't see them. And when I got out, got my case and decided to take the underground, then the problems surfaced. I discovered my limitations the hard-and painful-way. I was taking the escalator down to the underground level when my suitcase wheel caught on the bottom of the escalator-and both the case and I went flying backwards, and I landed on my back, on the escalator, hitting my head pretty hard. I was lucky, though-someone behind me helped me up and made sure I was okay. The young man was Australian, as it turned out-obviously he wasn't English, or he would have just stepped over me (or on me), and probably sworn at me and kicked me out of the way.

I managed the tortuous journey back to North London, taking the London Underground and getting off a few stops short of my station;  this was due to the fact that this station had a lift (elevator) to the street, so I didn't have to struggle with a 50 pound suitcase up several sets of steps to the top. Someone still hasn't figured out that there are people who, for one reason or another, can't actually walk up a lot of steps. I didn't have that problem in New York, even without a suitcase.

So I got back, my friend and I celebrated at the pub, she went back up north, and I sat, dazed, knowing that if everything was as it always was when I went overseas, I was in for five days of horrendous jet lag.

Yep-true to form, I was in London, but my stomach was in New York. I was here physically-ish-but my biological clock was very, very confused. And Thursday I had to go for my infusions, so you can imagine what a joy that wasn't! But it all worked out, I did walk as much as I could, and I managed not to fall into oncoming traffic. I did well-and one of the things I did when I got back was weigh my backpack: nearly 8 kilograms (around 20 pounds). No wonder my back hurt. Duh!

I more or less did nothing for a few days, although I did take my things out of the suitcase and do laundry. And sat. And contemplated how much I missed my friends, and how much I wanted to be in New York and not in London. I sat. And I got very depressed. I'm really here for the duration, unless some miracle happens. I think that if the imbeciles at the Royal London hadn't done such a fine job with the gentamicin, I would have been home years ago. But-that's out of the question now.

My life certainly didn't work out the way I wanted-or planned. And I'm certain that someone reading this will probably be able to identify with that statement. We think that things will happen a certain way, we expect a particular kind of life, and then we are thrown a curve ball. So what do we do? We deal with what is, and we do the best we can to make the best life we can for ourselves. If we don't succeed-or think we didn't succeed-it's down to us, nobody else.

My old friend Mo in New York was great after the gentamicin thing-and the breast cancer diagnosis. She sent me a little crown, which still hangs above my bed, to remind me that I am a warrior, and that I have faced tragedies constantly, with dignity, and that I have faced things -bravely- that nobody should have to face alone. Mo is somewhere in California now, and it's a shame that we've lost touch, because I look at the crown every once in awhile (okay, every day), and I remember her words of encouragement.

One day at a time, one foot in front of the other, and all that stuff people tell us. And Kettle Chips and Starbucks, of course.

I went back to Tai Chi yesterday, and I was so happy to be there. I missed it while I was away. I creaked. I hurt. But at the end of the hour and a quarter, I was doing all the exercises and doing all the movements, and it was as if I hadn't missed two weeks. Yippee. I'll survive. I'm damned if I will let the cripplers win...