Right now, I’m “supposed” to be in airspace somewhere over Canada on my way to England via Toronto. Instead, I sit in my living room with a heating pad pressed against my back. The heating pad back combination is merely a reminder that I’m supposed to be here.
Most of the week I was torn about going to meetings outside of London this weekend and all next week. I was looking forward to seeing friends/colleauges. I love visiting England and eating McVities. This was to be my last trip before Christmas, so it was going to be a bittersweet voyage—mostly sweet, though. The problem is that I’m still regaining energy from 5 days in the hospital. I still have digestive disturbances. I still don’t have much of an appetite.
I saw the doctor who was shocked the hospital had kept me for 5 days without operating. She gave me a note for the powers that be saying I shouldn’t travel so soon after hospitalization. The powers that be were mostly sympathetic but unyielding. My brother called to tell me I really am not an adult and should not have the power to make the decision to stay or go; it was utterly simple . . . I should stay. Duh. He made me laugh, anyway.
Everyone I talked to said I should stay home and implied that even thinking of going was pretty crazy. Everyone that is, except my young 20 something TCK friend from Paupua New Guinea. He said, “You’re up and walking around. It’s England! They have good hospitals there. Why would you even think of staying here?!?!?!?” In the end, my boss said I am worth more than the price of the ticket. My health is worth more than the price of the ticket. Stay home. Get well. He’s a good guy.
After a little more deliberation, a few tears, and some prayer I called and canceled everything. It’s weird but good. Then yesterday as I was making my bed, I must have tugged the wrong way and kapow! Lots of pain and not much mobility in my back. Perhaps it was the confirmation I needed that staying home was the best decision after all.
photo courtesy of Lars Sunström