Prelude to an English Odyssey
Travel curses and the challenges of traveling with a chronic illness
Sometimes, I feel cursed, especially regarding travel or social plans. But, like a baseball team’s curse whose time has come, it feels like my travel curse is breaking. And I didn’t even have to sacrifice a goat.
On Friday, I’m flying to London, England. This will be my first trip to Europe and to an International Cystinosis Conference. This England trip is my second attempt at attending an International Cystinosis Conference. In the prelude to the pandemic, I planned to participate in an in-person Conference in Dublin, Ireland. The infamous COVID-19 virus derailed those plans, and I attended the virtual conference instead. This wasn’t the first time my travel plans changed due to a medical crisis.
In college, I was looking forward to a trip to New York City, which was part of a class trip I’d signed up for through my college. Weeks before the trip was supposed to happen, I developed headache symptoms and excessive exhaustion. I ended up being diagnosed with a rare condition alternatively known as idiopathic intracranial hypertension or PTC (pseudotumor cerebrii) that had made my brain swell. The side effects of the medicine I had to take to help with the PTC made a trip to NYC impossible. To this day, I’ve never been to New York City.
I’m looking forward to my England trip. I started packing days ago, and I have packed a truly Keith Richard’s level of medication. My number one goal for this trip is to make it to the plane. Once that happens, I’ll figure out everything else.
A few days ago, the fun side of chronic illness reared its ugly head yet again. My body decided that this week, out of all weeks, was an excellent time to get sick. The last few days have been rough. I won’t describe every detail of my experiences in the vein of the wonderfully descriptive Charles Dickens, but least to say it was indeed “the worst of times.”
I don’t remember what day it started, but I remember I was relaxing in my very comfy bed when sharp stomach pains began attacking me. It was as if a prowler snuck into my bedroom and started accosting me with a knife. It was a burning, boiling sensation that made me feel like I was on fire from the inside. I really didn’t want to vomit. I spent hours forcing myself to burp and trying every conceivable way I knew to relieve the pain without letting the inevitable happen. Finally, at 4 am, the battle was lost, and so was my lunch.
The next few days were followed by other fun stomach symptoms that kept me “reading” in the bathroom longer than I usually like to “read.” Now, at this moment, I’m beginning to turn a corner, and I’ll still be able to make it to England. Thus, the curse is lifted. I spilled some salt over my shoulder just in case.
Despite the challenge, I want to travel more. Regardless of the lifespan that fate has assigned us, we all have a short time on this plane of existence. I want to see as much as possible before my time, whenever it comes, is up.
