my bags are packed

Almost. This time tomorrow I will be languishing somewhere at Auckland International waiting to board the airship to Singapore and after ten hours in the air and a brief-ish stopover at Changhi, the amazingly carpeted airport of Singapore, I shall board an even bigger airship for another 13 hours to Frankfurt, where I will reclaim the hours that were stuck onto my day when I got here thanks to dateline crossing (check Jules Verne, 80 days around the world, for detail). I will be fed excessively and probably watch season 2 of The Pitt (I watched all of season 1 on the flights here.) and if all works according to plan, I will be wheelchaired to and from cabin entrances and arrival hall. If not, I'll hobble along on my big fat black moon boot and make everybody feel thankful for having two healthy legs.

Right now I am looking out through the window onto a bright clear and sunny Wellington morning, up onto the hill behind the houses across the streets. This has been my view for the past nine weeks for long stretches of the day. 

To some this could mean the empty tunnel of being ill, immobile, helpless. To me, it has been - among many other things and thoughts - a time to float, to rebuild bones and courage and confidence in my body's efforts. As always, a work in progress.  

I would not call it a challenge because I was treated like royalty with delicatessen, story telling and reading, impromptu shows, many hours of charades, long delightful walks down memory lanes, not to forget the excellent palanquin services to allow enjoyment of the rest of the house, the patio and the garden, trips to the seaside and outpatient appointments. This after all is an experience in restitution, ie healing, a return to healthy mobility is entirely possible. The thought alone makes me happy. I am not going to be chronically hopping with a moon boot, forever unable to bear weight on that foot and so on. For someone who has to confirm manageable survival from a chronic illness by blood tests every three months, this is an amazing prospect, one that made the weeks of waiting and sitting and resting pass without too much worry.

It's autumn here, the nights are cold, the mice are coming in from the garden and Louie the cat is patiently guarding the small crack between the freezer and the cupboard for his reward. He is ready, too.

The grandchild is leaving small love notes in various places, found one stuck under my teacup earlier today, another arrived in the shape of a paper airplane through the bathroom door as I brushed my teeth.  

The final discharge letter from the Wellington Hospital Orthopaedics Department, the one I will be handing over at the follow-up in Germany, starts with "Dear Sabine, it has been a pleasure to meet you and your daughter throughout your treatment here. We are happy to see you recovering as expected. . . "

 

 

  

 Just a thought:

Global warming is man-made, it is not a fatality, and it can also be curbed by human action. Its consequences can be mitigated to some extent through adaptation.
All of this requires political action. Nothing is inevitable.