My parents had one more idea for my six weeks of FMLA. They were going to Puerto Escondido, Mexico for a week..."why not come along?"
She said in her head, "Well, lets see...ummm...I am half numb!, I need medical care, I can barely handle the thought of being by myself for two seconds, (ie- I am experiencing some serious trauma symptoms, Mom and Dad!), and you want me to fly to Mexico City and waaaaaaaay south from there by myself?...!!!...!!!"
"We think you can do it." Three weeks after my life sentence had been issued: Hope.
You see, the night I came home from the hospital I instantaneously grieved the loss of my plan for my life: my story was supposed to climax with me living in some remote corner of the world, in love, spiritually full, offering health to the masses (including glorious rays of sunshine and a constant cool breeze). I think I heaved out through loud sobs, "I will never live in Africa;" it was symbolic yet real and raw. How can you refrigerate injectable meds with no electricity? I sobbed, and sobbed. Grieved and grieved.
And Kindness stepped in through my parents Faith. "We will get you there; you just need to say yes." And with fear that I let eek out in a constant state of teariness, (I quickly learned this was a way for me to prevent unpredictable, explosive bursts of anxiety), I boarded a plane with a kiss from my grandparents in Denver, navigated Dallas with God holding my hand, hugged and clung on to (for dear life) Gustavo in Mexico City, and fell into the embrace of my parents in Puerto Escondido.
"I was soooooo worried about you," weeped my Mom.
"I made it," my tears said as they bid good bye. Puerto Escondido is hot!, with a constant cool breeze.