How wonderful to contemplate life returning to normal at the end or near the end of a global pandemic. It's now or soon possible to meet, work, play, visit, and travel.
The whole idea of returning to travel produces vivid daydreams or actual dreams. I feel transported sometimes. I can almost taste the smallest crystals of sugar on top of my first cappuccino after a flight. The smell of the bakery is almost real if I close my eyes. The dimly-lit restaurant table with an overpriced bottle of wine set for a romantic dinner on a river in Central Europe for two people falling deeper in love while surrounded by people we will never see again.
Delicious travel. Unbelievable opportunities. Electrifying contemplation. Joyful planning. Meticulous packing. Delightful drive. Weirdly intimate flights with complete strangers. Seriously, how many people get to see each of us sleeping? Rare connection with a partner. Unforgettable moments in familiar or far off places. These tiny pieces of metadata make me who I am and make me who I am as half of a couple.
So how will the next trip add to the metadata of me? Of us as a couple? As we contemplate travel again, I am reminded how fortunate we are and realize that for so many people, these aren't options. But this is our journey. This is my journey. I certainly didn't choose to have an autoimmune disease, but if I have to have it, I am going to give voice to the journey. It's not easy. It's intensely personal.
Let's talk about travel. Let's daydream a bit. It is pure exhilaration. Immediately my brain recalls a flood of wonderful places near and far with memories big and small. Tiny details stand out against an amazing landscape somewhere on the globe. It's still surreal to me that we arrive, we land, and their lives continue on from yesterday and through tomorrow, and we have nothing to do with any of it or influence at all. The vastness of the world never gets old.
And then it happens. Not right away, but slowly, the anxiety creeps into my thoughts. Just a quick week-long trip to another state brings rumination about symptoms.
What about COVID-19? I am vaccinated, but immunocompromised and reportedly 485 times more likely to be hospitalized and have catastrophic complications...
Will I have enough water and coffee?
Will I be close enough to a restroom?
What if walking is difficult right away?
What if sitting is painful one hour into a long drive?
Will it be cold?
Will I have to explain any part of this corporeal horror show to a complete stranger? Or worse, will I have to explain it to someone I know. I'd rather not. I don't need advice. I don't need a diet someone read about in the latest issue of Real Simple. If there is anything true about an autoimmune disease it's that the whole darn thing is complex.
My muscles knot into painful, twitching, lumps when they are cold. It hurts and it happens so fast. It's uncontrollable, visible, twitching of muscle clumps under the skin.
I know I accommodate this illness. I do. I don't know how I couldn't. And I will work at it in order to add to the delicious travel memories we have created so far. Preparation will involve lists and every possible comfort item, in its smallest size, ready for my overnight bag or carry-on luggage.
So regardless of the destination, I will go. I will get anxious about every aspect of it, but the anxiety is still eclipsed by the pure exhilaration of arriving in a familiar or far off place with my favorite adult human being.
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