Life, oh life

5:30 a.m. The messages from KLM have started to come in. ‘We still have some seats available on your flight. Want to upgrade?’ I had already chosen a seat after my flight information was sent in early March. A window seat by the front, so I could board first, get out first, and have the joy of seeing Italy from above. I was supposed to be at the airport now. Even booked my security slot at Schiphol so I wouldn’t have to wait in line. Instead, I’m home. With my foot propped up on pillows, feeling very sorry for myself.

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The first pill of the day has gone down. It hasn’t been 48 hours since I started these antibiotics. A particular kind that the Dutch would call a ‘paardenmiddel’ (literally, ‘medicine for horses,’ but referring to ‘a very strong or drastic remedy or measure, usually one that's only used in serious or stubborn cases, and often with significant side effects or consequences.’ I hate medication, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

The last week and a half my, foot has been the center of attention. What appeared to be a simple injury cost me several trips to the doctor and an emergency consultation on Saturday evening. Things weren’t getting better. They were getting worse. Every step hurt—’throbbed’ is a better word—and I had the gut feeling I was not going to be flying. Well, turns out I was right. That simple ‘scratch’ puffed up into a painful lump (looks like a blister, but isn’t) and got infected. So instead of departing to Venice in three hours for a trip I had been so much looking forward to, I am at home. The frustration (because I hate being sick, because I’m not really seeing improvement, and because I had to disappoint people) is tough. I was supposed to be in the Veneto region for the next three days, visiting wineries with three other wine journalists. But on Sunday, after holding out to see if I would at least see some effect from the meds and realizing that wasn’t the case yet, I made the hard decision to inform the organizers that I would have to cancel. If the infection got worse, that would mean having to search for an emergency doctor in Italy and, on top of that, ruining the atmosphere for all those involved. I’m not one to back out of commitments, but with a very heavy heart, I did the responsible thing. Even though it meant letting people down.

The silver lining came in the afternoon, when my sweet daughter took a train all the way from Leiden and showed up with a shopping bag full of treats for an aperitivo. “If you can’t go to Italy, we’ll bring Italy to you,” she said. I choked back tears, knowing that if I started, it would turn into an ugly cry. The last thing I wanted. (PS: That came later, in my husband’s arms, when she left.) For a few hours, as we sat outside sharing the delicious platter she arranged, I forgot about the shitty days I had gone through. The weather was beautiful, and it was not only exactly what I needed but also one of the best Mother’s Day presents ever. What more could we wish for in life than to know we’re loved?

Another notification just came in, this time from Schiphol, telling me I should go to a different gate. It’s been 45 minutes since I took that ‘horse pill,’ which means I can safely lie down again. I’m going back to bed. Life, oh life.