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Playing with my purple hair spray!
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I should clarify my title refers purely to Connor, not my decorating skills. But first, the decorations. It was a zoo theme, so I had Connor’s kazillion stuffed animals spread everywhere. I’m actually just realizing how much stuff I forgot to photograph, but that’s okay because I have so many awesome pics of Connor I don’t even care.
Please note that my initial plan for the aquatic zone of the zoo involved using Connor’s baby bathtub as an actual pond. However, I discovered that none of his ducks have the remotest interest in floating upright, so I felt a pool of water containing what would appear to be a bunch of costumed dead ducks might not achieve the ambience I was aiming for.
The cake by Claudia Arizabaleta:
Lego candles. Oh yeah.
And the outfit. Oh yes. The outfit. Do you know what I am?
I’m a lemur. Mom almost bought me a panda costume, but then she saw the lemur. Lemur=random. Lemur=you dressed your kid as a what? So here I am.
But frankly, life as a lemur is hot and sweaty, so I did have to rock a second outfit for part of the party. But Mommy is proud because I learned that one must suffer to look good.
Give me cake!
Then I blew out some candles and took my first taste of cake. It was alright, but I don’t know why my mother is so obsessed with it. It’s no bottle of milk. But she did just sneak off to the kitchen to get more, so I guess it will grow on me.
I partied way hard.
So did Grandpa.
Spam in general is really annoying, but since WordPress has a pretty good filter in place, I don’t have problems with spam comments ending up on my posts. Every once in a while I do skim through the spam folder just to see if anything legit has been stopped. That has yet to happen, but I’m always amused by what I see. I really don’t know much about how the spammers do their thing, but I always wonder how if you have this technological know how, why can’t you find a way to put together a proper sentence? The most common tactic I see is for them to string together some confusing, vague compliment complete with links to some shady page selling “designer” purses. It’s good for an ego boost if you ignore the fact that it’s automatically generated nonsense.
Some examples:
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You made some decent points there. I looked online for the problem and found most people will go together with together with your web site.
But today I came across a new tactic (or at least, new to me). Insulting me. This one cracked me up, probably because, for a moment, I thought it might be a real comment :
The next time I read a weblog, I hope that it doesnt disappoint me as a lot as this one. I mean, I know it was my option to read, but I in fact thought youd have something intriguing to say. All I hear is really a bunch of whining about some thing which you could fix should you werent too busy searching for attention.
Well, guess who I won’t be buying any Christian Louboutins from…
namely, Where was Cliff parking the mail truck when he went to Cheers? Having gone there on this trip, I’m not sure I buy that he was hanging out in a place that is so expensive to park.
At any rate, when I last left you I had gotten food poisoning in D.C. The next morning, Friday, I felt much better. No stomach pain, still off, but better. Once again I had cured myself in a day. And we wouldn’t even have to cancel the next day’s trip to Boston. Oh, oops. Fooled again, but went to Boston anyway. When I get to travel I can power through. Had we been at home, I’d have milked the bejesus out of the situation. But I lived. And lost a couple pounds.
This trip we extended for pleasure. We flew in Saturday, but weren’t needed by the study until Sunday night. We spent Saturday afternoon checking out Boston University since it was only a few blocks from our hotel. There was some sort of regional track meet going on and runners were there from several schools. In fact, some were staying in our hotel. Yeah, you know what’s coming. I officially crossed into “old.” I am no longer the one keeping people awake. I am now the one calling the front desk at 3 a.m. to report “those durn kids that just won’t keep it down.”
Sunday we went to check out Boston Common and the surrounding area. I was disappointed that all the water was drained and ruined my photo op. We came upon the cemetery where Paul Revere is buried. Too bad I’m not teaching anymore. Since for some reason the state of Georgia thinks he warrants six weeks worth of social studies unit (I’m not saying he isn’t history-worthy, just not six weeks worth), I could have used this photo when struggling for material, perhaps made up a story about digging him up at midnight and running through the streets screaming, “The zombies are coming!”
Most importantly, we went to Cheers so I could have a beer. I went to Boston when I was 16 and couldn’t drink. It felt so wrong to go to Cheers and not have a beer, so I finally fulfilled that ridiculous dream, in spite of my funky stomach.
When we had free time, we also checked out Chinatown, and we went to dinner at Ann Davison’s house, one of my former co-workers who moved to Boston last summer. This is the view about a block from her house:
Chinatown:
Back to the TSC study, which is the reason why we were up there–Sunday night (at 10:30!) we had to take him for an MRI. Since it’s for the study, it’s not sedated; it’s a sleep MRI. All my MRI knowledge comes from watching House. Remember those scenes? A person is in the tube and the doctors talk to him while he lays inside. Everyone shares deep thoughts, the doctors discover secrets about one another, and House has an unrelated epiphany and runs out. Turns out that television does not portray things very realistically. I wasn’t worried about getting him to sleep. That was a piece of cake. The problem was that since we had to stay in there with him, we were given ear plugs. Paranoid much? 45 minutes of whirring is gonna destroy my hearing? Please. Chris maybe. Took him three days to get his hearing back after I dragged him to Lady Gaga.
It turns out that an MRI doesn’t whir. It’s more of a cringe-inducing series of mechanical groans that reminded me of Ripley trying to blow up the spaceship in Aliens. So he woke up. We stopped, put him back to sleep and started again. He woke up. We stopped, put him back to sleep and started again. He woke up. We stopped, put him back to…well, you get the idea. Eventually we called it quits and decided we would be opting out of this portion of the study. I want to help, but you’ve got to be kidding me. One of the techs even crawled in there with him at one point to calm him.
We also had two days of testing, some of which were the same as what he did on his first trip. It was really great to watch because he has improved so much since last time. Plus, the last time he had two seizures, so he wasn’t to into it. We still haven’t seen a seizure since February 10! He was engaged, cooperative, and the difference was awesome. The only problem he really seemed to be having with the testing was that sometimes he was too busy flirting with the ladies administering it to do it. I looked forward to hearing how the scores would show how much better he was. Finally, the big reveal! And the scores show….regression! Regression? WTF. How is that possible? Here is why. The Mullen Scale is bullshit. Last time we were there, due to the seizures he got sleepy and some had to be completed by parent report. They no longer do that, which is understandable as I see how it could inflate scores. So this time, it had to be done in front of them. Yet, he can do more! How did he regress? Last time he could barely sit, and this time he sat the whole time! Well, the way they score it is that there are a series of things he must do to be scored on. If he doesn’t perform one item, they stop. So when they got to the item where he is supposed to lay on his stomach and reach for an item, he insisted on just rolling over every time because he hates being on his stomach. Therefore, he didn’t get credit for that, nor did he get credit for the following item. SITTING. I don’t know what items came after that, but he didn’t get a chance at those either. So he was rated at a 4-month level in motor skills. He is delayed, but he is NOT at a four-month level. So clearly this test isn’t going to be particularly helpful for our personal purposes. I’m happy to have him in the study and I like the ladies in charge, but the Mullen and I are not friends.
Connor’s physical therapist about flipped when I shared this with her. The Battelle test she uses on him requires three fails in a row in an area before you move on to a different section, not one. So while I had already dismissed the Mullen as a load of crap, her agreement made me feel even better. Some kids have splinter skills. Meaning they may lack a skill that should have come at an earlier age, but they have developed other skills that are more advanced. Connor is such a case. He can sit fully independently, maintain a standing position for at least a minute holding the couch, and as of his most recently PT session, he can also maintain a crawling position for a minute (we just gotta get him moving).
We also took the opportunity to have him seen in the Boston TSC clinic. Dr. Sahin looked him over and we did the Woods lamp test for the first time. Skin involvement is common in TSC, but Connor doesn’t have anything particularly noticeable. He did have some small raised white spots on his legs I suspected were TSC related, as well as a tiny white spot without pigment, but nothing I would have thought much of were it not for the TSC diagnosis. Dr. Sahin confirmed the little white bumps were tiny little shagreen patches, and the lamp revealed some other de-pigmented spots not visible to the naked eye. Nothing that really phased us. Perhaps there is a benefit to the possibility of him inheriting my pasty skin rather than Chris’s ability to tan. His white spots will be less noticeable. He also looked over the MRI that was done right before Connor’s surgery. He said he was too young for it to be a great MRI, but he did point out some tubers, and the SEN’s Connor has were very, very small. SEN’s are the brain growths that have the potential to grow and become SEGAs which can be very serious, needing surgery or the drug Afinitor, so it was good to hear his are particularly small. His social area of the brain also looked good. Connor will have his annual clinical MRI with them next time we go in August. We should be able to tell a lot more about what areas are affected then.
We cut our trip short by a day due to the storm that was supposed to hit. Naturally, that meant the storm ended up being downgraded. You’re welcome, Boston.
Random thought for the day: I think Connor should have been the e-Trade baby.
Because of Connor’s motor delays, we’ve introduced the chunkier foods later than normal. Now we’re starting with the finger foods. He just tried Cheerios for the first time.
Back-to-back trips = no blogging for a couple weeks. I’m not one of those travelers that’s motivated enough to lug around a laptop, much less add one more item to the list of things TSA can harass me about. I’m already getting crazy with secret 4-5 oz bottles of*gasp* liquid! On February 26 I caught an early morning flight to DC to join other staff and volunteers of the TS Alliance for training and meetings with representatives and senators. Little did I know that of the four flights I would have over the next couple weeks, this would by far be the best one. It was almost empty and everyone could have their own row. I was traveling with Wendi, and she’s one of those social types that actually engage total strangers in conversation (I’m trying, okay!?). We began talking to a guy that, quite by fluke of another medical issue, had discovered that both his daughters had a health issue related to a faulty gene as well. Theirs is quite different though. I can’t remember what it was called, but basically they are lacking the ability to create an enzyme that creates a protective coating of organs such as the lungs and liver. So although they don’t have any current health issues, the basic drinking and smoking that other people may partake in casually, is a whole different ball game for them. They are at a very high risk for cancer because of this. They are young now, but that’s a lot of pressure as they get older. Those teen and college years are going to be awfully stressful for those parents…
We arrived at the Melrose Hotel with plenty of time to spare before training, so we went strolling through Georgetown and stopped for lunch, where I categorically deny having any wine. We also happened by DC Cupcakes of reality show fame. Cute cupcakes, but honestly, I think they were from the day before. Apparently the sisters on the show (which I really don’t watch) only come in when they are filming. Oh, the lies of reality television. We all received matching shirts to wear on the Hill which is great for visibility, but bad for the amount of time I spent obsessing over what to wear before I left. I suffered a closet induced mental breakdown for nothing, but whatever. My Jackie O. dress is still a bit tight where my body mistakenly thinks there is still a baby inside. My ribs would have hurt by the end of the day anyway. We rose early to get through security and where I met my favorite government employee of all time. As we prepared to pass through security at the entrance of Cannon, there was a hysterical number of abandoned coffee cups just inside the door on a ledge. Had I had the time, I would have taken a picture. A female security guard walked over, took one look, and it was, “Oh Hell NO! This isn’t a trashcan! Tell those people outside to use the one out there!” Then she stormed off yelling, “This is bullshit!” I should apply for that job because I used to do that when I worked at Barnes & Noble and Starbucks, and I always got in trouble…
We Georgia volunteers managed to meet with the offices of all the representatives but three, Paul Broun and David Scott, as we never got a response to our requests from either office, and Sanford Bishop, who responded, but had no staff available to meet with us. The morning started off great as our very first meeting was in the office of supporter Rep. John Lewis who promised 
continued support. We had other positive meetings, but this was the only straight up yes on the spot. Of course, given that we were there just before the sequester, these meetings were a little different from what they would usually be. What we should have been doing was asking for them to sign the FY2014 Dear Colleague letter to support tuberous sclerosis research. Problem is, as you probably know, Congress never got around to dealing with 2013. So we were trying to get that through, and let them know that eventually there will be a letter for 2014. You see, the House wrote a bill that funded the Tuberous Sclerosis Complex Research Program last summer, but things came to a stop at the Senate and here we are still awaiting a budget for a year that will probably be over before anything gets done. So thanks to the sequester that went down a couple days later ,there are more cuts…to everything. I could rant here about how this kind of performance in the private sector would lead to mass firing, but other people are far better at discussing politics.
That evening the Alliance held the Volunteer Awards dinner, my final evening of being introduced to people and pretending not to know who a lot of them were already, as if I haven’t spent the last several months since Connor’s diagnosis stalking everyone online to see how others were faring with TSC. “Oh, hello, nice to meet you!” (In my head: So you’re the mom of so and so, who’s 10 years old, loves soccer, and went as a zombie for Halloween).
Dinner was steak, potatoes and asparagus. Why am I telling you this? It’s significant and will affect the next several days of my life.
Then there were drinks in the lobby, and a trip to a bar across the street.
It was a fun evening, but given the nature of the trip I didn’t get too crazy with the drinks. That turned out to be stupid. I might as well have danced on tables for all the good it did me because when I woke up the next morning, I was NOT well. Wendi had an early morning flight, and should be very grateful of it. I spent about an hour or so being “not well”. And then a miraculous recovery! That’s how I roll. I’m never sick for long. So I spent the next few hours before my flight checking out the monuments.
I found myself feeling particularly tired after a couple hours, which I chalked up to the fact that I hadn’t gotten much sleep the last couple nights, so I headed to the airport early. This turned out to be the only reason I got home that day. I arrived at Reagan to learn that my flight was cancelled and I could either go standby for the next two (full) flights home, or I could take the shuttle to Baltimore and fly from there. Two other early arrivers were in the same boat. I’m quite grateful to one of them, who is a weekly business traveler and had beat me by only a few minutes. Despite the clear skies and the fact that they had another (full) flight departing 45 minutes after ours, AirTran tried to tell him it was weather related. He called BS on that one, and they finally admitted the plane had mechanical issues. So at least for my irritation I got a free shuttle ride and plane ticket (which will probably be so blacked out I can’t use it). While I appreciate the free ticket as compensation given that I still ended up on a flight that departed roughly the same time, I DO NOT care for them lying. I don’t care if it’s typical of the industry…it’s crap. I also do not care for the fact that I had booked a 2:00 flight, and two weeks earlier I received an e-mail that my flight was cancelled and I was now on the 4:00. I accepted that change–it was fine. But now this, too. And he said, well we sent you an e-mail today. I said, “Yes, you did send me an e-mail today, and it contained my itinerary exactly as it still was. The reference to the cancellation, I thought, was reference to the 2:00.” And I’m not crazy because the business traveler got the same e-mail and didn’t understand the flight was cancelled either. His colleagues that hadn’t arrived yet would later receive e-mails that they could not fly out until the next morning.
At any rate, they paid for a shuttle in which we had to bully the driver into actually taking us. And then when he finally left, he turned around to go back and get someone else despite our protests that we would barely make it as it was. Nonetheless, we did make it. And I thought I was dying the whole way.
Turns out, I wasn’t better after all. But I can’t even claim nausea. It was soooooo much worse. More of a “stomach full of acid eating away at my insides” kind of thing. The TSA lines were thankfully short, just the perfect length in fact, for me to redress, run for the bathroom and retch loudly enough to horrify the entire row of stalls.
Oh my God, it’s Cambodia again. The only time I had ever thrown up on a plane before. Oh please, not again. I can still hear that mean French lady snapping, “Close ze bag! Eet smells!” I rode the wave of post-puke feeling better-ness into feeling hopeful all was well. Until I got on the plane and was seated next to two girls with attitudes that had seemingly never flown before. I mean, I don’t care if you’ve never flown, but I care that you can’t comprehend that the flight attendant has told you three times to shut off your devices and that you refuse to put your purse under the seat because the floor is dirty. I know an omen when I see one. I was so miserable between the bathroom and my seat, that I actually started to cry. The flight attendant was really sweet and gave me a hug. But then I was terrified of letter her know I was sick because she’d think I’d contaminated her, even though I was certain it was food related. Yeah, the ride home in Chris’s car wasn’t much better. But at least he brought plastic bags.
In defense of the hotel, I have to say I don’t know of anyone else getting sick. I thought the hotel was otherwise fantastic.
I feel bad if I picked this up elsewhere and I’m blaming them, but timing wise, I just don’t know where else it happened. And they were a little lax with the food I thought, as far as taking a long time to bring things out and letting stuff get cold…so that’s my guess anyway. I would have the pleasure of battling my body all the way to Boston, where I had to fly two days after I returned. But that’s for another entry if you made it this far…if the mention of vomit hasn’t scared you away. Don’t worry. That’s as detailed as it’s getting.
Ten days. It
has been ten days since we last recorded one of Connor’s eye rolling seizures with our SeizureTracker app. Yes, there’s an app for that. Just like that, after five months of this weird seizure activity and a 3-day in-patient EEG–nothing. It is awesome, and we just try to enjoy it without projecting ahead because there are no promises in TSC land. He’s so much more alert and engaged in the meantime. Even more giggly, more aware of his surroundings, and increasingly open to people he doesn’t know as well. He had his best swim class ever last week. I’ve been swearing to his instructor that my kid really does smile–I have pictures to prove it. But week after week, though he didn’t fuss or cry, he openly regarded us as dumbasses for requiring him to take an extended bath in an oversized tub to off key singing. But finally, he not just cracked a smile, but laughed and did all his own kicking without me prompting him to move his legs.
The class he has been enjoying immensely is music. He is very interested in the other babies, which is great because I want him to be inspired to crawl and move like them. First he seemed to have a man crush on Ben, but this morning a new love crawled into his life and knocked his socks off. Well, actually she crawled over and just yanked one of them off, but he was so instantly smitten by Priyanka’s bold gesture, that he grabbed both her shoulders and went in for the forehead kiss…or lick. He has made a wise choice. Mom is an ER doc. I feel good about having a doctor in the family. And if Priyanka ever seems distracted by any of the other boys, I’ve observed that I can win her back for him with my car keys.
Connor can now stand when bracing himself against the couch, which is nice. He is also firmly into the “it’s fun to throw everything on the floor” phase, which is less nice. He started speech therapy last week, and I sense some of his grumbling will eventually form into four-letter words. His speech therapist brought him some awesome bubbles that are unlike your standard Target bubbles. These don’t pop as easily, allowing him to catch them, stack them, and for me to scrape them off furniture for days afterward. But look how much fun he’s having.
Meanwhile, in adult world, I’ve been trying to motivate myself to go out more. It’s so easy to be lazy and do nothing when it’s cold AND you have a kid. I actually had two social engagements in one weekend. I felt like I was 27 again! Chris and I attended a paint and wine tasting function at a local gallery with our friends Giovana and Damien, taught by our friend Yuri Strom (insert reference to Yuri so that when she’s famous I can prove I know her). I love the way each of our paintings shows our personality. My “I need to please by doing it right, but I’m trying to emulate a carefree lifestyle” painting, Chris’s “OCD everything must be symmetrical” painting, Damien’s “I’m just here for the wine, so my sun’s gonna set in the east if I feel like it” painting, and Gio’s “I’ll show you, happy Tuscan countryside, exactly what pain is” painting.
The next “morning” I went to Barcelona Wine Bar for brunch…at noon. We live in the Bible-thumping state of Georgia, and only just got Sunday alcohol sales. Of course the government still feels the need to regulate the hours that is permissible, so they can’t serve until 12:30, thereby destroying the essence (mimosas) of the brunch. So, I guess it was really breakfast for lunch. Oh well. I showed the gov’ment by ordering an entire bottle of wine.
Oh, good. Everyone got the brunch boot memo.
I consider myself pretty low maintenance, but the other day I redeemed a gift certificate at the spa for a facial/massage, and as I was lying there, I couldn’t help thinking about what kind of luxuries I would afford if I could, in the form of people doing things for me. Or, at least that’s what I was thinking about when I wasn’t worrying that the facialist would touch my face without washing her hands after rubbing my feet (Don’t worry. She washed).
1. Massage therapist. Nothing painful. None of that deep tissue, sore the next day business. Just someone to rub my back at my command as Chris has become less and less receptive over the years to me wordlessly plopping myself down in front of him, shirt adjusted to expose my back.
2. Chef. Eating healthy is much easier if I don’t do the work. I need someone else to figure out how to make vegetables taste good.
3. Driver. Then I can sleep on the way to…everywhere. Nobody should have to be conscious when dealing with Atlanta traffic. Then again, they way Atlantans drive, I’m not sure they ARE conscious.
4. Maid. Surely doesn’t need explanation. Although we will probably have to leave one messy room for Chris so he can let off steam when he gets antsy.
5. Doctor/Specialist. Any discipline(s) needed for Connor. He/she/they will have privileges at all hospitals. They will directly answer our calls at all times and live nearby. They will serve no other patients. All research and efforts will purely serve Connor. They will provide any necessary testing equipment immediately (eg. MRIs, EEGs). We will never wait for an opening again.
6. Stylist. Somehow Cameron Diaz and Julia Roberts have convinced the entire male population that they are extraordinarily attractive, presumably with a stylist. If I have someone fully dedicated to my overall appearance, I can fool the public, too.
7. Personal Trainer. Because everyone needs a full-time staff member that prompts them to turn out the lights and hide behind the couch when they drop by.
8. Personal shopper. Paying someone to shop for me will probably turn out to be cheaper than unleashing me into a Target. To. Pick. Up. Just. One. Thing.
Noticeably missing is the mani/pedicurist. I’ve always regarded those kind of appointments as a hassle, akin to going to the doctor. I paint my own toes, and think I look weird with polish on my fingers (much like lipstick. When you’re this pale, it’s easy to cross the line into hooker). However, I suppose since I’m rich now I could have one come in while I watch Real Housewives of Beverly Hills to do it. As long as I don’t have to make the appointment and drive there. Well, be driven there.
Who would you hire?
One 45 minute test equals 4.5 hours in the hospital.
Ah, the electroretinography (ERG). a routine test you are supposed to have done every three months while taking Sabril (vigabatrin). You are also required to have an eye exam every three months because this particular drug carries a risk of loss of peripheral vision. Sabril has only been approved by the FDA for a few years. Before that you had to order it from Canada. But then it received approval here, the cost skyrocketed, it became heavily regulated, and it’s only available through specialty mail-order pharmacies. Many people resent being treated as if we’re too stupid to understand and take on the risks.
Given the risks, should we keep a close eye on the vision of our children? Certainly. But the intrusive nature of the ERG makes many families angry. It’s no simple test. We took Connor in for his second one yesterday (mmm hmmm, we’re behind schedule). We had to be at the hospital by 9 and get admitted through day surgery for a test that won’t start until 11. Yup, I told you it’s not a simple test. Then there is lots of information gathering, weighing, measuring, and finding a vein for the IV. Connor likes to make things difficult by hiding his veins. He always requires the IV team, rather than a regular nurse. Then we take him down to the room where they will place contacts in his eyes that test his reactions to stimuli. But he won’t be awake. He must be sedated with propofol (yup, Michael Jackson propofol). Once it’s over, we must wait for him to wake up and drink before they will pull out the IV and we are allowed to leave.
These tests and the frequency with which we are expected to undergo them frustrate a lot of people. We know there are risks to the peripheral vision. But we didn’t put our kids on this drug just for the heck of it. If someone is taking it, it’s for pretty dire reasons. The primary reasons I know of for its use are infantile spasms (why Connor is taking it) and frequent compex partial seizures that have not responded to other medications. Most people (based on my interactions on message boards) wouldn’t take their kids off this drug, even if they were told vision was being affected. Infantile spasms, left untreated, can cause major brain damage. What good is fantastic vision if your brain is fried? And the people taking it for other seizures have likely tried every cocktail in the book and are having so many seizures that their lives are being adversely affected to the extreme. So is being sedated every three months a bit much? You decide.
I’m not really freaked out by Connor being sedated, I guess because I’ve seen so much in his 10 months. I also know he’s being closely monitored. It’s not like Michael Jackson, who was abusing it with the help of a shady doctor. I just think the overregulation is an American agency assuming we are idiots. Should we keep an eye on vision? Yes. Every three months? Some people are on this drug for years. What hell. Especially if you are getting it through Accredo Pharmacy, specialty pharmacy of Medco. If so, you are probably already going through the monthly hell of securing your refill from this incompetent place.
We recently increased Connor’s dose of vigabatrin again in hopes of putting a dent in these eye rolling seizures. We are seeing some improvement. We actually had a day recently where we didn’t see any, which hadn’t happened in a while. We are also having more days in which we only see 1-2 clusters of eye rolling. But other days we see up to 4 or 5. Then again, for a while we were frequently seeing 4-6, so it’s definitely an improvement. His other seizure med is keppra. His neurologist is considering adding Onfi, and if it seems to help, we will wean him off the keppra.
Any TSC families reading this, I will be going to DC at the end of the month with volunteers from all over the country to meet with members of Congress regarding TSC research funding. I’m in need of personal stories and letters to your congress people. If you can help, e-mail me at pin.the.map@gmail.com. I can give you more details.
Thanks to everyone who has been voting for me to the right by clicking on the Top Mommy Blogs button.
I don’t know what challenges lie ahead for Connor, but I hope that he will get to travel. This is a long post, but I think I almost died a couple times, which my friends will enjoy, even if they don’t care for my wordiness.
My obsession since college has been travel. I credit a few things for leading to this. One is that I’m an Air Force brat and we moved all over until I turned 12, including California and Japan. Another is my college friend Cecile who had dual citizenship because her mother is French. She was always traveling back and forth, and when we’d all converge back on the dorm, she’d dump out a suitcase of French gummy bears and chocolates, and share adventures from the Paris Metro. Meanwhile I tried to tell impressive stories of all the movies I’d seen at my local Regal cinema and frappucinos I’d downed at Starbucks. Most of my early overseas trips involved her. We went to Spain and Costa Rica, and I would later visit her in France, then Germany as she moved about abroad. (Warning: never move somewhere interesting and make one of those empty “come and visit anytime!” offers to me). I haven’t yet made it to Switzerland, where she currently lives.
The third was my anxiety, which would landslide into depression at times, and left me with a feeling of being constantly restless. I always felt like I was looking for something, and I figured the best way to find whatever it was, was to hop on a plane. If that thing I was looking for was a fairy tattoo from Thailand, selected solely because I thought the silhouetted wings looked cool, I found it. On a side note, a few years after the dust settled on people thinking I was mental for getting stuck with a needle in Thailand, Hangover 2 got released and when it comes up, people look at me like I’m crazy again.
This story I actually did tell my mom. Just not for a couple of months. You see, I’d threatened to get a tattoo all through college, but never followed through. So by the time I graduated, she thought she was safe. Whenever I’d bring it up, she’d mock me and say, “Oh are you? Well if you do, I’ll go get one, too. We can match.” I basically started this same conversation again, as if I didn’t already have one. When she pulled out her usual mocking threat, I said, “Really? You mean it? You’re gonna go get one?”
“Suuuure!” she replied.
I yanked up the shirt to reveal my lower stomach, and silence. Jaw drops. Finally, “Robert! Get in here! Your daughter got a tattoo!”
It was hilarious. It was also nine years ago. She has yet to follow through.
The Thailand trip came on the heels of a six-month stint teaching English in Daegu, South Korea. South Korea is a very dangerous place to live, in that it feels so safe that your guard will be significantly lowered when you leave. As far as safety is concerned, I have never felt so free as I did there. Perhaps my inability to read and follow the news exaggerated that feeling, but a random murder in Seoul made such a splash that it actually seemed like murder was a big deal there, as if it didn’t happen every day. And so I felt free to wander down dark alleys I wouldn’t have otherwise. The biggest danger I faced there was an angry Ajumma (older, married woman) openly disapproving of my wardrobe. Man, they hated that red, strapless dress of mine. I couldn’t understand what they were shrieking, but nothing got the octaves up like that dress.I only remember being scared there once. Most of the time I was there I live in a dorm near downtown, but for a brief period I stayed in an apartment about 15 minutes out, near Kyungpook University, with a Canadian roommate. This was the setting of Travel Story You Don’t Tell Your Mom #1. In the middle of the night came a wild knocking on the door. I came out of my bedroom just in time to see my roommate wrestling a Korean man back out of the door and slamming it shut. He continued to bang and yell while we looked at each other confused. At this point we realized we had no idea what the Korean 911 was. Instead we attempted to start calling the school headquarters, as it was approaching 6 am. One of the managers answered. But since he spoke no English, he just kept hanging up on us. Finally we were able to get one of the owner’s sons on the phone. He contacted the police for us. The banging had gone on for over an hour, but in the meantime, he had taken a fall back down the stairs and was passed out on the landing. The only way for us to get out was to step over him, which wasn’t going to happen. Eventually he awoke and was back to trying to gain entry. During this whole time, not one neighbor did anything. Finally the cops arrived and we opened the door, a thick Canadian girl armed with a bat (where the hell did that come from?) and me with a heavy, metal statue of the Hindu god Shiva. It turned out the man was so incredibly intoxicated, that even having two white girls open the door was not sufficient to convince him that he had the wrong apartment. He lived in the next building. I will say, on his behalf, that those apartment buildings do look like they rolled off a conveyor belt built by Paul Bunyan. The cops thought the whole thing was hilarious, and laughed as they dragged him away, still screaming, I presume, that it was his apartment.Beyond the insult of the cops finding our fear hilarious, the boss’s son never did check on us to see if we were okay. One of many reasons I had no guilt about breaking my contract halfway through. But my ridiculous job there is another entry to come.
The unsettled feeling had arisen once again, so I booked two months in Sevilla, Spain of language courses, but decided to go through Thailand (where I would obtain my tattoo) and Cambodia on my way out of Korea. Why Cambodia? Cambodia had garnered some recent attention due to Angelina Jolie’s adoption of baby Maddox. While in Korea, I took to reading about the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge when they took over from 1975-79 and destroyed the country, coating it in landmines and murdering much of the population. I selected it because in my mind, I would be wandering through jungles, maneuvering around land-mined areas to explore the ruins of Angkor. It turned out that the only thing I had to maneuver around were Australian backpackers. It was an early lesson in that if Lonely Planet has been there, so has everyone else. Land mines were well cleared and danger areas off limits. Bummer. But as I mentioned, Korea destroyed my sense of danger which is how Travel Story You Don’t Tell Your Mom #2 happened. I went alone, but had met another American on the flight into Cambodia and we were traveling together now. On our way into one of the temples, we encountered a couple of young local boys who wanted to give us a tour so they could practice their skills and eventually get jobs. Tourism is a lifeblood industry in this poverty stricken country, so we said no problem. Of course, we knew they would want a couple bucks at the end. Not an issue. So the four of us wandered around the temple and they described the temple friezes and what they meant. The area was drowning in tourists, so we had no reason to be concerned. But there was one part that was set apart from the rest, and before we realized it, we were headed for it via a woody path. Other tourists were fewer and farther between. I hadn’t realized that Cyrina and her tour guide had dropped back a bit, and suddenly my guide stopped. He informed me that he had to go to class and wanted money. His demeanor went from friendly and jovial to aggressive. I said, sure, no problem and started to reach for my Thai baht (even the Cambodians don’t want their own currency). Then he demanded 2,000 baht specifically. I just looked at him dumbfounded. That was over 50 bucks. Was he on crack? “You mean 50 baht? Right?”
“No! I have pay for school! Give me 2,000!”
I glanced back at Cyrina and could see she was having a similar conversation with her guide. I wasn’t scared of him. I couldn’t process more than that he had suddenly lost his
mind thinking I was going to give him that much money just because he demanded it. He was definitely getting creepier by the moment. And then I heard a magical Australian, “Hello, there!” It was an older gentleman we met in our hotel. “Oh, hello!” I exaggerated and ran to his side and we walked back to the main temple, grabbing Cyrina on the way. The guys just glared after us. Back at the main temple, another backpacker we had met previously expressed concern because she had seen us with the guys and she had heard it was a ploy to get tourists away from the crowd and rob them. I never even felt fear during this entire encounter as Korea had slowed my danger processing so much that I didn’t register what truly could have happened until it was over. I’m not normally this stupid…I even keep my keys between my fingers when I’m alone in dark parking lots, ready to gouge out the eyes of an attacker. Damn Korea’s low crime rate. It almost got me killed.
Coimbra, Portugal was location of my scariest encounter, Story #3, which was ironic because I had initially planned to travel to Honduras that summer. But my mother had to go and read the state department’s travel advisories, and man, you never saw someone so nervous about a few machete murders. Look, it’s a small country. You do what you gotta do to get a good spot on the beach. Since my mother took it so well the previous summer when I told her I would be traveling alone for five weeks through Thailand (again), Laos and Vietnam, I thought I’d cut her a break and alter my plans.I’m not sure when the Portugese encounter started. I do know when I first saw him. I had crossed a bridge over the river to see a monastery (I think…that’s kind of cloudy now). There was this dirty looking guy carrying only a camera bag. I’d been out of Korea for a few years now, so suspicious mode was back. He seemed weird and I caught him looking at me, but he could have just been some dirty backpacker. The camera bag mellowed me a bit, but it wouldn’t be long before I started to think there were scalpels rather than cameras inside. I started to walk back across the bridge, and knew he was behind me. He came closer and closer, so I stopped next to some tourists and let him pass. He breathed heavily behind me as he did so. I gave him a reasonable head start and continued. Then he stopped, as if looking at the water, but I could see he was checking my progress. So I hurried past him and made a right through a crowded park at the end of the bridge. I found a place to sit and relax and let Mr. Weirdo go about his day. Within a few minutes, he took a seat just a few yards from me. At this point, the prickles of annoyance turned to fear. There was no doubt about what he was doing now. I made my way through people to a riverside pizza place. My brilliant plan was to have dinner as he would surely lose interest in that amount time. My mistake was that the restaurant was almost entirely windows. I could see him pacing from one side to the other, watching me eat. Now I was entering panic mode. It was Sunday. Most things were closed. I was currently in the busy tourist area, but I would have to pass through some quiet streets to get back to my hotel. I desperately tried to communicate my problem to the waiter in my crappy Spanish, hoping it would be similar enough to the Portugese I needed. He seemed to get the basic idea of what I was telling him and pointed out a nearby police substation. I waited until Captain Creeper circled around the other side and made a run for the busy street. Somehow, magically the traffic cleared for me and I made it, the hole filling in quickly behind me. He spotted me too late. I continued to run and he couldn’t get across. I made the split second decision to head for my hotel because at this point there was no way he could catch up. Even for the few months I did 5ks I could never run like that again. I reached the hotel and locked myself into my room, and left town the next day. I will always wonder what his intentions were, especially considering he did this with so many people present. I also wonder if I should have gone to the police anyway. He probably would have melted into the crowd, but maybe, just maybe, they would have picked him up and discovered he was wanted for rape or murder or something.
In spite of these stories, I generally feel very safe when I travel. I generally try to follow the rule of not looking too much like a tourist. No fanny packs…both for safety and the massive offense to fashion. I quit the whole travel wallet strapped to the body thing years ago. I hate those and prefer to carry no more than I can afford to lose, but if you’re going to use them, carry just enough for basic purchases in a regular purse or wallet. It kind of defeats the purpose when you have to make a big show of practically undressing yourself at the cash register. Be cautious at ATMS, but it is not necessary to have your wife hold a jacket over you to shield the screen from prying eyes. That makes ME want to rob you out of spite, and probably signals thieves that you have a good amount of money in there to be that cautious. You also shouldn’t walk around with guide books and maps in your hand, but I freely admit to breaking that rule as my directional dyslexia won’t allow me to process and retain directions beyond a block.
Oh, and upon further review of these stories, Connor is not allowed to travel. He’s not even allowed to leave the house. Ever.
Sorry, Mom.
Mixed Up Mommy 