America

We left New Zealand on the evening of October 1^st as planned. We arrived in San Francisco the same day, during a hot and busy lunchtime. After an hour on the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train we were in downtown Berkeley where my daughter Abby lived. Over my shoulders, a criss-cross of strong black straps held the weight of: A carry-on bag full of New Zealand souvenirs, a laptop bag containing my Toshiba computer, cords, plugs and mouse, and a purse stuffed with money, passports, tickets and make-up. Behind me I pulled an enormous Samsonite on wheels stuffed with clothes, shoes and outerwear for every occasion. From the centre of Berkeley we faced a twenty minute walk up a steadily increasing hill to our hotel. The sun beamed down. Alex led the way. I hadn’t tried to walk up a hill for months. I took a deep breath and plunged ahead. Every step took great effort. All I could do was concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. I trudged slowly up the sidewalk like I was ascending Mount Everest while students from the campus of the University of California breezed past me in both directions with no show of exertion. After just a few minutes I was sweating and puffing like the last runner in a marathon. I willed myself to the traffic light on every corner. A little cheer sounded in my brain when the crossing signal showed a red man, giving me a minute to catch my breath. By the third traffic light I was ready to forget the hotel and sleep on the street. I had to stop every few feet to replenish the oxygen in my body, breathing audibly in large gasps. I must have sounded like I had asthma or emphysema. When Alex realised I was no longer behind him, he turned around to look at me. He looked as easy-going as the students. I was red-faced and in danger of cardiac arrest. I nodded to indicate I needed another rest. At this rate it was going to take me hours to cover what should have taken minutes. I was close to tears because I was so frustrated with myself and my body. Sensing my distress, Alex took my heavy case and pulled it along with his own. But I was still as slow as a hundred year old. It looks so obvious now that there was something very sinister going on, but at the time I dismissed any underlying reason for my malaise. I attributed the struggle and the shortness of breath to the heat, the hill, the long flight and the heavy cases.

For the next week I slept an average of twelve hours a night. I would go to sleep at 10pm and I wouldn’t be ready to leave the hotel room until close to 11am. In the first few days I developed a sore throat and had a couple of terrible nose bleeds.  My stomach became so heavy and bloated it felt like I was carrying a large boulder in it. My right ear was blocked. My appetite fell away until the only thing I could eat was vanilla frozen yogurt. It felt good on my throat and didn’t add to the bloated feeling. My lethargy and lack of enthusiasm put my relationship under strain. Alex wanted me to share his excitement for the pleasures of Berkeley. But I couldn’t.

“Want to walk through the botanical gardens?”

“No thanks.”

“Want to explore the university campus?”
“Not today.”

“Want to shop on Shattuck Avenue?”

“You go ahead.”

“You’re being grumpy.”

“I’m just tired.”

      As long as I was able to sleep a lot, I was able to make it through the days. So in spite of my lack of endurance, we managed to enjoy our time in Berkeley and San Francisco. We did some sightseeing and I was able to keep up through visits to the Academy of Sciences, the de Young museum, and Golden Gate Park. I loved spending time with Abby, taking her out to dinner and seeing where she went to classes and shopped. I was able to get into a comfortable pace and I learned how not to over-exert myself.

But the next hurdle was looming.