My final farewell?

For the next ten days I visited five more friends. Except for the nosebleeds and the shortness of breath my other symptoms faded away. I had no more infections, sore throat or stomach problems. I began to see a connection between heavy exercise during the day and a worse nose bleed at night so I knew I should limit my activities but I couldn’t. This was a once in a lifetime trip so I went on the walks my friends suggested, which ranged from the rocky shore of the Maine coast to crossing the Hudson River in New York. I spent three Sundays in Washington DC, spending eight hours sightseeing each time. I walked great distances to see all the monuments to fallen presidents and heroes. I visited almost every floor of each of the Smithsonian museums and took pictures of the Washington monument at night. I was hungry to be a part of everything. Perhaps it was from a nagging feeling of vulnerability, but whatever the reason, I allowed the adventure to be my priority. Dealing with the fatigue and the nose bleeds seemed a small price to pay for the experience.

After so much activity I had worn myself out and I looked forward to taking it down a notch. My next stop was my mother’s place in Maryland. I spent eight nights on her couch from November 21-28th. She was 83 and her manner suited me perfectly. We would shuffle through the shopping malls at a snail’s pace then get back to the retirement home by 3pm. Then we did a little reading, had dinner with the other eighty-year-olds at 5pm, watched a little TV and went to bed. In the time I stayed with my mother my lack of exercise negated my nosebleeds. As long as I adopted the lifestyle of an octogenarian I was fine. That thought was frightening. I had a life to get back to in New Zealand. I couldn’t potter around forever. I was getting extremely anxious to see a doctor.

I left my mother with genuine tears. I would miss the warm, safe retreat of her apartment and I was genuinely fearful of what lay ahead. I returned to my cousin’s house in Connecticut for a few days before flying back to San Francisco on December 3rd. I was pretty symptomless at this time as all I did was shop for Christmas presents, pack my clothes and eat as many American hotdogs, bologna sandwiches and brownies as I could before leaving the country. None of these activities proved strenuous enough to cause a nose bleed.  But I still feared climbing the hill back to Abby’s apartment so I organised for her to meet me at the airport to help me carry my luggage. It was very unlike me to ask for help and Abby talked to me seriously that evening. We sat on the floor by her bed, on either side of a small square table that served both as a Japanese style dining table and a study area. We had been chatting about my trip, then there was a pause and she looked at me intently.

“How are you feeling?”

She knew there was something going on and she wanted the truth. I couldn’t lie to her and once I started talking I couldn’t stop. I confessed to my continued lack of energy, my inability to keep up with my friends and all the other symptoms that had come and gone.

“Promise me you will see a doctor when you get home.”

“I will. I know I have to.”

“As soon as you get home.”

“Okay.”

I had a pang of guilt for unloading everything I had been keeping to myself for the last eight weeks. I immediately regretted my action but I couldn’t take it back. Abby was studying for exams and I didn’t want to interfere, so maybe to prove that I was fine, or maybe subconsciously it might have been a “bucket list” moment, but I announced I was going to go to Las Vegas. I had never been and had always wanted to see it. I grabbed a cheap hotel room and airfare package deal for two nights. I flew from Oakland airport to Las Vegas two days later. After an hour and a half flight I was in the city of decadence. I took a shuttle from the airport that dropped me at my hotel in the middle of the strip. I checked in, put my bag in my room and went outside to explore. All the Christmas decorations were up and it was magical. Inside and outside the hotels were dressed for the occasion with huge Christmas displays. I was so excited I walked for miles up and down the Las Vegas strip. I spent hours gazing at the fantastic excessiveness that made up Caesar’s Palace and the Venetian Hotel. I walked for 45 minutes to see an act at Circus Circus. I got lost around the MGM Grand and I stood in the freezing cold to watch the fountains dance in front of the Bellagio. By 6pm it was getting dark. I made my way back to my hotel but I started choking on liquid I could feel pouring down the back of my throat. It was like someone had opened a tap from my sinuses and poured water in. I spit on to a tissue. The liquid was dark and red and it was full of thick clots. I had been walking for at least eight hours non-stop. It was too much. I ran to my hotel room. By 8pm I was in bed for the night, scared and numb.

The next morning I woke up with tired limbs but with no other symptoms. My nose hadn’t bled during the night, my appetite was normal and I had only one more day in Las Vegas. If this was truly a bucket list moment I wanted to make the best of it. I commenced another heavy eight-hour day of sightseeing. By the evening I was in slow motion. I felt like I had run a marathon. Blood was again pouring down the back of my throat. It was strange and alienating and scary as I stood on the sidewalk in the middle of the strip clutching fistfuls of bloody tissue.  I pushed my way through the crowds, hurried back to my hotel, pulled the covers over my head and was asleep by 7pm. The following morning I flew back to San Francisco. I made my way to Abby’s apartment. I didn’t want to call her. I didn’t want her to worry. So I took a lot of breaks and walked slowly up the hill to her place. She met me at the door. I smiled weakly, hugged her tightly and slept soundly that night. The following day she helped me take my luggage to the airport for the trip back to New Zealand. I didn’t want to let her go. But part of me was so glad I was about to get some help. The twelve hour flight was uneventful. I arrived back in Auckland on Saturday morning December 10th.

It had not turned out to be the trip I had planned at the beginning of the year. Instead of being a springboard to a new life and new adventure, it was as if I was finishing sentences and closing doors. But I came back to New Zealand satisfied. I had seen and said goodbye to family, friends, American food and historic landmarks. At the time I hoped it was a goodbye that meant hasta la vista (until I see you again).But when I was diagnosed I was convinced that this trip had become my final farewell.