Be happy with what you've got: living with disabilities and other inconveniences

 

Sometimes the most trite, well-worn platitudes really do ring true. I recently returned from a two week trip to beautiful Turkiye. It was supposed to be 18 days, but then I got sick and ended up in the emergency room. An overnight stay in a foreign hospital, where few doctors or nurses speak English, is not the ideal side-trip for a vacation. I left (against medical advice) and got on a JFK-bound plane the next day. I missed a couple of cities that I had planned (and paid) to visit, not to mention missing a traditional Turkish bath, seeing a Whirling Dervish ritual and getting a ride in a hot air balloon in Cappadocia.  Sigh.

I absolutely loved Turkiye, and if we happen to be friends on Facebook I encourage you to check out the hundreds of photos I posted. I plan to return, hopefully in a year or two, to pick up where I left off. This trip was a group tour, but I'm trying to stir up interest among friends and family to join me on a trip where we see what we want and go at our own pace. A possible itinerary I'm contemplating is flying to Athens (I've never been to Greece), then visiting a couple of Greek islands (like Rhodes or Lesbos), then taking a ferry to Turkiye, maybe to Fethiye or Antalya (where I left off this time) and then on to Cappadocia, Konya and Gobekli Tepe. We can then fly to Istanbul for a few days before returning to the USA. 

So what does this have to do with "living with disabilities"? I think I am in pretty good health for my age, and generally able to withstand hours of sightseeing in rugged terrains or crowded cities. I am not blind or deaf and I have all of my limbs. "Disabilities" may be too strong a word, but I do have to live with IBS, lactose intolerance, and chronic hip bursitis. (I've had IBS for decades and bursitis for years, but the lactose intolerance only reared its ugly head about a year ago after a fateful and very unpleasant tussle with an ice cream cone. I'd never had a problem with dairy before, and was told by my doctor that lactose intolerance sometimes comes with age.)

It was a bit of a bummer missing out on Turkish ice cream, yogurt and cheese, but the tour group always had a substitute for me. (I was apparently the only "problem child" among us.) I learned to love baklava almost as much as ice cream, and kept reminding myself that excellent oat milk-based frozen treats awaited me at home. (I've already indulged in a vegan cone from Van Leeuwen, which has two stores in my neighborhood.) The delicate and crispy herb-infused appetizers I was given at lunch were probably as good as the feta-cheese-filled ones my fellow travelers were served. I've learned to cope, and to adjust to life as a semi-vegan (well, not really -- I still eat meat of all kinds, eggs and butter, not to mention all forms of carbohydrates.)

I began to feel ill a few days before I ended up in the hospital, and the first group excursion I missed was a yacht ride in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Fethiye. I felt it best to rest in my hotel room while my fellow travelers sailed, swam and snorkeled the Turquoise Coast. After resting a while I felt well enough for a walk around the piers and into downtown, where I indulged in a little "retail therapy." (This was probably the most expensive stomachache of my life.) 

The emergency room visit came in the next city, Antalya. After being sick but struggling along for four days, I asked our tour director if he could connect me with a doctor who spoke English. I didn't think I was dying but I'd never been sick for so many days straight, and the Imodium and Pepto Bismol I'd brought along were just not doing it. He suggested I speak to guest services at the hotel, who produced an English-speaking nurse within 15 minutes. It was a Sunday, so no doctors were available. But I followed the nurse's advice and accepted a cab ride to the private hospital which was practically across the street from the hotel. After another 15 minutes I saw a nurse, had blood drawn and was admitted. As far as hospitals go, it was very nice and the nurses extremely attentive. I saw a doctor the next morning, who wanted me to stay a few more days for more tests, but at that point I just wanted to go home. 

My hospital breakfast -- I must have forgotten to tell them I'm lactose intolerant, but I ate the olives, egg, roll, butter and cup of tea.

The view from my private hospital room was lovely (you can see the Taurus mountains and a bit of the Mediterranean) but it still pales in comparison to the awesome view from my hotel room (see first photo above). I paid the bill (about $1300 USD for an overnight stay, lab tests and an IV for pain and hydration) and was able to fly home the next day. I saw my own doctor two days later, and she said I likely had some kind of stomach bug, but since I was feeling much better and the Turkish meds were doing the trick, she wasn't particularly concerned. 

So I learned to make the most of a wonderful and yet at times unpleasant situation. And to quote another trite truism, "there's no place like home," especially with my cuddly cat, Dexter.