chemo today. At least we know he can handle chemo, right?”
“He shouldn’t have to go through this again.”
“I know.”
We were both quiet until finally, with no one else in line to board the plane, I said, “Start the chemo. I’m getting on the plane, but I will fly home in an instant if anything goes wrong. So please let me know.”
“I think that’s the right thing to do.”
“I hope so. I love you. I love Seamus. Please take care of him.”
“I love you too. And I will.”
I boarded the plane in a state of shock. My seat was in the middle of a row of five, sandwiched between a young boy to my left and an older Indian man on my right. This would not be the time or place to break down in tears, so instead I remained immobilized. I stared ahead, blinking back tears, my hand covering my mouth.
Once the plane was in the air and there was no turning back, I tried to journal and then tried to sleep. I succeeded at neither. Closing my eyes just made me think of Seamus and what a mistake it had been to get on the plane. Writing in my journal had the same effect; I wanted to write my thoughts on starting this adventure to India, but all I could think or write about was what was happening with Seamus and how angry and despondent I felt. I am normally not bothered flying coach on long journeys, despite my height and the tight quarters. I’m happy enough to be traveling and have a long, uninterrupted period of time to write or read. But this time the flight was long and uncomfortable, and my energy was entirely absorbed by my struggle not to break out in violent sobs.
The connecting flight from Amsterdam to Delhi was delayed. As I dutifully called Sahil, our contact with Cultural Volunteer Vacations, to let him know my plane would be late, I began to realize I’d be arriving in Delhi alone, tired, and distraught at three o’clock in the morning. Despite weeks of preparing, I suddenly felt very ill-equipped to handle the events to come.
My flight from Amsterdam to Delhi was just as crowded and my seat was just as poorly located, but exhaustion weighed in and I slept for an hour or two. The bright spot to the flight had been the Hindu meal I was served—piping hot, savory, delicious, and brought to me first as it was considered a special dietary order on KLM Airlines.
As the captain announced our imminent landing, I remembered to apply mosquito repellent with the travel wipes in my purse. I then sat in quiet horror as the plane was fumigated on the tarmac. What were they spraying down on us through these vents? What were they worried was carried from Amsterdam to Delhi?
What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 6
Alone in a Crowd
I approached the Delhi customs desk, hoping that my visa wasn’t correct and I’d be sent back home. I’d be where I wanted to be, and it would be out of my hands. Whatever happened wouldn’t be because of a decision I made. The customs official did not see things the same way and instead warmly welcomed my weary self to his country and sent me on my way.
While I waited for my luggage, I reviewed the instructions for meeting the group guide. I was supposed to be wearing the T-shirt they had sent so I could be recognized. I figured as a nearly six-foot-tall blond, I’d be easy enough to recognize in the Delhi airport, and I did not feel like being a billboard for anyone, so I was not in the T-shirt. It would thus be up to me to find the guide carrying the “Cultural Volunteer Vacation” sign. My welcome packet said they would be waiting for me after I picked up my luggage and cleared the long hallway. I was to walk to the end and they would be there.
Hundreds of people were there swarming about, and many were carrying signs, but none with the “CVV” I needed. I was quickly annoyed. Then a thought occurred to me: Couldn’t anyone easily just stand at the airport with a CVV sign and pick up unsuspecting Western women gamely here alone for volunteer work and willing to leave
“He shouldn’t have to go through this again.”
“I know.”
We were both quiet until finally, with no one else in line to board the plane, I said, “Start the chemo. I’m getting on the plane, but I will fly home in an instant if anything goes wrong. So please let me know.”
“I think that’s the right thing to do.”
“I hope so. I love you. I love Seamus. Please take care of him.”
“I love you too. And I will.”
I boarded the plane in a state of shock. My seat was in the middle of a row of five, sandwiched between a young boy to my left and an older Indian man on my right. This would not be the time or place to break down in tears, so instead I remained immobilized. I stared ahead, blinking back tears, my hand covering my mouth.
Once the plane was in the air and there was no turning back, I tried to journal and then tried to sleep. I succeeded at neither. Closing my eyes just made me think of Seamus and what a mistake it had been to get on the plane. Writing in my journal had the same effect; I wanted to write my thoughts on starting this adventure to India, but all I could think or write about was what was happening with Seamus and how angry and despondent I felt. I am normally not bothered flying coach on long journeys, despite my height and the tight quarters. I’m happy enough to be traveling and have a long, uninterrupted period of time to write or read. But this time the flight was long and uncomfortable, and my energy was entirely absorbed by my struggle not to break out in violent sobs.
The connecting flight from Amsterdam to Delhi was delayed. As I dutifully called Sahil, our contact with Cultural Volunteer Vacations, to let him know my plane would be late, I began to realize I’d be arriving in Delhi alone, tired, and distraught at three o’clock in the morning. Despite weeks of preparing, I suddenly felt very ill-equipped to handle the events to come.
My flight from Amsterdam to Delhi was just as crowded and my seat was just as poorly located, but exhaustion weighed in and I slept for an hour or two. The bright spot to the flight had been the Hindu meal I was served—piping hot, savory, delicious, and brought to me first as it was considered a special dietary order on KLM Airlines.
As the captain announced our imminent landing, I remembered to apply mosquito repellent with the travel wipes in my purse. I then sat in quiet horror as the plane was fumigated on the tarmac. What were they spraying down on us through these vents? What were they worried was carried from Amsterdam to Delhi?
What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 6
Alone in a Crowd
I approached the Delhi customs desk, hoping that my visa wasn’t correct and I’d be sent back home. I’d be where I wanted to be, and it would be out of my hands. Whatever happened wouldn’t be because of a decision I made. The customs official did not see things the same way and instead warmly welcomed my weary self to his country and sent me on my way.
While I waited for my luggage, I reviewed the instructions for meeting the group guide. I was supposed to be wearing the T-shirt they had sent so I could be recognized. I figured as a nearly six-foot-tall blond, I’d be easy enough to recognize in the Delhi airport, and I did not feel like being a billboard for anyone, so I was not in the T-shirt. It would thus be up to me to find the guide carrying the “Cultural Volunteer Vacation” sign. My welcome packet said they would be waiting for me after I picked up my luggage and cleared the long hallway. I was to walk to the end and they would be there.
Hundreds of people were there swarming about, and many were carrying signs, but none with the “CVV” I needed. I was quickly annoyed. Then a thought occurred to me: Couldn’t anyone easily just stand at the airport with a CVV sign and pick up unsuspecting Western women gamely here alone for volunteer work and willing to leave
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