Dances with DS

Yesterday was our last in Petra. After my pain scare (which resolved overnight thankfully) we decided no more wild west horse drawn carriage rides through canyons. Instead we decided to explore the town.

Petra is steeped in poverty like much of Jordan but life goes on. People are genuinely friendly and warm, everywhere people came to say ‘welcome’ and shake our hands.

I decided to buy a local dress and found a small shop stocking caftans. Surrounded by shrouded smiling woman (I think very amused at the western womans fascination in their clothing), I tried on various caftans. Much head shaking and laughter ensued. Wait for it - they were all way too  BIG!!!

I must have seemed disappointed because one woman who spoke english quite wellsaid ‘no problem dressmaker fix it. 2 dinar. I take you.’ I was nervous as usual but the shopkeeper assured me I was in safe hands. So I follow Ishfara(? her name sounded like this)into the delapidated downtown of stacked buildings and narrowing streets. We walked past hardware stores displaying bright plastic wares and gaudy bunches of fake flowers, supermarkets with cages of chickens squawking and rows of the whitest eggs I have ever seen. Manky street cats and young boys playing footie. All this to the beat of the latest Arabic pop songs drifting from open doorways.

Then we were there in a small room with a massive turning fan on the cieling. It’s walls plastered with mag ppics of fashion that went out in Europe several decades ago and the unmistakeable smell of laundered fabric. Three woman sat sewing away. I noticed them looking at my friend with scorn and contempt in their eyes. I thought perhaps it was her painted nails and toenails or her western dress annoying them.We ignored thisand the rattle of machines went on. Ishfara (I will call her this hoping I am not swearing in Arabic or something!) opened her wallet to write me her contact numbers all the while chatting away. She asked my sons names. ‘Matthew and Luke’ I said. ‘I know a Matthew’ she said, proceeding to pull around 40 passport photo’s of her various conquests from her wallet.Rifling through them she pulled out ‘Matthew’. Then I knew her true proffession. Then I understood why the woman had looked down their noses at her. And I realised why her eyes held an age of ceaseless suffering. We chatted on. She was divorced, ‘Arabic mens very bad!’ she said. There was some bitterness in her voice and resignation.’One child 9 years boy, but very problem to be alone parent.’

My customised caftan done and dusted, we walked outside. She said good bye and turned to leave. I called her back and gave her some dinars enough I hoped to buy her and her son an evening meal. I kissed her cheek. We held hands squinting at each other in the harsh sunlight and smiled. I felt her good heart and she knew. Then we waved goodbye like old friends and she dissolved into the mass of robes, goats, songs that is Petra.

I returned to Pete waiting patiently for me. He told me that Ishfara had tried to proposition him outside the shop while he was waiting for me. Bless her she had chosen the wrong man that day!

I wonder how often she has been refused. I wonder if it hurts to be turned away to a loveless life. Perhaps there is just a numb resignation. Or maybe deep inside there is a dreadful sense of aloneness. I wonder at her courage and her rebellion too. One thing to be a prostitute in a large city like London. It must be hell in a village town like Petra.

We arrived in Jordan in the evening. Standing at the baggage collection point it dawned on us simultaneously that there was no baggage. Not ours anyway. Another Air France stuff up! Both our suitcases where still in Sweet Paris. I felt sour. I felt livid. There is something about familiarity when one travels and suitcases are that link with a known factor. My vitamins were all in my baggage as I only carried one day supply to avoid questioning in light of Heathrows security measures. My handluggage was basic. I wanted my vitamins, my rose attar and a change of underwear. But no suitcases. Deep joy. Pete was holding firm but only just. Another waste of time as we lodged our complaint and were promised sweet nothings. Air Frances little number was a sheet apologising, reassuring us they would do all posible to find our luggage (yeah right!) and wishing us bon voyage. Bon voyage my left foot! They systematically managed to cock up our trip from the very minute we got on the smelly plane at heathrow. Hours in queues, filling forms, being shunted, frantically trying to reschedule our plans and hotels. Nightmare.  

Unbaggaged & exhausted, we organised a car hire and drove through to Petra. We learned much about Jordanian drivers who love to ignore the line on the road happily driving wrong side of the road style. It has to be seen to be believed and must be either that they drink a strange potion before leaving home, or that they are being rebels, or that the cars all pull automatically to the wrong side of the road! 

We drove along the Desert Highway stopping for petrol and I endured some masculine ooglement. Ugh!

In a fit of hunger I begged Pete to buy some strange roadside food that looked like it had meat in it. I usually am purist about roadside food - iow I dont do it. Too much risk of tummy bugs. But I was driven by need. It tasted spicy and salty and very different. I thought afterwards I had just eaten minced camel meat or roadkill or something. I nearly barfed but too late, my guts was digesting it fast!

The bloating began. I was uncomfortable. My bowel was doing a rumbling. I could feel dire movement but had seen no loo on the road. Pete drove off the road up a hill on a dark path and I shot out of the car to relieve myself in true squat style nervously on the desert gravel. I am quite sick really when it comes to DS poo. All day long I have had visions of a goat herder discovering this strange dropping in the desert, how puzzling it would be. From what creature did this arrive? I imagine he is very perplexed, that is if he can bear the pong of it - lol!

At midnight we roll into dark Petra only to find the hotel we booked at is closed. No door banging helps but a man opposite sees us and tells us the owners are on holiday. Great!

He tells us he knows a smart hotel nearby he will take us there. Pete is tired and hugely gullible. I am cross, this is a real risk. He might mug Pete, who knows. I am stressed out. I speak to Pete in Afrikaans berating him. We stop in a run down street and my fears are huge as Pete leaves with the man to see the room. He comes back safe saying the room is a pit. I am so relieved. We were lucky this time, the man was only after an honest commision, but I would never allow this again.

We find  a decent hotel and kind people make us at home. There is coffee. There is shampoo in the room and a hairdryer. Luxury.

I woke up today and out of the window there was an arresting view. Hills in the distance and a village all around me lining the hills. It was breathtaking. Nothing else mattered. The rough ride here, no suitcases, I had only joy in my heart. Petra at last!

We had a good breakfast and off we went to see the ancient Petra. We hired a horse carriage for 20 dinars which would take us directly through the canyon to the treasury or temple.We stopped at a shop to buy a hat for Pete and I opted for a traditional bedouin headgear. Saad, the friendly shopkeeper wrapped my head in the desert turban and offered to buy my daughter from me for a 100 000 camels!

No amount of description can justify this place. The stillness of it. The granduer of the sandstone gorge and tombs dotted to the side. The carraige rattled and bounced over ancient roman stones. Our bones shook but our spirits were soaring. Then through a crack we see the most incredible temple hewn out of rock. Rose pink and ageless and majestic. My breath was gone. It was more than I had dreamt of. I thought of the Great Buddha in Bangkok and had the same feeling that somehow I had stepped into my dream and it was real, tangible, awesome.

We spent several hours exploring. The ampitheatre is stunning, I climbed up it like a mountain goat and yet again gave thanks for my surgery that has allowed me such freedom of limb. The views were amazing. Pete and I drank it in.

Later we caught the carriage back out of the magical gorge. I am still high about all I saw today.

To end a perfect day we had dinner at the Marriot hotel. I ate three courses!  My restuarant capacity was in full swing. Starters of veggies with sour cream & walnuts. A traditional Bedoiun main meal called Shakira - tenderest beef fillet in a creamy sauce…chicken, fish in the soft smoky spices that I now associasate with Jordanian food…desserts to die for. Best of all a cup of English breakfast tea, my first tea since being here & delicious. I am stuffed with protein & Vit A after several days of a sorely depleted diet.    

The only downer is that I have pain. I am praying it is just on account of the juddering carriage ride. Yes, I am afraid as always when I have pain. I am praying it is just muscular - a bit too much climbing maybe. It is only when I move in a certain way, not ongoing. But my head plays tricks you know. These are the times when I realise how momentous my surgery is and how frail my life might be. I can’t dwell on it though. I cannot be cowed by fear. I cannot relive a motionless life as I did when I was obese. I know this. I must live each day as lovingly and in reverence of this incredible universe as is possible.

Tomorrow I will see how the pain is. If it is worse I might find myself returning to safer grounds. I hope not. I really really want to explore more of this incredible land. So we shall see. For now I am holding onto my rationality. I am thinking on a wondrous once in a lifetime day. Despite this glitch and sharp dig in my side & still in the same clothes for 3 days now (our suitcases have only just arrived in Amman now according to Airfrance website, we laughed as my red suitcase is described as ‘ hard cover, red, maroon,pink,purple,violet,lilac,wine,mauve…well that leaves nothing to the imagination then does it!) - I am sublimely happy & nothing can take this feeling away from me!        

If you get from my title that I am miffed at Air France you’d be on the mark! Our journey to Jordan was a fiasco due to Air France from start & I pray not to finish!  Starting at Heathrow the plane is delayed due to fog in Paris. It misses it’s take off slot which means we arrive in Paris too late to catch the only flight to Jordan. Well these things happen of course and usually one would let it go but it was followed by one Air F chronically poor service after another. We wait for 2 and half hours at Paris Airport to get help. The queue is long and the area we are in hot, stuffy and not a drop to drink. I decide to catch a breath of air outside and go through customs happily leaving Pete in the queue to sort our transfer. Straight after leaving the customs area I realise I am without my ticket and my mobile phone…how stupid can one be!  In my defense I was stressed and tired beyond belief. I had a deep spiral moment when I realised I would not be able to go back in to Pete. I thought I might have a nervy, I could feel myself about to cry. I went to the info desk and the woman put out a call for Pete with all instructions in French. Luckily Pete had already realised my predicament and so we met up. As it turned out this fiasco was a godsend. We had shops around us and could nip out the building. We took turns to stand in the awful queue. At last we reached the desk. We were informed we would spend the night in Disneyland Paris. A shuttle was arranged. We were told to get out baggage would take another two hours so we let go of the idea and got a wee toiletry bag courtesy of the airline.

We stood outside with around 30 other dissillusioned passangers waiting for the shuttle which had no clearly marked zones. Time came and went , all of us getting more fraught by the minute. Had we missed the shuttle? The other bus drivers insisted the bus we wanted was on the other side of the building. Information said it was on this side. Confusion ranged. We ran from one side to the other. Eventually the group worked a plan , half of us on one side and the other half on the other side. The idea being that if the bus arrived whichever side we would hold it while we fetched the others. Eventually we did find the right spot but not after utter chaos.

The trip to Disneyland felt surreal.  I wanted to be in Jordan, instead we rolled into the cowboy arena of the year. It stank of manure and we thought this was disney taking it just to far in cowboyland. At the check in desk Pete forthrightly asked if the cow poo smell was for real. The man looked mortified and told us it was the local farmers manuring the fields! The only good thing about it was that a wee DS wind would go unnoticed in the bigger winds of things!

Our room was a three year olds paradise. A boot lamp still haunts my mind. A mirror festooned with cowboy hat & bucking bronco’s everywhere. No kettle for a cuppa. The bed was at least decent. We were haggard with exhaustion. Surrounded by hyper excited kids this was not the place to deposit fraught travellers. I wondered if I needed to get in touch with my inner child but my inner adult just wanted peace on earth. A cup of tea. Home comforts. Instead I stood in a long queue to get supper. Goofy pranced about hugging everyone and spreading cheer. I thought if the hideous cartoon man sweating in that suit came near me I might entirely go beserk and get irrational. It would not look good, me punching goofy infront of all the little children. I’d have to get a grip. It was a bit like a wild west dream or should I say nightmare. I felt goofy myself. I was not in good nick. I think I am becoming a grumpy old woman.

We ate a tough cut of beef and I had my first protein meal of the day. All 15grams worth.

Later Pete & I wondered in the surreal land to ‘The Village’ which was actually despite my grumpiness quite a sight. I nearly felt three again. I regretted wanting to punch Goofys lights out…well just a teeny bit. A small highlight in an otherwise hectic & disappointing day.

We left the sweet smell of manure thankfully. The shuttle took us to the airport where we dealt with yet another incredible queue to check in. Never never will I travel Air France again. Not ever. It is the height of frustration. But we did get to Jordan. I am writing this from the hotel basement after a day of all days. Part two follows!                  

I sincerely hope not! Besides Pete thinks this is a hysterical heading as I have got Jordan mixed up with Georgia. DS senelity kicking in!!!

In any event Jordan, Georgia , whatever …I want sun on my back and Vitamin D in my bones. The weather looks good for our stay - up to 28 degrees suits this usually cold bod. I am excited about this trip - I have ALWAYS wanted to visit Petra & now I shall. Pete takes 2 days off work and we will drive to Petra…it will be goodstuff. The rest of the time he will be working in Amman and I shall do my usual street walking and simply take things easy. I am a little nervous about terrorism but when I look at Jordans problems & death rates compared with South Africas - well it is really not that bad (unless it’s you that gets snuffed by a maniac dreaming of 75 virgins in Paradise. ) I also aim to eat a lot as recently I am a shame on the eating front. I just get in the days protein & a few complex carbs most days but some days are better. I dropped to 54 kilo’s last week which scared me and was pleased to weigh in at 56 yesterday thanks to plenty of spoons of dulche leche caramel. I love the stuff & it has protein too - but really I should be doing better than that - there must be healthier weight gain options. Problem is that fatty foods spike my metabolism so from weight gain perspective that’s a mute game. Carbs - I just don’t like them much plus sometimes they bloat me up. I think volume eating should do it better but I just have not got the time to sit down and eat loads. Nor does food interest me much - I eat to sustain myself except when I go out or we are celebrating. I can’t believe how incredibly normal my behaviour is regarding food - a far cry from the constant hunger days.
My days are on a tight schedule currently - it’s decorate decorate & more decorate. I am getting there though there are days I feel I am farting in a thunderstorm. Inbetween I try to catch up with my children plus sort Matt out for Uni. In itself this is a feat and a half. Bedding, pots, spoons, paracetomol, plasters, bucket, pegs…the list is just enormous. But I am done now & the child will at least go into his new res equipped to some degree.

Off tomorrow at 12-ish. Still in the middle of a pile of washing & dinner needs doing. Chicken potato’s & lot’s of Tescos roasted veggies from frozen. These veggies are great value - aubergines, peppers onions, loads of scrummy stuff in the bag.

Take care everyone. Look after yourselves & catch you later!

We just got back from a hectic time in Brighton. It was fab though!

Having dropped our Matt off at the Uni we went in search of some DS type food (as usual!). Suddenly I heard Pete swearing in a shocked way - the brakes slam on and he is out of the car in what seemed like a split second. It took me a moment to register him picking up a small little girl from the middle of the road. I ran to her to check she was ok…she was in a terrible state of shock poor wee mite. She reached for me and I took her from Pete and tried to assess any damage. Mercifully she seemed okay - no broken bones but a definitate knock to her head (which worried me sick though she was clearly seeing and compus mentus- very bruised and bleeding spine, grazed bottom. She was naked from the waist down & no older than 3 years old.

Pete told me that he saw ,with horror, a station wagon turn the corner and the boot fly open as she was flung out into the road. The car just continued to drive on. I held her and tried to keep her warm & comfort her while Pete called an ambulance. As he was on the phone a man rushed up to me and said she’d fallen out of his car & her mum was coming. I am afraid I did let rip - I still think not to put a child into a car seat is neglectful. Anyway her mum came and she was very pleased to see her mother. The poor mum was in a terrible state of shock, I could not help but feel for her - I once lost Matt in Johannesburg when he was two years old and I still remember my incredible heart stopping panic.

Pete had a call from the police & we gave them all our details. I hope they get to the hospital with the kid. I was so shocked myself that only afterwards did I start to have serious reservations about her care in all.

We drove on afterwards Pete as white as a sheet and I said I needed a drink to stabilise my nerves. I had a very rare (for me) port. I felt rather better for it too.

Later we went to our hotel right opposite Brighton Pier with a view to die for and chilled out.

Matt got off to a flying social start and almost immediately made friends with 4 lovely youngsters. They decided to set up a house together and today was the big house hunting day.

Pete and I started the day with a walk on the pier and then we browsed about on the lanes - had a nice latte. Later I found a fish restuarant and I ate the most delish smoked eel. I always think of Mellie when I eat eel as it was she that brought me my first taste of it some years back when she visited from Holland. Apparently it is a delicacy there…and it is something lovely.
Later Matt called. They had found a house they all loved but the bad news arrived that another bunch of students wanted it and had got the full deposit for it. I felt awful for Matt & the other kids…it was a blow and they were gutted. Off we went to the Uni to try to help with another plan. Another mum was there & we 3 parents were gutted too.
We called a meeting to decide on further action but then the phone rang and it was the agent to say the others could not meet the contract so the house was theirs! Great excitement and lot’s of relieved back slapping later we all went to see the new ‘digs’. It is neat & clean, has enough space and best of all is only 10 mins walk from Uni.

So all has turned out well and I am so very relieved as I thought things were just not going to be okay at several points in the day.

I’m off to do a quick clean up now then to bed as I am knackered!

I am pushing the barrier of time - where does it go? Since I last wrote I have been in the East midlands with the WLSinfo gang…something I much enjoyed. I was struck by the bonds we have - us that survive this monumental rerouting of the guts. I can’t define it other than to say this is a family of mine. I felt at home & relaxed and it was a good time and lovely to reconnect with my friends - some of whom I have been with in spirit & empathy for 4 years odd and with whom I feel deep connections and a great deal of unconditional love. So I came home feeling blessed to know these wonderful people.

As I got off the train at waterloo (after a fraught journey of trains not pitching up and diversions with a bus) who would step off the train but my brother in law! All along we had travelled on the same train in different cabins. He was on his way to my house so we went the rest of the journey together. He had attended a conference about acid reflux and it’s effects - very interesting stuff. I told him we often see this in WLS surgery and we chatted about it - I learned a lot from a surgical perspective. Interesting stuff.

Then we arrived at home. Decided to take him to the pub in Guildford where we had a superb carvery with all manner of meats - DSers heaven this place! Later we drove around the beautiful Surrey hills area to show him our beautiful England. We had a great day but I confess when he left that evening I was knackered.

The house has not progressed much. Sometimes it’s this buying lark that is so darned time consuming. In need of fabric for blinds I went to London to try to find some viable fabric. I got lost in Soho as I am very bad at orientating myself map & all. Standing in the doorway of a restuarant I asked the lovely Chinese doorman for help. He had no idea where the shop I was looking for was any more than I did. Instead we entered a conversation about China. I got a fast geography lesson. Then he asked me how to pronounce attizite. What? He rubbed his tum. Ahhhh ‘appeTite!’ …. mmmmm crypic (the universe speaks again! ) So we had a strange and random english pronounciation lesson & laughed quite a bit as his tongue could just not get some of the emphisis.

I had heard of a place called The Cloth Shop which boasted natural fabrics from all over the world. This was my mission of the day - how infinately exciting! The shop was a joy…beautiful stuff but way beyond my lesser budget.

A few shops down was another fabric store - the window festooned with ghastly fabrics in lurid colors but when your budget is low it does’nt matter. I went in and emerged truimphant with enough silk tweed to build a large tent! This is what happens when you don’t have a mathematical bone in the body regarding accurate measurements.

So now I am looking at the huge 5 meter surplus trying to imagine if I could convert some of it into clothing. Problem is it does remind me a little of sackcloth which reminds me of the strange couple that used to frequent the mountains in South Africa. They would come down into the village occasionally - dressed entirely in sackcloth which caused much gossip & speculation about strange sects and devil worshippers. Mmmmm…I think maybe I won’t go there - lol!

So life goes on. On the DS front I sometimes get the strangest feeling that things are not right but I can’t verbalise anything specific. I just feel odd sometimes and it makes me scared. But then I think on how for ten months I had these feelings after my DS too - so it is probably all related to the recent bowel surgery & in time I will feel settled and as though my gut belongs to me again. I am eating quite well currently which is good.

Today we are off to Blighty to get Matt settled into Uni life and find accommadation. I make him promise me he will call me every night for a chat once he is in Uni - he says maybe he will call once a month! He is joking of course in his typical way.
We are on standby should there be a crises and I am looking forward to being located on the beach with a view of the sea. I love Brighton - the rambling lanes full of interesting shops and the old pier. In South Africa as a child now and then I’d see faded photo’s of peoples visits to Brighton. It seemed another world then full of quaint buildings and people swimming in the sea.

Shortly after we arrived here in the UK we took the children out for the day to Brighton. I thought I would do the English thing and pack a picnic for the day. The kids were horrified when we arrived at a beach of stoney pebbles. LOL. In South Africa the beaches are soft white sand so this was not their idea of a beach. But they soon forgot all this in the amusement arcade and we did have a lovely day.

I shall miss my Matty too much I know…but I hold onto the knowing that this is all so right for him. I try to bump it out - but I still have a sadness in my heart that my youngest is flying the nest. It’s all so fast - childhood.

Well enough multi ramblings I am off to eat some leftover steak & have a cuppa & pack for the trip. Have a great day my friends that read this. x