Resurfacing in the Caribbean

I'm finally resurfacing again. I bet you were wondering where I got to. My dad bought me internet access on our cruise ship here in the Caribbean, and I'm back in contact again. I guess he thought I needed some writing therapy. But let me back up a bit...I'm getting ahead of myself.

My friends left London to go to Greece. I wandered around London for another week or so, continuing to play the good tourist, trying to figure out my next steps. But there wasn't really any obvious answer and I was nearly broke. In typical Trixie fashion, I had emailed a bunch of old work colleagues, people I had worked with in all sorts of projects. As I listed them all, I was really surprised at how widespread my experience and that of my colleagues has been. Just to give you an idea, I have former colleagues currently working all over the world: Spain, Italy, China, Cuba, Haiti, Jamaica, New Zealand, Botswana, Swaziland, and South Africa. And as I saw it, I could travel on from London to work with any one of these people, in any one of these parts of the world.

I initially thought I'd stay in London for a couple of weeks while I waited for the email replies to pour in. The message I sent was one of reconnecting but also an offer to help out with their current project. I knew it would be hard to find work, but I'm open-minded and willing to do what it takes. Maybe my message sounded too needy, too easy, too aimless, too something undesired. Didn't get any quick replies.

But then something completely unexpected happened. My parents called. They had talked to my husband, and he told them what had happened. I didn't intentionally avoid calling them to tell them I'd left, but I hadn't called them either. They aren't easy to reach because they're constantly traveling. Travel addicts who prefer to spend their time on a cruise ship, the easiest way to get around the world. They were docked in Florida between jaunts, and called our house looking to catch up with us. They were going to offer to fly us to Florida for the weekend while they waited to catch a new ship headed to the Caribbean. Instead I flew from London to meet them, and they upgraded their trip to include a third person, and I joined them to set sail. Having five star status on the cruise line allows them to have third and fourth guests in their stateroom for free. And so here I am, living on the dole, back to being supported by my parents and their free-spirited good will.

In our first two week trip around the Caribbean, we docked in St. Thomas, St. Barts, St. Lucia, Barbados, Grenada, Bonaire, Curacao, Bahamas, and back to Fort Lauderdale. While we were docked in Florida, I checked my email and still no responses from former colleagues. My parents were fine with me staying on - like I said, my stay is completely free, the food is all included, the only thing I pay extra for is alcohol, and I don't drink much. So now we are mid-way through another two weeks around with stops in Turks and Caicos, Puerto Rico, St. Maarten, Bahamas, Fort Lauderdale, back to the Bahamas, Jamaica, Cayman Islands, Key West, and back to Fort Lauderdale.

The staterooms are impossibly small for three adults. But there are all sorts of activities that keep me busy and out of the room nearly around the clock. I've taken to going to the library or to the Captain's pre-dinner receptions when we come back on board after ports of call. On the sea days, I make sure I go to the gym to work out. I'm reading a lot. And I've been spending a lot of my time meeting lots of the ship's staff, understanding what they do, and trying to find ways to support myself independently on board the ship. Basically I've been job hunting since we set sail.

It turns out most of the on board staff was interviewed and hired in Indonesia. The musicians, singers, and dancers who entertain the guests all auditioned in Memphis. The spa staff interviewed in Seattle. Most of the staff is working to send money home to family overseas somewhere. But it isn't easy to find work when you're already on the ship as a (sort of) paying guest. I even inquired about working on the private island owned by the cruise line when we stopped there. I thought I could work in the snack bar or the island restaurant. I was told that most of the staff who work there travel two hours from one of the other islands in the Bahamas. Approximately 40 people live on the private island full-time, mostly to care for the sting rays and the horses. I don't have any sting ray or horse experience, and there weren't any other current job openings.

So last night my parents had taken me for after dinner drinks, and my dad bought us bingo cards for the big game of the week. The one where you win a free cruise if you get the black out. You stand up when you have just one square left on your card. I was standing and another person was standing on the other side of the bar. They called another number, and another woman stood up. And then they called my last square, and I had black out. So I guess I'm staying on for another two weeks after this too, but in my own state room this time. We'll be headed to the Bahamas, Turks and Caicos, cruising the Bahia de Samana, Dominican Republic, Bonaire, Curacao, Aruba, and back to Fort Lauderdale. And you can bet I'll be playing bingo again. Maybe I'll get lucky twice.

Hospice visit

I went back to the hospice and took the tour of the facility.  Felt like very little had changed since I had been there working as a nurses' aide 15 years ago.
It felt  a little weird to be back, to be in that place again. I was a medical student training to be a doctor, and yet I was there to be a nurses' aide, someone who was really at the patients' bedside to deal with their minute to minute needs. I changed bed pans, helped them bathe, combed their hair, fed them, and helped them with all the little things they were not capable of doing. I also helped to wheel the patients' who smoked cigarettes outside to the patio where they would smoke a cigarette. Most of the patients were dying of cancer.
I remember a mother who was dying of ovarian cancer. She had a son that looked my age, seemed to be in his twenties. Later that evening, I saw him drinking at the local pub around the corner with his friends. Part of me wanted to say hello to him, to comfort him somehow, but I couldn't find any words. There was a thin man who spoke no English, he was from Ethiopia I think. There was an Indian woman who had lost the use of her hands because they were paralyzed, and she had made a beautiful clay coffee mug. The story was that she had molded and painted it with her feet. Those are the little things I remember.
The big thing I remember is when I was asked to help one of the nurses take a woman down to the morgue. If one of the patients died, and this was not a daily occurrence, but it happened maybe once a week or so that someone would die, the nurse who was the main caretaker would be responsible for taking the person to the morgue down in the basement. She was an aged woman with white hair who was thin like my grandmother was before she died. As an aside, I've always had issues with transference around my grandmother's death from lung cancer, relating my patients to her, thinking about how they resemble her. As I cared for this woman in her dying days, I thought a lot about my grandmother. When she died, we moved the woman from her bed to a shaky metal gurney, wheeled it into the freight elevator in the back of the building that went down to the sub-basement. Once we got to the cold room where the metal doors of the morgue were located, we were supposed to lift her off the gurney and transfer her onto the tray that slid out from the wall behind the metal door that would hold her corpse before the body was claimed by the family. I have never had good forearm strength, but I was expecting some kind of warning before we heaved the body. Maybe a one-two-three count, or at least some kind of conversation about how this was going to go would have been helpful. I didn't expect the nurse to start moving the patient so quickly after we stopped rolling the gurney, opened the door, and slid out the metal tray. I was unprepared and unable to lift my side of her, and apparently, dead bodies are heavier than I expected. Unfortunately, I dropped my end, and she crashed to the ground. I have no idea how we lifted her, but we did do so, and we got her onto the tray and slid her behind the cold metal door. All this with no discussion, no words passed between us, no conversation at all.  And to this day, I've never told anyone this story.

Playing tourist

Finally the jet lag has burned out a bit. Now I am just exhausted from all the walking I've done. From Big Ben to the London Bridge, to Speaker's Corner, to the changing of the guard.  I've learned my way around the Underground. I finally went to Marks and Spencer and bought myself some better walking shoes. 

Since I arrived here in London, I've also spent a good bit of my time binging on British television. The Brits do reality tv better than we Americans do, that's for sure.  Some highlights from last night's programmes - Life on the Dole (a documentary about welfare recipients in Scotland), The Great British Sewing Bee (contestants battled to create a corset), and Britain's Biggest Primary School (sex education as taught in a British elementary school). Tonight will be the new season of House of Cards.

I made it to Sydenham back to where I volunteered for a month at St. Christopher's Hospice. It was fun checking out the neighborhood again, and I had lunch at the pub around the corner from where we lived. Seemed exactly the same as I remember with the red phone booth inside the front door.  I tried to find the house where we stayed, but I wasn't exactly sure I was on the right street, and I wasn't about to knock on doors. 

As for the hospice visit itself, I sort of had a half thought that when I showed up at the front desk, they would take one look at me, recognize me for the terrific student I was, and hire me immediately to work full time.  Instead they said, we only do public tours on Fridays.  So I'm returning today to see if I can join the group. 

I did venture out to see the Old Operating Theatre in London Bridge, a theatre-in-the-round sort of museum showing an 1800's operating room. The staff gives talks about what surgery was like in those days: little anesthesia, hacking off of limbs in amputations, only primitive instruments. Not something anyone should see or hear on an empty stomach.  I watched the first few episodes of The Knick, and it reminds me a lot of that.

Maybe I'll spend some time the next couple of days wandering around some of London's finest museums.  I would like to go to the Victoria and Albert. The locals always told us that was their favorite, but I don't recall whether we ever went ourselves. The website calls it "The world's greatest museum of art and design" and shows some interesting modernesque-looking exhibits. 

I finally met some people who are also staying at the hostel where I've been living. We went out to the pubs one night this week. They are leaving London soon to head to the beaches in Greece. They want me to come with them, but I'm not sure what I'm going to do.  I feel aimless still, but I have some ideas for where I might want to go.  I feel like traveling by myself is what I need right now, not partying with a bunch of strangers I'll never see again.

More later or tomorrow or whenever.

Homesick

Oh, what have I done?  I talked to my dear, dear husband earlier. My children wouldn't talk to me, they were still angry with me for leaving and especially so abruptly. But my husband, bless him, he is just the sweetest and most generous man I've ever known. Somehow, even though I hardly ever talk about what has happened, he seems to sense that I need this time to get away. We've decided that I must need this time to find something, a personal search for something I'm missing. I really have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing here.
Tonight I went to see the show in West End London. It was interesting, but it wasn't really what I was looking for. I think part of me thinks I need to do something completely different with my life, something wholly unrelated to practicing medicine, this time around. And during the intermission, I spent 5 or 10 minutes wondering what it would be like to return to my theatre days in college. Yes, I still spell theatre with an RE, just the way we did in those days. I sat there, in the audience, thinking about third electric, which I never did manage to brave myself, where I knew the backstage crew was adjusting the lights for the second half. I tried to imagine myself, as a theatre hand, or perhaps doing publicity. But I know as well as you do that the way in to those jobs is to sell tickets and that I could even audition, but lord knows I'm too old to play any of the good parts. I don't know any surgeons good enough to do what they'd need to do to my face for that. Then my conversation with my husband sealed the deal. He reminded me that I shouldn't forget about my god-damn medical school loans. At the rate I've been paying, they'll be paid off when I'm sixty. If I worked as a theatre hand, I don't think I'd ever get through to the end of them. So I guess my options for work must include something in the genre of medicine, whatever the hell that means. I chose to go to medical school for Christ's sake. It's got to be worth all the blood, sweat, and definitely tears I put into it. I didn't eat when I could, sleep when I could, and sit when I could for nothing. That's gotta be worth some money.
Maybe I'm ready to talk about what happened. Many of you probably know something about how I got burned out from practicing in academic medicine. Too many sick patients, too little time to spend with the ones who needed it most. At the same time, I was teaching students who were more and more disenchanted each year that passed. I had hoped to pursue federal research dollars but wasn't headed in what I felt was the right direction. So I left that venue to pursue work in a non-profit agency. But there, I worked for a woman who let all her federal money go to her head, or rather, up her nose. When the feds showed up, I cooperated and was able to get away without a scratch. I had been on the road to publishing an important paper, after I had worked long years earning ever-larger federal grants to fund the work. But my ties to the now-scorned agency left me with little choice. Luckily I had clinical experience to fall back on, and I joined an established practice with an older physician who was nearly ready to retire and promised I might buy out his practice shortly. Unfortunately, he had made much of his money prescribing pain medicines without practicing sound medicine, and once again, the feds showed up within months of my joining him in practice. I found myself as a witness in the proceedings again, and now I'm left utterly empty of interest in starting over.
Exhausted from all that, I left town and came here. So now you know my back story.
Tonight I was ravenous after the show and found some traditional English pub food - prime rib, mashers, and Yorkshire pudding just like my mother in law makes. Ironically, my family spent the afternoon with her and she made the exact same meal! After dinner, I slept a bit, but now I'm wide awake. I have absolutely no idea what time it is here or at home. Thanks, jet lag. At least this place I'm staying doesn't have any curfew or limits on our sleep time. As long as I've paid for the day, I can sleep when I want. It can be noisy, but now there's no one else here. The other girl who was here earlier apparently found someplace better to go.
After we got off the phone, my husband texted these photos of pictures my children drew. I just love the little birds in the tree and the tiny people hanging out the windows on the airplane. Thank god I have my I phone with me. They said the pictures were for mommy, so I guess they won't stay mad for long.
More later or whenever.

Arrivals

Arrived in London about 10:30 this morning local time just as planned. The flight itself was mostly uneventful. I sat next to a 20-something jetting to London for work at one of the pharmaceutical companies. That's something I thought I might see myself doing, but he was working on his cell and his laptop the entire time. When I first boarded the plane, he was on his phone doing what sounded like a conference call, and he kept using unfamiliar corporate speak I can't even quote here because half of it was jargon and the other half was unrepeatable. I never knew salespeople cursed so much. After he got off the phone, he proceeded to down 3 dirty martinis, 6 olives, and then passed out. He all but drooled on my arm. Luckily he had the window and I could still get out of my seat. I don't think I could survive that corporate world.
This morning when we touched down, I quickly realized London may not be the place for me either. It's a balmy 44 degrees now, but a light rain is falling, and the sky is gray. I forgot how gray and cloudy this place was. I picked up an umbrella and some cute water proof boots in the airport. At least it's warmer here than it was when I left home, and there's no snow.
In case you're wondering, I've got my credit card with me. At this point, I've got a good credit limit, but no income to speak of to pay off the bills. I'll have to find some kind of work, enough to keep the minimum balance paid anyway. The bills will be sent home, but I told my husband I'd take care of it online. I have the one we were never using, the one that gives us airline miles ironically. Luckily I have no real debts to pay off back home, financial ones anyway. I left my husband and kids in my wake, but that's an emotional debt I'm not ready to talk about yet.
So where am I now? I'm at a youth hostel in the center of London typing this. After I landed at Heathrow, I took the underground to Piccadilly Circus right in the center of town. I could spend a lot of time here if money was no object, going to the theatre, eating at all the Indian takeaways and noodle shops. I was starving after I landed, and I found one of those right away.
I could work at one of the local hospitals, I suppose. I wonder what it would take to transfer my medical license and all over here. But I'm sure the patients here would be no different from the ones I left behind.
And I think I'd rather land someplace warm. This was a good starting point when I was trying to leave Philly in a hurry in a snowstorm. Luckily I had a late flight, and it was delayed, but it still took off once the snow stopped and they cleared a few inches off the runways.
For now, I've found a cheap hostel to sleep at.  It's here in the center of town, close to the underground.  I couldn't check in and leave my stuff in the locker until 3:00. I negotiated for a cheaper rate, $15 a night since I'll stay a few days. Give myself time to do some better planning, figure out what I'm doing, where I'm going to go. Some place warmer for sure, some place where I can find some decent work.
This place has bunks, 8 to a room, with a common bath, but it has free internet access and a cafeteria that seems to serve some decent fare. I was hoping to meet some interesting people, but so far, there's just one other girl, and she hasn't said 2 words to me yet. I guess not many travelers come to London in February.
Off now. I'm going to splurge to see a show. I need to take the tube to Covent Garden to catch a show called The Play that Goes Wrong. It's about a theatre group who tries to put on a 1920's murder mystery. Sounds a lot like Dial M for Murder, a show we did when I was in college. Something I can get lost in for a couple hours. More later or tomorrow or whenever.

Departures

Made it to the airport just in time for my 10:05 flight to London. Flying direct. Leaving it all behind. Can't believe I'm really doing this. I don't know what this is actually, but I bought a ticket to London. I did set a return date of June 1, but the travel agent said I could extend it. I didn't want to be so bold as to buy an open jaw ticket, even though he said that was an option. I paid for the return flight. Cause I'm coming home at some point, but just not any time soon.
Fed up - I can't even talk about it now. I don't want to think about it. This miserable weather almost stopped me. There's 3 inches of snow on the ground already.  But I walked to the train station and went to the airport.  I didn't even have to change trains at 30th Street.
I don't think anyone believed I'd really do it.  But here I am, sitting in Departures, in terminal A of the airport. Waiting for my flight to depart.
I didn't pack much. Couple pairs of jeans, walking shoes. I packed it all in my rolling suitcase. I decided not to take the big backpack I took last time I traveled in Europe. It was too hard to get around in public transportation on the buses and trains. I don't need much this time. Or if I do, I'll buy it when I get there.
I'm not sure where I'm headed or where I'll stay when I get there. But for now, I'm at the airport, waiting for them to call my plane for boarding. Looks like we'll be able to take off despite this miserable weather. Flight's delayed, but we're scheduled to take off at 10:59. Should arrive in London 10:23 am local time tomorrow morning if all goes well.
I'm going to grab a bottle of water and some fruit before we take off here. Maybe grab some magazines or a new book. I'm not used to traveling by myself. Got a 7 hour flight in front of me, and no plans at all. I guess there will be wifi onboard and I'll be able to figure out my next steps from here.
Haven't thought at all about what I'm going to do or where I'll stay when I get to London. Last time I was there, we stayed with a woman in a homestay. I spent a month in London living in the Sydenham section of the city and volunteered at St. Christopher's Hospice when I was in medical school. Don't remember exactly where it is, but I guess I'd recognize it when I get there. Google says take the train to Penge East. We stayed with a woman who had an arrangement with the hospice. Maybe I could even get a job when I get there. But I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just heading somewhere for now.
OK off to get the water, fruit, and magazines. I think I need a pack of gum to chew during take off and landing. Go to the ladies' room. Maybe buy a novel to read.
I'll write more once I get there and I'm settled. Safe travels.