Monday, January 5, 2009
"'I'm very brave generally,' he went on in a low voice: 'only today I happen to have a headache.'"
With astonishing speed, Spouse and I have concocted a plan which will place us in India in little more than a week from now.
We will be travelling for nearly a month and in spite of the overwhelming number of tasks to accomplish before we set sail, I am looking forward with high spirits to the excursion.
I contemplate the delicious treats I will savour, the warm and welcome change in weather, the commotion of a family eager to acquaint themselves with me- and I would not change places with a single soul.
Except for tomorrow.
Tomorrow I shall require a body-double, a duplicate arm, a doppelganger of tenacious and strong disposition. I will need to be far away when a medical man aims to puncture my arm, my precious, pain-sensitive, intact limb, and pump all manner of vaccines into it.
I am not at all brave in the face of injections and would prefer, given the option, not to do battle with cruel and pointed instruments.
I insist on being the one who eventually boards the airplane and steps into a world of fruit markets and dusty streets and bookstalls and dizzying crowds, the whole of it humming with the promise of adventure, and to be the one who laps up the best of the explorations and discoveries.
But tomorrow, I must be elsewhere; and I am scrambling frantically to find a decoy with which to pacify the needle-wielding, insatiable doctor.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 4:34 PM