I have spent all this week not only in packing / moving hell but also worrying about the trip to France.
I took the bevy to the mall with me over the weekend to buy them each a new book each for the plane. Clem not only managed to Houdini herself out of her stroller in 30 seconds flat, but then proceeded to sprint away from me so that she could scale the bookcases with impunity.
The idea of being trapped with her on a 9 and a half hour plane flight is just not very edifying.
The only way I survived the last trans-atlantic marathon a year ago when we moved back to Canada (she was a very obstreperous 18 months then) was by saying to myself “she’s going to be older next time, it will never be this hard again…”.
Now I’m not so sure. The last year hasn’t curtailed her explosive energy. Rather, it has honed it and made her faster, stronger, and more wily. She is like a very loud spider monkey.
Also, my tachycardia incident on Halloween – even though I haven’t experienced it since – does make me wonder, what happens if my heart starts doing that somewhere over the North Pole?
I went to my doctor to see if there were any medications I could take with me, and she said the only one would be the oral form of the gruesome (albeit effective) stuff they gave my via IV in the ER, although it could cause my blood pressure to plummet and for me to feel basically like I was going to die for several hours. And despite all of that, she wasn’t even sure it would work on the tachycardia.
“I think the main thing is to avoid stress on the trip,” she concluded.
I laughed…bitterly. “I’m travelling with Clem. You do remember Clem, don’t you?”
My lovely doctor looked troubled indeed at the memory of Clem’s last few doctor’s visits, where in the few minutes we were left to wait in the examining room Clem ripped off the entire roll of paper stuff they put on the examining table, dumped the toy basket all over the floor and screamed so loudly and violently that the patients in the adjacent rooms (and the waiting room) all needed therapy for post-traumatic stress syndrome.
She scribbled on her prescription pad. “Here’s a prescription for Valium.”