Months and months ago SW proposed. “Kim, when I get my next sabbatical what do you say we drive across the country and back?”
Like most girls, when a person pops the question, I got all flustered! Clusters of butterflies dancing in my tummy. Uh, of course! Yes! Yes! Yes! How long? Where should we go? Can we go to Santa Fe? I want to see Niagara Falls! The Black Hills… YOU gotta go to San Francisco! Let’s do it! Oh…I love you.
Then the Kim Crumble.
An era of one health issue after another, much like the Roman empire I was in ruins. The evil seed of doubt, planted in my brain. Will I be alive to make this trek? This invasive specimen, grew. Psycho-killer-slow-and-steady undetectable, but you know, you know, it is lurking, hovering in the shadows. Ready to pounce. My dinged-up armor, a composite of thousands-of-dollars-worth of MRI’s & CT’s and brilliant specialists watching me like a hawk, provided me with mediocre protection at best.
I needed recovery time. (Refer previous post)
Simultaneously…I wish I was making this sh!t up.
The Campbell Driveway was missing a major component. Our brand new Dodge Ram Promaster, AKA: Vanish (No joke, it is her name!) was gone! Vanish, our to-be home on wheels scheduled for some major reconstructive and cosmetic surgery was already putting a kink in the schedule. She had a roof leak. Not just any leak, but a leak that took 4 different trips to the dealership to repair, totaling over 8 weeks. Ugh, times two.
Morale at home was at an all time low. Me feeling like a pile of rubble, too exhausted to drop the “are you seriously effing with me Dick Hanna Dodge?! I have cancer! Fix my blankity-blank-BLANK van!” Equally frustrated SW maintaining his optimistic & stoic stance in public yet routinely popping antacids behind closed doors. Both of us avoiding the topic knowing a full system failure might ensue.
Dreaming. Wanting. Fantasizing. Wishing. None of this was happening. Glimmers of hope in my eyes were gone. …But not for long!
“I still don’t want to perform surgery, Kim.” All time favorite phrase from my neurosurgeon. Whew! I prefer to suffer the effects of Dexamethasone over a craniotomy too.
“Vanish will be ready for pick up tomorrow,” SW relayed to me, “I hope the damn-van is actually repaired!” Home testing the leak was easy. Inspired by my team of brainiac doctors we applied their highly refined evaluation method… watch and wait, followed up with more watching and waiting. Turns out, this is not so scientific and exact. Standing in the van, eyes shifting from roof to floor, evaluating if water was present during a typical PDX rain event. Eventually, I got cold. Called it good-n-sealed. “She’s stable! I’m out.” An abbreviated chuckle escaped. Please tell me the docs are much more sophisticated. Pretty please?
A few more course corrections later and moods evolved for the better. The ‘Fog of Meh’ lifted. Holy moly, we need to get this show on the road!
Now the fun! Cramming in months worth of construction into half the time. Mapping out our 6-week adventure Across the Great Forty-Eight. Scheduling doctor appointments galore. Trying to find driveways to park in (showers to use?). How done do we need to be before our May departure date?
Please add your 45-cents. Where would you go on a drive across the US?