I went to the doctor last week, the one that the surgeon’s office sent me to*. I brought up the move
basically to get my Ativan for the flights now and he got so excited about it. As in, we’re stopping the appt. so that you can tell me more excited. When he finally left to send the medical assistant in to do my blood work, I heard him tell her in the hall.
“She’s moving to Australia!”
When she came in, she had this look of awe on her face and asked, “So how do you…do that?? How do you go and meet people and find things to do and like…just how do you do it?”
It felt kinda cool, being that person. Being the expat. The nomad. Explaining that you do it by doing it. That when you give a little, you get back so much. (Meus queridos brasileiros, sempre em meu coração.) That you have to know how to be alone because it’s not all glamorous and easy and sometimes you get really lonely and homesick and frustrated.
“Send us a postcard, please!!!”
I will, I told her. I will.
I bought my ticket today, which is fitting since this morning I had my first airport stress dream in which I left a ridiculous amount of things at home.
The countdown now officially begins.
9 weeks and 4 days…then LA-Auckland (13 hours), hang out there for a bit, then Auckland-Melbourne (4 hours).
Holy shit, this is happening.
*The first time I saw that doctor was at the physical I had to do pre-op. After listening to me breathe, he said that the next time I came in he wanted me to do a breathing test. After listening to me last week, he said he thinks that my asthma is gone.
I won’t really know ’til my 6 weeks is up and I can work out again, but amazing what taking a 4 lb. weight off of your chest will do!