Hello everyone, Viv again, recovering from a six-hour layover at JFK and re-booked to something called the BA "red-eye" flight.
Once seated, and stretching my legs, two very large people took seats directly in the aisle ahead of me. The husband came back from the loo and jumped over his wife to gain access to his mid-row seat.
Low and behold, the entire seat assembly came crashing down on my already-injured left foot. I was immediately evacuated to the nearest medical facility. Thank goodness it was before take-off or we would have been screaming in agony all the way, competing with the crying toddlers (AARP booked me "coach").
Since I'm in possession of a FAX message from US State Dept. with Hillary's signature advising me to leave the United States as quickly as possible I showed it to TSA and was immediately directed to DHS. I booked another flight at no cost. It was a US military aircraft, very noisy and not very comfortable, but was so looking forward to returning to London and quite relieved. The soldiers had a much better stock of whiskey and mixers than did BA and open bar was all the rage. They also had something more powerful for pain. The first time without that terrible throbbing in my foot for several days.
I must say it was the best party I've attended since my ill-fated trip to NYC. A more than adequate sound system. Service members were dancing in the aisle! One young man tried to pick me up to "rock-out" but my "peek-a-boo" toes exposed by the hideous leg cast were of a greenish complexion and he had reservations, to say the least.
Then next morning after a satisfying night's sleep and perhaps the first in many days, I awoke. But we were not at Heathrow. We were not anywhere near London. We were in Central Asia, in a place called Bagram, staffed by the same wonderful US Army and Marines who were so diligent in their attendance to me the previous evening.
Viv was hauled-off on another gurney to yet another medical clinic. "You know you are going to lose your toes, is that correct?"
"Can they grow back with stem cell treatments" I asked?
"It's your choice, Ms. Vyvanse. Toes, or the entire foot. I have to operate immediately."
Well, guess what. I'm someplace in Afghanistan, a place where we tried 30 years ago to market rubber & safety-pin burkas until we met armed resistance from the Taliban. And all the toes on my left foot have vanished. Well, I haven't had time to examine my foot yet but I'll leave it to your imagination. Perhaps the "pinky" survived the cull. But I'm grateful I'm in the Bagram clinic instead of Roosevelt Hospital in NYC. They aren't so stingy with the pain meds.
Kiss Kiss, Hug Hug & Dilaudid forever!
Vivienne
