I really must thank all of you who didn't wish me a safe trip back to New York, since today, after yesterday's glories, was one of complete humiliation. Let me present it in detail:
1. I awoke at 6:15, packed and ready to go.
2. Without telling the guests, the dining room moved from its location every day for the past ten days to the Card Room. I didn't know where it was so I limped back to my room and took my pain meds.
3. Within ten minutes, I was feeling very nauseous as I dragged my luggage and cane to the lobby.
There, one of the staff informed me where the nee breakfast room was, and I hurried there for some food, which I hoped would stop the nausea.
4. When Rob Berman found me there, I was sweating profusely and fighting the urge to vomit.
5. Rpb and Patrick had loaded my luggage into the car, and we headed for the airport. I was holding my sport coat.
6. Literally five minutes from the airport, I threw up onto my sport coat and all over my shirt.
7. As soon as we got out of the car I threw my shirt and coat into a garbage can, along with my daily meds that were in my shirt pocket, and checked in wearing a soaked smelly t-shirt.
8. While we waited for the wheelchair, I dug in my luggage and found a clean t-shirt, which I changed there, revealing to anyone in sight my avoirdupois. By that point, i had no shame left.
Once the wheelchair arrived, things got better. The three of us were waltzed through security and customs, and Rob and Patrick were absolute saints taking care of me. A wheelchair was waiting for me at JFK, and I got through that mess quickly, said goodbye to Rb and
Patrick at the luggage claim, and I am home.
And I hurt, and I can hardly walk. I am not happy.