When I plan a vacation, it’s not really a vacation.  I’m not going anywhere.  I’d love to take my family somewhere awesome, but unfortunately money is just too tight.  Instead, I take time off and plan on doing absolutely nothing.  By nothing I mean, I’m not going anywhere (mostly) and I don’t plan anything special.  I’m going to sit at home (mostly) and relax, read, and blog.  Maybe it’s not a trip to Disney, but for me it still sounds Heavenly.  Basically, this should have been me!  (In my mother’s backyard, because I don’t own a hammock.)

This year my vacation was even more special, because I decided I needed a full two weeks in order to truly de-stress and ground myself.  With my husband’s ongoing foot issues finally feeling like they were on the mend, I thought maybe I could risk using all that vacation time at once.  I should have known my vacation curse would rear it’s ugly head and wreck everything, for both me and my husband.

I’m sure others are familiar with the vacation curse too, but basically it’s when you plan the perfect Staycation only to have everything blow up on you just after it starts.  It happens to me every year, so I’m not sure why I thought this one would be any different.  Maybe because I planned for something longer, to counteract the errands I’d end up running.  I don’t know.  What I do know is no matter how I intend my vacation to go, it never complies.

For this vacation I ended work on a Friday.  The following Saturday night I took Mr Birdie to get an MRI on his foot.  I also spent all day Saturday, Sunday, and Monday decluttering and rearranging my house.  I wanted to get it done so I could relax for the rest of my vacation, believing I was being productive now so I could be lazy later.  Unfortunately Monday night we received the MRI results, only to discover my husband has bone infection in three toes, plus two ulcers, a dislocation and a fracture.  We have no idea how he broke his big toe.  Perhaps his bones are compromised, and it made them easier to break?  Anyway, we were devastated of course, and that week was full of doctors appointments with his medical team to attack the infection head on.  We met with his podiatrist Tuesday, infectious disease doctor Wednesday, the clinic for a PICC line and over to get his first infusion Thursday, and then awaiting the home nurse to arrive and teach us how to run IV antibiotics at home on Friday.  Everything was chaos; brokenhearted chaos.  My curse instantaneously caused my husbands foot problems.  I’m full of guilt and frustration!

My punishment was, my whole first week of potential reading time was nearly zilch, and by Friday I’d come to the conclusion that I was wrong, I couldn’t afford to take two weeks off for vacation and piss away those precious PTO hours.  I needed to save as many hours as I could for more probable doctors appointments.  I was needed at home Monday, to meet with the nurse and get another lesson on how to run a new IV line.  I was also needed Thursday for another trip to the podiatrist, and my own follow up dental appointment.  So, on Tues, Wed, and Friday I went back to work.

What’s the lesson here?  Well, for starters, recognize you’re planning a vacation just in time to combat all the crap life is going to throw at you through the week.  If you don’t want that, don’t go on vacation.  They’re proven synonymous.  Also, youth is not a free pass to be an idiot.  Why do I say that?  Well, my husband and I are both fully aware we are in this predicament because we were too cavalier with health when he was young.  All those times your mom tells you, “You can’t eat like that forever.  It’ll catch up to you.” She’s right.  There’s the health you’ve only been granted because you’re young, and there’s the health you strive for and maintain.  Youth goes away, then your body answers for those choices if you weren’t actively living well.

The funny thing is, I’m okay today.  I wasn’t over the last couple weeks.  I was worried and nervous, needing that rest more than ever, but now I can see my husband feeling better with every infusion.  He’s miserable that this is how he’s spending his summer, but better one summer if it means he’ll finally heal.  Plus, he’s at home and I like when my family is at home.  I’m a paranoid introvert, and when they’re home I know they’re safe. Safe family means happy Wendy.  Also, I’d been wishy-washy over taking so much time off anyway.  Maybe my curse is actually a blessing, warning me.  Perhaps it was fate telling me I was making a mistake.

I have to believe, after just 4 more weeks of antibiotics, everything will be all better.  There’s always next summer.  And the summer after that.  And, if need be, the summer after that.