London/Sickville, 07-12 December 2009

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Arriving in London was a strange experience - I think watching us fly in helped me to realise just how much I really do like London, which made me think about the mixed feelings I have about leaving again so soon. Walking back into our old house (where we stayed while back in London) was like coming home... the strange part was that it isn't our home any more.

It was so great to see our house mates again, though unfortunately we didn't get a chance to spend very much time with them in the five days we were back, as it coincided with another visit to Sickville - this time Hero - which resulted in five days of semi conscious quarantine...

It seems that while I was on my way out of Sickville Hero was on her way in, and the poor thing descended pretty quickly into horrors of the same variety that I have preciously described myself experiencing. She held out long enough for us to attend a Pink concert at the O2 with my fab friend Carol, but that was the turning point, and she just made it home before sharing her earlier meal with our fellow tube passengers. And so it was that neither of us left the house for a full five days, with the exception of my few visits to the medical centre to drop off some carefully collected 'samples' (I pride myself on the newly acquired skill) and to collect prescriptions.

Our lovely Housies were fab as ever, not complaining at all about being kicked out of their lounge-turned-quarantine room. While I spent pretty much all of my time in the sick room returning the favour of nurse to poor Hero (and generally just wishing it was me who was sick all over again, rather than her having to go through it) I really enjoyed my little forays into the house for little chats with them, and to the kitchen to build on my own gradual and careful return to solids. Poor Hero only treaded the path between lounge room and bathroom, needing assistance up the stairs (a potty as the next option), and I carefully covered her tracks, creating a trail of antiseptic in fear of infecting others.

With the day of our flight approaching, and Hero finally showing gradual signs of recovery, I anxiously kept watch on the rising price of airfares, umming and ahhing about changing flights. Thankfully we could make changes up to two hours prior to travel, so I left it to the last minute to make a final decision. In the end we stuck with the original plan - Hero was on the mend, and although my better judgment told me to ignore her and stay in London, in the end I decided that I would much rather sit a quiet Hero in an apartment in Rome while I ate gelato with our friends, who were already there, than sit in our sickroom in London listening to Hero whinge about wanting to be in Rome. I'm telling you, sitting in a room 24/7 with a sick cranky confined Hero could wear down the resolve of anyone! She was especially adamant that we keep our original flights so that we could wake up in Rome on my birthday.

So while negotiating Hero's imperious demands and various bedside orders (unfortunately the Phenergan didn't knock her out quite so much as I had hoped) I managed to finish packing up the remainder of our London life, get our shipping collected, completely repack both our packs ready for the next six months of travel, and attend to Hero's medical needs (mostly dispensing meds, coercing fluid intake, and emptying the vomit bucket). Nevermind the 15 things on the to-do list that I didn't even touch (not exactly the model of efficiency...) :-( And suddenly, it was time to leave - our transfer was made as smooth as possible with the use of taxis and shuttles at both ends, and with a few intervening hours Hero (poor sick thing) had been transferred from one bed to another... success (and peace... and Rome... at last!) :-)

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