YOU NEVER KNOW

Another one of Bali's power outages. Ours usually comes on Mondays around 6:30 or 7:00 PM and lasts 2-3 hours. It’s Monday now and Phil and I sit in the dark, musing. It’s good to be home. Then Phil says, sighing, "I have to start scheduling my doctors in Bangkok."

The thought of returning to Bangkok makes me want to puke. Instead of getting a clean bill of health, as Phil had expected, he learned that he needed stents in his left artery. And his right didn't look so good either. He's been doing everything right (except exercising), so that was not good news. We extended our stay so he could get his stents in. "Wait another month," his doctors advised, "then come back so we can check the other artery."

You know how fast a month goes by? We've hardly come home and already we have to make plans to leave again. I suddenly feel very old and tired. The thought of the taxi rides in Bangkok with drivers who are out to take you for all you've got, the polluted air that constricts throats and irritates eyes, the waiting in doctors' offices, the food in the hospital’s food court loaded with who knows what (MSG anyone or am I just being paranoid?), not being able to understand or speak Thai, not being able to read signs, not sleeping in my own bed in my own home, having a suitcase full of dirty clothes, my landing in the emergency room...

The night we had to leave for the airport for our flight back home, I came down with fever, chills, nausea, and sky-high blood pressure. Imagine, it’s not Phil now who is the patient, it’s me! How ironic, how pitiful! I must have had a nervous breakdown. Or an anxiety attack. Whatever it was, I’ve been working up to it for a while. After two nights in the hospital we try to catch another plane back. I just want to go home. Taxi ride at 3:30 a.m. (yes, that's a.m.!), no sleep, no breakfast, stand in line at the check-in counter, learn that before we can check in, we've got to pay the penalty for changing our tickets at the sales counter. Okay, stand in line at the sales counter, long line, I’m at the end, boarding time approaching, I just want to go home, slow line, pace around, pace around, have to pee, finally, finally my turn, offer Mastercard to pay with, Mastercard refused (what?!), American Express card not accepted, only cash, US Dollars or Thai Baht, look in purse, no dollars for sure, already exchanged them all for Baht, not enough Baht left, boarding time approaching, I just want to go home, need 4000 Baht, only have 2000, quick, run to money exchange center, offer Rupiah for exchange, Rupiah not accepted, boarding time approaching, I have to pee, I want to go home, but don't have the money. I don't have the money. And then it happens. I can’t help it. I burst into tears, cry my heart out right there in front of everybody. I just want to go home and I don't have enough money. I run to the check-in counter where Phil is waiting, nothing he can do, we cannot go home, we cannot go home, heart beating crazy, tears streaming out of control, nothing left to do but turn to the crowd waiting in line and cry, “Somebody please help me. I need 2000 Baht.”

A tall man standing next in line reaches for his wallet and hands me two 1000 Baht bills. Phil writes down his name and address and I run off to the sales counter, tears streaming still but now from relief. Hands trembling, I cannot count the other Baht in my wallet and end up just dumping the whole damn wallet on the counter, letting the clerk figure out what’s what, and then praying that I did not miscount and need more Baht after all. I don’t. Thank God. I have enough. I’m going home.

But wait. We must go through Passport Control first. Long lines, many long lines. Still need to pee. Boarding time. Maybe we’ll be too late. I haven’t eaten. My mouth is dry. Feeling faint, I slide down to the floor. Somebody says, “Why don’t you go to the front of the line and ask to be helped first? I bet people will let you in.” We go to the front and the people are indeed so kind. Thank you, thank you, thank you all! In no time we’re off to our gate and, OMG, just in time for our plane.

When we finally land in Denpasar after four hours, it’s very hot outside. Our driver Suamba welcomes us with an ice cold drink and cool towels. Another hour and we’re home where Dayu has prepared us a delicious welcome home lunch of deep green vegetables and freshly-cooked aromatic brown rice. Pure heaven… I cried seeing sweet pregnant Dayu again. I just adore her.

I thought I needed sleep, but our dear, dear friends Rickie and Henry had arrived from Amsterdam the week before and I’m dying to see them. Last time was at least three years ago when we stayed at their spacious, art-filled canal home. I ask them to please come over and we have the most fabulous reunion. It’s like no time has passed at all and we can’t get enough of each other. All tiredness is forgotten. Instead we’re completely energized with the excitement and joy of being together again. What a homecoming!

It’s been a hectic week since, trying to catch up with 3 weeks of backlog. And the rolling blackouts are back again. We’re sitting in the dark and Phil is thinking about what he needs to do before going back to Bangkok for another procedure.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to go back to Bangkok.

I remember Eugene saying, “Next time you come, spend a week with us first and have fun exploring Bangkok. Then after your procedure, Phil, check into one of Bumrungrad Hospital apartments. You’ll be close to the emergency room there.”

“Why do you say that?” Phil wants to know.

“The procedure is generally safe, but remember, you’re 75.” Eugene is completely matter-of-fact, “Anything can happen. You should have medical help readily available in case you need it.”

Before we came to Bali, when the question of medical care came up, we shrugged it off, saying, “Oh, we’ll go to Singapore or Bangkok. Everybody does that. You can get Medivac insurance.” Now, after an earlier hair-raising ambulance ride to an emergency room in Denpasar, I’m not sure that that’s the way to go. In fact, I KNOW I don’t ever want to subject myself (and Phil) to something like that ever.

Where else can we have medical help readily available for him?

I look across the table to Phil who is obviously still tired from our trip, even though a week has already passed. Me too, I’m still tired too.

“Phil,” I say quietly, “How would you feel about going back to Hawaii?”

Phil looks up and I watch a smile spread over his face. “I never thought about that,” he says. Then slowly, “That would be really nice.”

“You can go back to see all the doctors you know so well. And they know you.” I count off all the advantages, “If you need an ambulance, people will stop to let it pass. And the ambulance comes with an EMT team, trained in saving lives.”

“And they speak English!” Phil laughs.

We spent the rest of the evening thinking and talking about moving back to Hawaii, about all the things we’ve learned from living in Bali, and how to transfer these learnings to start a new adventure in Honolulu. We got so excited, we forgot all about sleeping. In the end we decided that Phil will fly to Honolulu in a month or so, while I will stay on for a while longer to fill both the villa and our little house with good long-term renters.

All this proves again that you just never know.