Whenever something big and important is about to happen, I have a habit of playing it in my head over and over beforehand. Usually, what actually happens is nothing like I imagine.

Arriving in the USA on Tuesday was no exception.

By 4.15 AM we were all in the car heading towards Heathrow airport. I needed to be there by about 9 AM. It doesn�t take that long to get there, but Dad had a lot of work to do that day. So the idea was to drop me off, and then race back home before the rush hour so that he could get his work done.

We made excellent time. A few miles from Heathrow, Dad told me to get out my ticket and check the terminal number.

Vicky: Uh, it�s not on here
Dad: What? It has to be!
Vicky: Nope, it isn�t. Honestly.
Dad: Let me see that�

[long pause]

Dad: London Gatwick.
Vicky: What?
Dad: LONDON GATWICK!!! SHIT, VICKY!!!! YOU�VE SENT US TO THE WRONG AIRPORT!

Oops.

Gatwick is about 60 miles from Heathrow, on the other side of London. You access it via the busiest motorway in the UK, and by now the morning rush was beginning. I had plenty of time to mess around before my flight, but Dad didn�t. He was flipping out. I told him that he could drop me off at Heathrow and that I�d find my own way to Gatwick (how, I had no idea), but neither he nor Mum was happy about that idea. So we pressed on to Gatwick.

It was a slow, agonising journey, but eventually we got there. Mum, Dad and Rebs made sure I was in the right place and then made a hurried departure. I felt like a complete ass. I owe Dad big time.

I got myself checked in just fine, and got on the plane for my nine hour flight. I had a window seat next to a very pleasant middle-aged British couple. The plane took off� I read a little� I ate the lunch the airport provided� I watched a movie�

About halfway through the flight, I thought: �I don�t feel so good�. I mean, I have ME so I never exactly feel �good�� but I really didn�t feel good. My muscles were twitching, I was sweating, my belly was cramping, I felt feverish and nauseous. Thinking it was the effect of too little oxygen (I react badly to the lack of oxygen in planes) I reclined my seat and tried to ignore it.

Then the shitting started. Oh boy. Everything in my digestive system suddenly wanted out. It�s hard enough to get to the bathroom quickly enough in that situation when you have an en suite, let alone when you have to climb over two people, negotiate your way down an aisle and wait in a queue.

I got through the latter part of the flight by sheer willpower. The middle aged couple were very nice and looked after me. The man gave up his aisle seat so that I had easier access to the bathroom, and the woman gave me wet wipes for my face and some bottled water to sip. When the plane finally landed, I almost cried with relief.

Breathing oxygen again seemed to be enough to get me through airport security and baggage claim. I didn�t appreciate it when the snooty mare in customs sent me into a little room to be interrogated like a criminal. The whole thing took two hours, and sitting up was getting more and more difficult� I just wanted to meet Bonnie and go back to the apartment where I could LIE DOWN. (And go to the bathroom.)

Customs eventually let me through, and I got to meet Bonnie� which was of course wonderful. As soon as I see Bonnie, I always know what whatever happens I will be OK.

We got back to the apartment somehow. I don�t remember much of the two-hour drive from the airport to Chattanooga. I spent most of it collapsed across the bench seat because sitting up was too difficult. Finally crawled into bed at the apartment� and pretty much didn�t get out of it for about the next three days.

The relentless shitting started again, and got worse. After two days with no improvement I found myself at the doctor�s with an emergency appointment. I came home with a plastic pan to shit in, and some sample pots, so that some poor bugger can run tests on my shit and find out what the hell is wrong with me. It�s most likely either a stomach virus, or food poisoning.

I haven�t had the results back yet. I�m doing better though� obviously, or you wouldn�t be reading this. I�ve finally stopped shitting every minute of the day (touch wood), and am therefore no longer dehydrated as I was for a couple of days. I�m on the lovely BRAT diet (bananas, broth, rice, apple sauce, toast), which is what my system seems to be able to handle right now. I would kill for some proper tasty food.

Anyway� that�s where I�ve been the last few days. And now that our first crisis is (hopefully) getting to be over, we�re hoping that we can start to enjoy our visit. No shit.

Bonnie says�

We�re well aware of how confused Vicky�s body gets when overstressed, starved of oxygen, or both. I�ve seen one of her full blown migraine episodes last an hour and a half. This one was underway when she got through Customs, and the spasms kept on through the entire drive to Chattanooga. And she was hot. It isn�t unusual for her thermostat to go haywire when she�s feeling bad, but she radiated heat. Eventually, we realized she had a blazing fever Tuesday night, not just the usual confused thermostat. By the time we realized it, the fever was relenting. Nothing else�just the fever.

It began to rain the day Vicky arrived. Not too much that day, thank heaven, but it was only starting. Talk about appropriate weather�it settled into a Chattanooga rain, days upon days of it, but unseasonably cool. We kept a window open and did not need the air conditioner.

Wednesday morning, the hardwood floor refinishers called to say they were ready to start in my house. It became a bit of a circus. They needed 220V electricity for their big sanding machine, but none was available in the house. We had to hook them up via a long extension cord to the garage apartment, using the outlet normally occupied by the electric stove. This meant the apartment door had to stay open all day with the electric cord going through it. This also meant that Vicky spent all day listening to power sanding equipment and hoping none of the floor crew would need to use the bathroom in the apartment when she needed it.

Along with all the bathroom activity, more migraine episodes kept happening, and happening, and happening. We hoped this whole nightmare might start clearing up of its own accord, but only the fever got better. That�s why we went to a doctor�s office on Thursday.

She started to feel better Friday, although even tiny amounts of food from the BRAT diet made the cramping and misery start up again every time. We added a sports drink to her diet to replace some of the electrolytes she lost, and green tea because it can kill some types of bad microbes in the digestive tract. We also went to the end of the block so she could see where we are at last. We wandered to most of the shops at the corner, and spent a long time going up and down the aisles of the organic grocery store, which is full of wonderful things we hope she will be able to eat soon. That was too much of an outing, though. It triggered another migraine episode.

Today we sat on the front porch of the house for a while, and then wandered to the other end of the block. We�ve been inside for a few hours, writing and resting, since then. Next we�re going to be bold and try some chicken soup at Panera Bread. Wish us luck!