Oh friends, there is so much to catch you up on! I have been absent for an inexcusable amount of time. But, with my new specks…
I can finally write on the computer without getting a headache. It only took the right eye doctor to diagnose something that I’ve had all my life, and the right glasses to fix it. But glasses are only the tip of the metaphorical iceberg of my medical issues. I’ve had my head cracked open, tooled around with, and sewed shut (it was all peaches and cream, I assure you). And I’ve also had a needle inserted from the back of my jaw to the front of my cheek, while awake. Not fully sedated. And then a searing hot needle in the same spot (peaches and cream).
But I’ve learned a lot from these experiences. And here’s an important tip from me to you: when someone is about to pull surgical staples out of your head and they say, “This is going to feel like a little pinch,” they are LYING. It is going to feel like they are PULLING F***ING STAPLES OUT OF YOUR HEAD.
But I digress. After my surgery in January there were lots of tears for the inability to take care of my girls, lots of anger because the surgery didn’t work. Well, it worked a tiny bit. As I told the surgeon a few weeks after, it took my sound sensitivity down from an 8 to a 6. It’s something. I can be in restaurants a tiny bit longer without hiding in the bathroom. I can put soft music on in the car for the girls. But it was not the miracle cure we were all hoping for. There are still days when I want to pull a Van Gogh. But then I realize that I would then be the girl with no ear, and probably committed to a mental institution, and still have this damn sound sensitivity and unbearable pain.
Two months after the surgery I was recovered and settling back into life. I had accepted that this was how it was going to be; this was how I was going to be. I had accepted it, but I didn’t like it. I was tired of the same routine and the same 4 walls. I was bored. I looked into the future and couldn’t see anything other than the same day-to-day blah. During my daily meditation I would ask the universe (you might call it God, I call it something different) for something big. Something happy. A change.
The universe answered. Shouted, practically. But I didn’t really know it at the time.
One day as I was resting in my bed, watching Call the Midwife on my iPad for the umpteenth time (amazing show), Dave messaged me: “Want to move to London?”
I nearly choked on my coffee. And if anyone can choke on coffee, it would be me.
His company was looking for 10 Americans to help lead teams in the expanding London office. So this wasn’t just a joke: he was serious. Should he apply or not? We discussed it at length. Would my medical needs be met the UK? What would we do with the house? The car? How would we function with no family support? Where would the kids go to school? How would they react to the move?
Dave grew up a military brat, moving from place to place all over the world. A move like this didn’t faze him. In fact, it feels odd to him being in our house for so long (6 years). But me? I’ve lived in Seattle my whole life. And when I’ve moved away for short periods, I’ve gotten homesick…to say the least. Just the thought of leaving my family gives me butterflies and makes me feel like I want to throw up but not throw up but oh, man I might…and I need a ginger ale.
So I sat on it. And thought everything through. And then I realized something: in college I was accepted to a writing program in London the summer after my junior year. That June, my mother was diagnosed with stage four uterine cancer. I stayed home to take care of her. It was the most difficult and saddest time of my life, up until now. That was 10 years ago.
She survived, and thrived, and I would never take back a moment spent with her while she was fighting for her life. I never got to see London, and I don’t regret it. But right at the moment when I was reflecting on the ten-year anniversary of the year we nearly lost my mom, I was also thinking about the magic of London (clearly; I was watching Call the Midwife for the 7th time!) and what might have happened had she not gotten sick; had I gone to London to write. And just then, the universe offered up the city to me, clear as day. Looking back, I don’t know how I didn’t recognize it right at that moment; this gift landing in my lap. This opportunity I needed and still need so very much. A clean slate.
The last 2 years have been the hardest and unhappiest of my life, equal to that of holding my mom’s hand in that awful hospital room for weeks on end. London would be a new beginning. An adventure. And I had to take a leap of faith that this could be my chance to be happy once again. For so many reasons, I knew that this was a gift being given to me. I had to honor it and embrace it and, above all, enjoy it!
Dave applied and was accepted, of course, because he’s a rock star. We leave at the end of July for two years across the pond. I am frightened and excited, sad and thrilled. Now that most of the logistical details are taken care of, I’m focusing on keeping myself healthy—physically and mentally. My shrink and I are becoming fast friends.
Someone said to me, “I guess the name of your blog will still work over there: Rainy Day Gal.” They were right. London weather is about the same. The only thing that’s changed is me. The way I look at the world is very different after I’ve been chewed up and spit out these last 2 years. I’ve grown up. I know myself better. I’m more centered, more grounded. But I’m sadly not that funny, lighthearted Jenny that used to fuddle about in the kitchen making Bacon Cinnamon Rolls and Cuban Pork. I want to get back to her. I want to find life funny again. Maybe everything is funnier in Britain. At least the people watching will be better.
What I’ll be writing from here on out will be more about our adventures in moving, house hunting, testing London cuisine, shopping for groceries the way Londoners do. I’ll get lost on the tube, get soaked to the bone with rain and meet some hilarious woman at a coffee shop and become fast friends. Because London is a rom-com, right? I want to live in a rom-com right now. That sounds nice.
I know you all want lots of photos of everything Britain, and I can absolutely promise you that, along with our travels around Europe (France, Denmark, Spain, Croatia, Ireland, Scotland…our list is never-ending). I’ll attempt to keep you updated (most) every step of the way. And when we get settled in our new kitchen, I’ve taken a vow to start cooking again. I will, I will, I will!
Thank you, dear readers and friends, for always being here, even when I’m not. You mean more to me than I can express with words. Until next time,