Salt Lake City, Utah, Monday afternoon, July 10: I sat in my doctor’s office. After waiting for more than an hour, he walked into the room. I could tell he was upset and I knew why. Do not worry. There was no devastating news. He merely wanted to chew me out. I let him. Then I paused.

Here is what happened: Thursday, July 6, I was ready to leave for the hospital — so was Dave.  It was 9AM. The hospital wanted me to arrive at 9:15AM.  Sinus Surgery would start at 11:30AM.  As he sat on the couch waiting, I reviewed the places and times with Dave, like I had done over the last few days.

“You will be done by noon, right? I need to be at work at noon.” He urged.

“Dave, the surgery starts at 11:30AM. I do not know how that is possible.”

As the words left my mouth, Dave started to freak out, so did I. Then memories of the week before flooded my mind.

[Flashback. Several days earlier:]

We were in Oxford, England. Dave, Kyle, Eli and I were sitting in our car ready to leave. Dave was in the driver’s seat. In a panic he started the engine and began to drive. As the car began moving, Kyle abruptly shouted,

“Dad, DAD! Stop the car!”Dave kept driving.

Kyle insisted, “No. really. Dad please stop the car.”Dave slowed down and did not stop.

“What? What do you want, Kyle?” Dave demanded.

As I held my bloodied and swollen hand I said,

“Dave. Please stop the car NOW!”

In the middle of the parking lot, Dave slammed on the breaks. Then I asked Kyle what he wanted to say. Kyle wisely uttered the following:

“Guys. Stop. Look around. Just pause. We need to pause. We need to catch our breath. We need to make sure we are not missing anything.  Think. Are we missing anything? Take a second and pause.” We did. After a moment, Kyle continued, “Not pausing is how we got here.”

He was right. I took a deep breath. We collected ourselves and then Dave drove us to the hospital.

It was Monday, June 26, and we were near the end of our three week UK adventure. The boys were completely over the trip, their parents and each other. Kyle and Eli wanted to be home. I knew they were on their last legs as I gently urged them out of the car. Eli put his shoes on slower than a snail’s pace. Honestly, it was painful. I was fried and didn’t know how much glass-half-full I could muster. As we locked the car, Kyle complained about how boring the day would be. I assured him it might be. Then we worked our way out of the tiny car park, through a long alley and unto the Oxford city streets. We stopped, looked at our online itinerary (I found a last minute walking tour online), and Dave led the way. Now the boys were both complaining and swatting at one another. I raised my eyebrows then offered up a bribe: Anyone who makes it through 60% of the day with a good attitude will get a prize:

“Dudes and I will pay you cash!” I paused then said, “Dave, you can play too!”

They boys did not care.  They continued telling me how much the other was annoying them, and when they were not complaining, they were fighting. When they were not fighting,  they were pouting.Dave did not notice. My bribe was lost on the three of them.  Guilt had no effect. No amount of telling them how grateful they should be for their super special and blessed lives  mattered. Each new landmark became a nuisance, and the museum Dave was excited to see was closed. [insert that hands pulling on the face emjoi here]. Do not worry. I became an active participant in our collective doom. But then I had a flash. Money is not working,  how about I bribe the boys with new books?  (Please know I have not bribed the boys since they were like three and in the throes of potty training). Nevertheless, I was desperate. So, with my book bribe uttered, Dave and I took the boys to Oxford’s famous Blackwell’s bookstore. Dave encouraged me to buy a book too. (He is also good at bribing.) I fell for it. I knew what I wanted, yet was not sure where to find it.

“Ask the lady for help.” Dave urged (several times).

I finally did.  

As the words left my mouth, immediately I recognized  the up and down look this young Oxford student was so clearly giving me: contempt. When I asked for books on memoir writing,  she directed me to the “self help” and “bestsellers.” Then she succinctly stated:

 “the academic books are down here. What you want is upstairs.”

That is when our day turned around (sort of).  Kyle witnessed the entire exchange as I said something like,

“You have judged me to be an incompetent, suburban mom, American tourist, haven’t you?”

She nodded.

“You are only partially correct.” I responded.

By his own admission Kyle was totally impressed  with me. From my observation, his elevated mood lasted for like thirty-five seconds. Then he asked if he could go outside to participate in a Pokemon RAID battle. “Whatever it takes to make them happy today” is what I thought.

Moments later we found ourselves standing next to Kyle and like several Oxford college students. One asked me if I would be fighting too.

“No.” I smiled and laughed.

The Pokemon RAID battle was complete. Eli had his new Douglas Adams anthology in hand,  and Kyle was carrying a new copy of a book we lost earlier in the trip.  To answer your question: Those books elevated the mood for maybe another two minutes. And yes, it was totally worth it.

We walked. I snapped photos.  I wanted to remember this place I have never seen before.  Eli was also hungry and so was I. And the bitching only escalated. Thank goodness for bright spots in snotty college towns. The folks at Noodle Nation, where we ate some great pan-asian cuisine, were a dream. I highly recommend this restaurant. The food is great and the customer service is warm and friendly.

Now fed, the boys could not implore us to leave Oxford fast enough. After buying them some last minute fruit pies (yes, more mood bribes), we found ourselves racing to the car. The parking meter was past due. Dave is 6’2”. Eli is over 6’ and Kyle is just about 6’. I am barely 5’4”. Like I often do, as we left the Oxford indoor Market, I snapped a few more photos. Snapping those photos only put me farther behind. Like Kyle often does, he waited and ran along side me.  I watched as Dave and Eli ran across a street. In full sprint, Kyle and I ran to catch up. With my phone in one hand, I heard the beep, beep of a car horn coming from my left. I turned to looked as my feet kept their pace.

Before I realized what was happening, my sandal caught the edge of median I had not seen.  I extended my right arm. And as Kyle observed (with full arm motions),

“You dropped hard and then you slid — also hard.”

Even though I could see my pants were not ripped (Props to the durability of the Athleta Trekkie Jogger), I could feel my knees swell and see the blood begin to seep through the fabric.  My right hand was scraped, purple and swollen.  I was mortified as I lay splayed out in the street.

Kyle ran to my side, helped me up and screamed for Dave.  Within seconds, Dave and Eli were at my side helping me walk. Dave asked me if I wanted to stop.

“Why don’t you sit here for a minute. Let’s make sure you are ok. Really. Beth. Let’s just stop.”

Tears streamed down my face. I was embarrassed. “No. No. Let’s get to the car. I will collect myself there.”

Dave held me up as we quickly walked. The boys were behind us. The crowd was large and moving slow. With each impatient  breath, the crowd only seemed to move slower. Within seconds, I grabbed Dave’s left arm, nudging him a little and said,

“Let’s pass these people. They are moving  way too slow.”

As I pushed on his left side, Dave stepped into the street.

As he stepped, we heard  loud, panicked screams. It was a woman.

“NO! NO! NO!” she cried.

I watched as her bicycle hit the ground as a car swerved to miss her. She kept screaming. I held my hand. The car missed her within inches, continued honking and drove away. The crowd stopped. Now all those slow walking people were screaming too.

“Ma’am, are you ok. Ma’am!” I heard them shout.

Her left pant leg was ripped at the knee. I did not see blood. She was wearing a helmet. Thank God!

“Yes. Yes. I am ok. I am ok. I just need a moment.” She shouted as her tears fell.

People walked her over to the side of the road. Dave gathered her bike from the street. We stood there. We asked. We wanted to know she was ok.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. I am ok. I am just late.” She trailed off.

An older woman in the crowd took over. Within seconds the older woman had the injured biker’s phone and was making calls. And from behind I hear a quiet, calm voice. I turned to look. It was a priest on a bike. He was probably 70 and about my size. He tried to help the injured biker. When he saw the older lady take over, he began to talk with us. We watched. We stayed. We asked. We made sure she was ok. Several moments later and when we knew she was more frightened than anything, Dave quietly asked the priest,

“My wife just fell. We need a hospital.”

I showed him my hand and he said,

“Oh my! Yes you do.”

He pointed us the way. Dave and I said nothing as we rushed to the car. Then we said everything. Mostly we were shocked and completely grateful  that the woman was ok. Seriously, I can still see the rapid chain reaction.

In the past few days, via an MRI and x-rays, I had it double-confirmed that my hand is broken (a minimally displaced 5th metacarpal fracture and a minimally displaced hamate fracture).  My hand still hurts, is still swollen, and my arm is still numb. In a month we will see if there is anything else to address. Honestly, I feel lucky and my guess is everything will heal.

[Flashing back again to that Oxford, England, parking lot:]

After falling and after the woman crashed, it made complete sense that Kyle was insisting we pause. So  last Thursday I wanted to correlate Kyle’s wisdom. When things were falling apart, and it was time to leave for my sinus surgery, I took a deep breath and asked Dave to pause. Then we both sat down.

We caught our breath, readjusted, and re-grouped.  Sure, I could have gone to my surgery alone, but it is my surgery, my body and I did not want to be alone.  Instead, we canceled my surgery. Then Dave went to his meeting.

Ultimately, Dave and I took responsibility. The doctor goofed up too, changing times and mysteriously canceling the original surgery the week before.

[Fast Forward again to Salt Lake City, Utah, Monday, July 10:]

As I mentioned, the doctor asked me to come in.  He is a good doctor so I obliged. Nevertheless, even good doctors overstep, and I think that is what he did when he chewed me out. I felt shamed, humiliated and scolded. As a result, I really wanted to have my say. I thought about posting a Google review. I considered saying something like,

“This doctor had to prove he was right. He wanted to punish me. He is immature and self-centered. Be careful.”

Sure. I think he was immature and self-centered. I definitely felt punished. I also have compassion. He is frustrated and my guess is he is not getting the full story. Miracles do happen. As he rebuked, I took a note from Kyle.  Instead of screaming, I paused. I apologized for any misunderstanding and offered that I could see another doctor. He said, “No.” 

 I am no saint. I am human.  And because I make a lot of really awful mistakes (especially via my words), I get it. I also appreciate that he was willing to move forward.  In reality, it was the chain reactions of the past weeks that remind me to consider all sides. See, in all of this, it was my impatience and self-focus that almost got a woman killed. You know what else? Instead of screaming at me or telling me it was my fault, she had perspective. She was rushing and admitted she was.  So were we. She did not scold me. She was kind and she was forgiving.

I am grateful she was not run over by the car. I watched it all.  And yes, it was completely in slow motion horror. I do not know how the car did not hit her. Wow! I am grateful for the people who were there to help her. I am grateful for sweet priest on the bike.  I am grateful Dave, Kyle and Eli were there to help me up. And when I needed it most, Eli quietly put his arm around me. Then as Dave ran ahead to pay the meter, both boys slowly and sweetly walked me to the car.  (By the way, we did not get a parking ticket.)

Bonus: The day was not a complete dark hole of awfulness. After my fall and the bike crash, the boys rose up and regrouped. Then they patiently sat with me in an Oxford hospital as we tried to figure out what to do. They did not complain. They kindly waited and laughed when all we had to pay is 6 dollars US.  On our way back to our hotel, we stopped for 3 GBP meals and enjoyed the rest of our night. We are lucky.

And of course there is an obvious moral to our story: If we remember to stop and pause, maybe we would not miss appointments,  break our bones,  or hurt so many others. I hope it will stick.

[Be warned: Not only did we cover a lot of physical territory on our return flight, my words here are all over the map!]

It is 6:30 AM.  We are on the last leg of our epic adventure, traveling on an Alaska Airlines flight from Seattle to Salt Lake City. The sun is shining through the window bright. I am sitting in seat 17A.  The middle seats are empty, and our family has the entire row. Seconds ago I stole my neck pillow back. I feel a little guilty. Dave really seemed comfortable.

Over the intercom I hear a voice. It is the captain:

“We are at a cruising altitude of 39,000 feet …Mad props (yes, he did say ‘mad props’). The captain continues,  “We are going to be on time, or very close to it.  We are lucky to have four of Alaska’s top flight attendants with us today…Enjoy the flight.”

The return travel portion of our journey home began approximately thirty-four hours ago when I heard the beep, beep, beep of my alarm. I had no idea what was happening. Confused, I said,

“Stop that noise! Seriously, turn it off.  Whose alarm is that?” (It was mine.)

It was 3:30 AM — Zurich time. Somehow we showered, packed, ate breakfast, and made our way to the airport. I was patted down in Seattle. At the Zurich airport, both Kyle and I had our bags searched. Then the sweet Swiss airport security agent lady held the two tiny jars up high.

“That is my jam for the plane.” I said, and then I looked at Kyle and mumbled, “Not music, but like real jam.”

Examining them she mumbled, or better, spoke German, “[insert German words here].” I listened incomprehensibly. Then smiled when I heard the word, “marmalade.”

“Yes, the marmalade.” I proclaimed.

“Marmelade. Yes. Marmalade.” She laughed and concurred.

She placed the marmalade with my little toothpaste as she crammed all of my small items into one plastic bag. Finally, she instructed me to keep all items in that bag.  As I watched her, all I could think was,

“my jam is with my toothpaste. That’s weird.”

We made our way to the gate and as we were boarding, I heard,

“If your name is called, please come and speak to a gate agent.” I heard the name “Adams,” and said, “Dude, they just called our name.”

Uncertain, he listened again, “Adams.”

Sure enough, his name was called, which ultimately meant he was bumped to first class.

Kyle piped in and said, “Mom should get the seat.”

Let me preface this next part and to tell you that in all the years of flying, flights and upgrades, I have never taken the first class seat. Nevertheless, Dave always offers. And yes, on occasion, we have upgraded together. But, because I seem to be allergic to all food, which means I would not fully enjoy the luxury of a first class meal, and because I am also small in stature, which means I fit in a middle seat between the boys more comfortably, I always feel guilty taking the upgrade.  The closest I came to taking him up on his offer is when I suggested we give the upgrade to his mom, who was traveling with us.  (*Hold up! Do not think I am a sweet daughter-in-law because I suggested Dave give his mom the upgrade. Sending his mom to first class was as much as a gift for me as it was for her. We were at the end of a long journey, a journey, where, for two weeks, I listened to her talk at great length as she detailed her previous trips to England including, but not limited to, things such as the intricacies of every meal, a full-blown accounting of where she ate, details such as how the restaurant was decorated, how many people were also eating at said restaurant, then an exhaustive listing of what she and her companions ate, how the food was prepared, and how long it took for her to eat compared to everyone else. **By the way, I bumped her to first class in the van too.  Of course and in truth, I  wanted her to be comfortable as we traveled across the country. As a result, I insisted she sit in the front passenger seat. I sat in the far the back. It was great. Dave drove. She talked. I hid. *Please be hard on me and not her. For more than forty years she was an English professor. And is much more accustomed to an audience. When it came to our return flight, I knew I had no more energy to listen so I insisted she have Dave’s first class upgrade.)

Of course Dave happily obliged.

Yesterday was different. A voice screamed. Ok, my voice screamed,

“Beth, take the seat!”

I was exhausted. I needed a break and I really needed a moment alone. So I took a deep breath and I took the seat. Of course I immediately offered to split the time with Dave. (You can check my text messages for proof. It was sort of ridiculous actually.)

Dave insisted,

“I think you should stay there the entire time.” Then he demanded, “But you’d better sleep.”

I did. I slept. Even after two flight attendants woke me up, I forced myself back to sleep. Sure, I went back and visited Dave and the boys a few times. Of course I had moments of lonely. I hate being alone all those hours. But people it was awesome.

We landed in Toronto, where we had a six-hour layover, a layover where I sat in the exact same chair in the Plaza Premium Lounge for exactly five hours. For the past few days prior Eli had been bugging me because he wanted to download some Netflix shows. Apparently you can only download Netflix shows on one device at a time and my iPad had the shows.  So to help out a brother, who is really my son, I sat and watched my remaining downloads, which were the last three episodes of the teen-suicide drama “Thirteen Reasons Why.” See, I have been watching the show in tandem with Eli.  He read the book in 7th grade. And after watching the show, I am now retroactively questioning another parenting choice. I can’t change the past, but I can address the now.

I finished the last episode, and with our food-stained yet comfortable airport lounge chairs facing each other, I announced,

“I am done.”

Like the great literary deconstruction specialist he is, Kyle asked, “What did you think?”

“I have mixed feelings.”  I responded.

He shook his head affirmatively and asked, “Like what?”

“For starters, Hannah, the girl whose suicide was graphicaly depicted, announced her despair throughout the show.  She clearly stated that she felt:  flat, hopeless and apathetic.  Consequently, I would argue that it seems a little incongruous that in her hopeless state she had enough energy to make thirteen, very detailed, sixty-minute cassette tapes — not to mention the fortitude it took to procure a cassette recorder … That is a lot of energy.”

“I agree,” Eli piped in.  “And to tell 13 specific people why they played a part in her suicide, well, that is a lot! Mom, there were so many things that did not make sense.”

We continued talking about things like teen suicide, rape and why we think narrow literary stereotypes are lame.  Through our analysis we compared the merits of real life versus making a best-selling teen novel turned Netflix-binge watch.   We all agree. Reality and being yourself should win, including the dirty, less glamorous parts. We also concluded (again), that suicide and suicide prevention was not portrayed accurately or well in this Netflix series. 

Our conversation wound down and soon we were on our way to our next flight: Toronto to Seattle.  I convinced a tiny, curly haired, and very entertaining teen to trade seats with us. I noticed he was flying alone. I convinced him by telling him he would be sitting behind my sons who would both be happy to talk with him about Pokémon or whatever. He agreed and probably would have moved regardless.  But he did move with a lot of back and forth regarding Gameboy Pokémon compared to travesty that is Pokémon Go. And yes, as a level twenty-four Pokémon Go player, I participated in the trash talk.  (I am not kidding. In fact I leveled up on this trip.) Huzzah!

When I noticed no one was sitting in the seats in front of Dave and me, I urged Kyle to move so both boys could have their own row. As they stretched out, I asked Dave, “should I have offered the Gameboy kid the empty seats?”

To which he said, “No way! If he’d stayed in the seat he was given, he’d still have someone sitting next to him.”

I let it be, wrapped my clean (because I keep it in a backpack) neck pillow around my neck and turned on a video on the in-flight entertainment system. Ben Affleck was saying words and I could not stay awake.  We landed in Seattle delirious and moments later we met up for a quick bite with one of our favorite humans, Justin. And because it was Seattle and because I stated out loud that I have celiac, the Cheesecake Factory wanted to get my order right. They re-made my dinner three times. I did not ask them to keep remaking my food. It was Jen, our waitress, followed by her manager. They insisted.

“We are closing down our kitchen, but we want to get you something you can eat.”

It was a moment of kindness after a very long flight. I was grateful. They continued,

“We don’t want you to get sick or have some weird allergic reaction.”

The food was good. We ate up, found our way back to our hotel. Said goodbye to Justin and found our way to our room.

Here I sit. Around my neck, my pillow snakes. I am wearing noise-canceling headphones, listening to my Spotify Mix and typing away. Now hovering over Salt Lake City, I feel super reflective. I feel reflective as a means to distract me from the mad, turbulence.  Our flight path had us do a bunch of wide circles before we finally came in to land.  As I cross my fingers and hold a hand to the ceiling (not really), I feel grateful. Truthfully, I am grateful we have embraced the what-you-see-is-what-you-get aspect of life, especially as far as travel goes. As such, I own the moments like when I bring marmalade on a plane, or that I would selfishly help my mother-in-law as a means to help myself, or that for my boys I would totally sit in a seat for five straight hours (because I did) and binge watch Netflix. Instead of shame, I think it is cool that the boys and I have played Pokémon all over the world.  And finally, I am so glad that I have learned that profound experiences do not need to be orchestrated by, say, taking the kids to every self-important, humble-brag-to-your-friends museum such as the Louvre or the Prado, unless, that is, you can run them through said museum in less than an hour on “free” museum days.