Chapter A Drop

From Too Soon et pero Too Late: French Grace. American Collapse. Colombian Care.

This is the opening chapter in my upcoming memoir about becoming very ill overseas as my life fell apart. Take a look. I would love to know your thoughts in the comments.

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Chapter A Drop

My dream fractured. My body gasped and swam awake. I half choked. Sweat soaked my sheets. My head spun. I wasn’t hungover. My mouth was dry.

I was flying to Bogotá, connecting to Cartagena, ending in Barranquilla.

I was moving slowly and gingerly, but I moved with purpose.

***

The ride from the small town to the airport was ‘quick and angry’ through the Andes. The driver was polished; the turns were raw. I didn’t want to fall over, vomit foam, or worse. My stomach folded on itself.

I knew my vacation was over, and I needed a medical holiday. Stopping in Bogotá was not a choice. It was a need; I needed help. My head spun the decision for me.

I messaged Ondine that I wasn’t doing well. I wanted to stop in Bogotá, get a doctor, and recover. I asked if she could do that. Could she arrange it all the way Isaline would have? The way Isaline would have taken care of me?

She said that would mean no refunds.

I said okay. I understand. If you get travel credits, please give them to Isaline for her trouble.

She said there would be no credits. Do I cancel?

I said yes. If you get credits, or if there are people who need my reservations, please pay it forward.

Ondine, the literal French businesswoman. Isaline would have anticipated it and had a finger on the Enter button, awaiting confirmation. She would have handled it and sent me the confirmation. That is no judgment on you, Ondine. I mean that. But Isaline is the mail carrier who always delivers.

Ondine said the best option was for me to book my own hotel and driver. I texted back 👍. I needed a decent connection for that.

***

I couldn’t get WiFi or reception. My phone rejected every network’s security. My body begged it to connect, but the phone had its own mind. My body needed help, and my phone said wait.

I made sure my bags stopped in Bogotá. My Spanish was slow and slurred, and I was forgetting it. The airline attendants didn’t speak English, but they confirmed my bags would stop in Bogotá.

***

On the plane, I was sweating and seeing three of everything. One on the left, one on the right, one in the center. Were planes always this hot?

Still, I wrote my review of the company. I aimed for the phone in the center. The phones on the left and right were blurs.

And I kept writing this story.

But I held the phone tight in case I collapsed.

I needed someone to get the story down.

The air came weakly from the vents. Inside my head, balance and direction leaked.

Thumb. Phone. Body. The need to write.

My feet braced against the floor; my back pressed flat to the chair.

I left the present.

I retreated into my mind.

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These events happened in August. I reported them in real time as I wrote Too Soon et pero Too Late: French Grace. American Collapse. Colombian Care. Please leave any feedback or love in the comments.

When does it release? When I figure out what Amazon and Ingram Spark want from me. It’s only been over a month. I’m still struggling.