Bucket List Trip

It certainly was a memorable trip. December in Rochester, Minnesota will always leave an impression. 

The excitement began before we even left North Carolina. Our flight out was extremely delayed. We were leaving early and our scheduled plans in Rochester did not start until the morning of the next day, so our concern was minimal. But when we landed at the airport of our first stop, we got the bad news. We had missed our connecting flight to Rochester, MN and while there was another flight that was heading there that night, there was only one seat on it. My husband, being the chivalrous man that he is, gave me the seat. Meanwhile, he took a seat on a flight to Minneapolis/Saint Paul, rented a car and drove down to Rochester - in blizzard conditions, no less - and arrived at the hotel at 4:00 in the morning.

The same morning started early, and we were handed a full itinerary of activities to keep us busy. Shuffled from one bells and whistles adventure to another, the smiling and caring faces of our hosts never wavered. After a hardy lunch, we eagerly arrived at the grand finale of the day - a meeting with the man whose reputation had preceded him and who was the whole reason we had made our exhausting journey the day before.

His legend would only grow in our short meeting, as once again our expectations were forsaken. He informed us that our activities earlier in the day had resulted in my being upgraded from a quick, one-day trip to the arena into a week-long getaway. We were in shock. 

Could we stay a week? What about work; the kids? Was there a possibility to delay this opportunity? Or was this a now or never situation? For me, it was quick road to YES. My husband looked less sure. But, we were not given much time to debate, and my husband relented and shrugged out his approval of the plan.

That night, there was a romantic dinner at Outback Steakhouse to discuss the details, his reservations and what the week would look like. Another late night of preparations and phone calls to his family that they would have to take care of the kids for a week instead of a couple days, as originally planned.

I have almost no memories of what happened the next day, due to the strong cocktail that our hosts served me. So the details were reported to me by my husband.

He was made comfortable in a waiting room for many hours. The nurse came out every 30-60 minutes to give him updates. I was on the heart-lung machine for approximately 90 minutes. The hole was closed. The valve was implanted. He watched me struggle in the ICU after it was all done. My gagging reflex was strong, and I did not relax until extubation. He watched in amazement as his wife’s color turned in front of his eyes from purple to pink. He could not have comprehended how red my lips could get. 

A private room housed me for the next week. While I was kept cozy and warm, my husband had to brave the winter Minnesota weather every morning from the hotel to me and then again at night to sleep in his new home away from home. His stories of the trek across the street twice a day were harrowing. 

Meanwhile, I was left wishing I was a little younger and in better shape than my 35-year-old self. The pain and weakness were debilitating. A fact that was not helped by the social 18-year old that spent her recovery time visiting the various residents of our floor. 

And just when I thought the stressful part of our trip could not get any worse, I was treated to a reenactment of the scariest scene in the movie, Alien. With my husband watching nervously in the corner of the room and looking powerless to help me, a nurse jumped on my bed and mounted me like I was a horse with a saddle on me to ride. I stared up at her horrified and tried very hard not to look down at my chest. There she had put one stiff and strong palm again my right shoulder to hold me down and with her other hand she grabbed hold of one of the four tubes protruding from my chest and pulled with all her might. The shock of the horror of it, thankfully, seems to have washed all memory of whatever pain accompanied this act of violence. An act that was repeated three more times. 

Truly missing home by now, I could think of nothing else but leaving this world-renowned accommodation. The checklist for departure was handed to me, and I only had two main objectives: 1) walking several times a day and 2) clearing the fluid in my lungs that threatened to become pneumonia. 

Three days later, I managed to check the box next to one of them and convince my hosts that the second would not be an issue once I was safe on the ground in North Carolina. After all, we had our own world-renowned facilities there that could guide me through any extra curricular activities that my lungs decided to partake in. 
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That only left my husband to make a quick trip to the souvenir shop for a sweatshirt to mark the occasion of this unique vacation. Not that I would ever forget my time in Minnesota. It was definitely more memorable than any trip to Disney would ever be. And, it is still one of my favorite sweatshirts to wear to this day.