Alright, so am laid up in the only sofa in my sister’s apartment and I spent eight hours watching the most efficient movers in the world pack away a house that I lived in for eight months.
Once the movers had left, my sister and her husband brought up an idea…since there was no way to take care of me easily (not only because of my seriously fat-ass, but also cause seriously it was difficult to do anything without any assistance…the rest of my life story will detail it more as time goes by), maybe I should fly back to Bangladesh.
I knew there was nothing else that could be done, I had no other contacts or friends or anything else in the country (I was working in Kuwait at that moment, did I mention that?), and my sister and her husband were leaving in about two week’s time (and there was no guarantee that I would be fixed up by then).
So yeah, we booked the first flight back to Bangladesh we could…there were some problems with getting everything ready, but I got to be carried down the narrow stairs by a combination of ambulance/fire fighters (I vowed to lose weight during that time…something I have been pretty successful in, though I need to get a bit fitter now, ’cause have let myself go during this recent round of chemo…starting today, I promise)….anyways, I have no idea how I got to the seat, ’cause it felt almost impossible to take that three feet walk from the airplane door to the seat (first row people! it was awesome [no, not really]).
That six hour flight (by the way, six hours is a goddamn long time, we need faster planes by now) was the longest six hours in my life (and seriously stressful as I tried to figure out where the hell was my life going and how did I get there).