Last week, The Lawyer mentioned to me, over email, that he had a $450 flight credit that was expiring on June 1. He lamented about the fact that neither of us could travel before then and half-heartedly asked if I wanted to go to Florida to visit my mother.
Since I feared throwing my much talked about study schedule off, I was iffy about whether or not I wanted to go. I also wrote back that it would be such a waste. A round-trip ticket from DC to South Florida isn't usually more than $250, and with a $150 change fee, it seemed like a big waste for the other $350 of the ticket credit to go unspent.
"It's too bad neither one of us has a reason to go to California," I wrote back.
When The Lawyer replied an hour later, it was with a certain proposition.
Apparently, there are direct flights from Washington, DC to Bermuda and apparently, with his credit card points, two round trip tickets for this weekend would cost us approximately $200 out of pocket--including that $150 change fee.
I was giddy with excitement.
I did the, "I wish I could say yes, but I think I should say no" thing, before The Lawyer sent me links to hotels and promised that he could find one with reliable poolside internet, for me to keep up with my DIT lectures and Kaplan questions. And, you know what? Even if I had to do work the entire time I was in Bermuda, sitting on the beach with my First Aid book sounded a lot more exciting than sitting in Starbucks doing the same.
I said yes.
Then, because the universe hates us, we got bad news. It was very bad news that I will write about when I am calmer and less emotional, but I kid you not--we got bad news the very same night that we booked the Bermuda tickets.
What should have been an exciting blip in our summer became this tragic example of horribly bad timing. But when it became apparent that things were getting worse before getting better, Bermuda started to look more and more like our saving grace.
So, we are going. Tomorrow.
I wish that I had the guts to blow off my DIT studying for the first week after my classes were out and just relax, but alas, I am a slave to expectations and fear and trembling instilled by my school's administration. There are no breaks for medical students! Vacations are for the weak!
But, now that I am broken and blatantly weak, I want to go swim, snorkel, and generally, just get the hell out of DC. And, because The Lawyer is the most caring boyfriend in the universe, he sent me the spa menu for the hotel we are staying at and told me to choose something. I may have been engaged to a banker, but let me tell you, no one has ever taken me to Bermuda for the weekend and told me to book an appointment at the spa for whatever I wanted.
It should be noted, though, that The Lawyer is currently feeling very guilty about the fact that he has to take a business call while we're away and he is extremely concerned about my physical, as well as emotional, well-being. I hit my head really, really hard on Sunday and I've had headaches ever since. I don't think I have a concussion and I don't have neurological symptoms, but the other day when I took too long to answer a text message, I was shocked to see The Lawyer bolt through the door at 2:30 p.m. calling my name. He gave me a hug and mumbled something about Natasha Richardson and the possibility that I was unconscious. Then, I explained epidural hematomas and told him that I thought that 48 hours was a little too late for spontaneous death to occur. (But for real, should I be worried, you guys? Is this normal? I hit my head on a doorknob when I was standing up after I had bent down to pick something up. The pain isn't more than a dull ache, but it's pretty constant. I still don't have any neurological symptoms. I haven't gone to the ER because I have the worst insurance ever, and generally, trust my own powers of self-diagnosis.)
I will be eagerly anticipating your medical advice from a lovely poolside cabana, with very reliable internet service. (And if someone declares me an idiot and demands that I go get an MRI stat, I will go tonight, OK!)