We're home

We arrived home in Chicago yesterday evening around 7, several hours later than planned.  Our British Airways flight from Mumbai to London was delayed 4 hours, and that meant a new connection from London to Chicago.  We had to sleep most of the night at Mumbai airport, which stops looking so "new" when you spend more than a short time there. I managed to charge my Blackberry while Peter slept on a chaise lounge.

The trip home was uneventful.  On both flights, we had an empty seat next to us and this greatly reduced Peter's anxiety since he did not feel so claustrophobic.  During our stop in London, we had a really nice meal.  As we walked into the restaurant, Peter asked me, "Mommy, do they have MEAT?"  I had a delicious salad (a big crave after 17 days of no uncooked vegetables) and Peter had a big burger.  We both had hot fudge brownie sundaes.  That's the end for me -- I'm 7 pounds overweight and will NOT let myself continue going in this direction.  I have enough on my plate without hating what I see in the mirror.

Our trip together was beyond all expectation.  Peter's bipolar disorder largely took a back seat, allowing the "real boy" to come forward.  I love all of Peter's boys, but the one not dogged by bipolar disorder is especially sweet.  I could never have imagined a trip with so much joy in it and so little anxiety and agitation.  I actually forgot to give him his extra tranquilizer most days in Kolkata.  This is unbelievable!

Dealing with pushy hawkers and beggars was the most difficult thing for Peter during our trip.  He felt very oppressed by people demanding things from him, following him, getting in his face, even touching him.  It was hard for him not to make eye contact and simply ignore them.

As expected, Peter wet the bed most nights and intermittently had poop in his pants.  I had prepared for those eventualities by purchasing 3 dozen pairs of cheap underpants at Wal*Mart.  When necessary, we just left underpants behind.  Peter always had a spare pair of underpants and a pack of wipes in his backpack.  When he needed to, he went in a bathroom to clean himself up.  He took the responsibility for staying clean and odor-free.  My objective was to help him maintain his dignity despite these problems, and he did.

At the end of our trip, Peter told me with full gravitas, "Mommy, I think I've had enough adventures for now.  I want to go home".

He took 9 flights.  He slept in 5 entirely different places.  He ate well.  He did not attach himself to me like Velcro but felt safe enough to be very independent.  He was happy.  He made others happy.  He did it!

While saying goodbye to Michelle and Gibi and her family, they told him that they wanted him to come back and see them soon.  He replied, "Maybe I'll come back ... when I'm not so tired."

When she heard him say that, Gibi pulled me aside to say, "Chris, I think he knows".  I'd been thinking the same thing, although "knows" is a hard-to-define word in this context.

On the flight home, he turned to me at one point and asked if he was going to have any more blood tests.  I said, "I think so". 

"Because my blood is sick?"

"Yes".

"But I don't like blood tests".

"I know, but you're handling them pretty well now."

Nod.  End of conversation.