What the hell am I complaining about?

Another trip.  This time I tried a different airport, and made all kinds of new arrangements.  Probably the most sensible, because of the timing of my flights, was to book a hotel room, so that I could travel the night before, and get a decent night's sleep before check in:  This flight left at noon instead of 9am:  the hotel I stayed in was a short (one stop) bus ride from the airport, and provided a free shuttle service to the terminal:I can't believe how much difference a night's sleep, and a pre-flight shower made to the start of my journey.  I arrived at check in feeling cooler: more awake, and in far less pain than I have at the start of any of my journeys in the past couple of years.

Now.. I use a particular website to find the best possible price for hotel rooms when I need one: and this was a real bargain, especially since I flew out of one of the London airports. The hotel was small, and the room was fairly basic, but comfortable.  The proprietor even moved me to an ensuite room, rather than the single with shared bathroom that I had booked, which I really appreciated (sometimes, a long, long warm shower can ease my pain and stiffness: but it is hard to spend 30-40 minutes in a shower when there is a queue for the bathroom). Now maybe I kind of wore the shower cubicle rather than stood in it (SMALL!!) but waking at a reasonable hour, having time to take a shower, dress, AND put on some makeup in my usual slow and clumsy fashion, knowing I was going to get to the terminal in plenty of time was such a relief.

The airport itself... oddly, despite it being so much bigger than the one I have been using, was very easy to navigate. I was early enough that I could get a coffee and do a little shopping for last minute necessities (ruined 2 pairs of tights while navigating my way around the departure hall. (One fall, two trips, and a clumsy misjudgement of distance.. I hate fibro)  before checking in, handing over my suitcase, and going through security, which took all of 10 minutes.  Again I had to rely on the cursed stick, but because there were so few people going through at the time, I didn't have to stand for long, and trundled off to find a seat to wait for the boarding call,

I knew that I was going to suffer both during and after the flight. The nasty thing about fibromyalgia is that when it flares up, it affects everything. The fatigue is debilitating:  the confusing, memory -blanking, concentration eating fibro-fog is horrible: but the constant burning, stabbing pain is both draining and seemingly impossible to ease. My hands and feet swell and become painful, stiff and tight. Muscles cramp and twitch, and fill with the awful lactic acid burning of a severe gym workout.  Being able to move around a little can help, although I become inordinately clumsy and prone to falls even with the damned stick..  But on a 7 hour flight in economy, that becomes almost impossible. Even if I can struggle out of my seat, the aisles are so narrow that walking up and down them is impractical:  and trying to do so without taking a header into the lap of some bemused stranger is a constant danger. Then, getting off that plane, and trying to stagger from that terminal to the gate for my connecting flight is agony. Especially if I have to collect my checked bag and go through the whole security process again before I can sit and recover a little before the next, 5 hour flight.

Please don't mistake me:  I CHOOSE to do this, and I am grateful for the ability to do it.. I don't resent the plane: the airport or the journey:  what I am frustrated with is that my physical infirmities usually manifest most strongly right when I need to be at my most capable.  I have always been independent and determined:  but I am ashamed to say that there have been times when I have been reduced to tears because I just can't make my creaky, aching, ageing body do what I need it to do, and I don't know how to ask for help.

Yes.. I'm a stubborn, bloody-minded old fart.. and I know that no matter how much I might struggle, I still won't be able to wipe the huge, sappy, excited grin off my face whenever I remember that I'm really, really doing this.