This week I’ve wished we were back in Mexico, I’ve wished it so hard it’s made my heart ache a little.
We’re fighting a losing battle with our travel insurance company to pay for Guy’s knee surgery (he tore his meniscus in a game of rugby just before we came home from Mexico) who say that since he’s back home now the public health system covers it not them – but that could take months and months. So he’s unable to work and hobbling around on crutches as best he can.
The chemo his mum is undergoing is half-working. It’s not shrinking the tumors as hoped but it’s stopping their growth and therefore prolonging her life. Which is good but not great, and she’s trying to decide for how much longer she wants to keep going with the treatment.
I’m spending my days searching for jobs, listening to Guy argue on the phone with our insurance company and accompanying my mother in law to various appointments for blood tests,
I’m happy to be home. I love seeing my friends, spending time with my family. We’re having the mildest winter ever here so I’m still walking around in a t shirt and cut offs. I’m picking vegetables from my little garden every few days and I’m trying to make a sourdough starter.
But, I still wish I was in Mexico. I miss it so much.