17 Dec 07

Homecoming (Part2)

During the two days I spent being transported my vision worsened. By the time I got to the airport at Gatwick, I was unable to see my parents waiting at a gate crowded with hundreds of other people. Then suddenly, Mum came running at me, her jacket flying in the air and landing on the floor. I put down the box containing the few items I’d brought back to the UK, and I hugged Mum, lifting her off the floor. My sister, Karen, tears streaming down her face, joined the hug fest. And finally Dad.

In Dad’s Ford Mondeo we travelled to Karen’s flat in Fulham, London. I looked at this blog online for the first time. I posted a blog. Your comments made me smile. At Karen’s, I was inreviewed by a documentary maker who began to record my return to society. I met my sister’s husband, a tall and handsome photographer, who had recently survived an attack by the Taliban in Afghanistan. At night, we went out for an Indian meal, and I was still eating fifteen minutes after everyone else had stopped.

The next day, after doing two BBC radio interviews, we travelled home on the motorway system. The journey took five hours.

Seeing my hometown and hearing the accents of the people in a fish and chips place brought back all kinds of memories. I felt as if I were in a dream. Seeing inside my parents’ home brought back even more memories. I ate, went on the computer, and tried to sleep. But the cold made it hard to get to sleep even though I wore socks, a beanie, and a dressing gown, and I was buried under two fifteen-tog duvets in a room with the radiator on. My head trembled and my ears felt as if they had turned to ice. Allergies started, and I only slept for a few hours, making my vision worse.

The next morning my parents took me on a shopping spree at ASDA Wal-Mart. I loaded up on fruit, nuts, cheese, bread and beans. I haven’t stopped eating since I arrived home; it’s as if my body knows there is food available. The evening meals cooked by my parents seem to be coming from food heaven.

Claudia called and wished me good luck. She has a boyfriend now. My best friend from my hometown, “Hammy” stopped by with a bottle of Lanson champagne. Hammy and I used to copy Miami Vice fashions in the eighties, including wearing pink tops, white pants, and no socks. He offered to make me a key to his flat and to hook me up with some of the local nymphomaniacs. Hammy looked healthy and I enjoyed our talks.

I managed thirteen hours of sleep that night. My moods have been mostly up, but interspersed with tiredness. My mum is upset with all of the time I’m spending on the computer. I have begun the long task of editing the blog.

I’m happy to be home, and I feel no urge to sneak back into America. I’m enjoying concentrating on my literary projects, and listening to some tapes from The Teaching Company, a course called “Classics of Russian Literature”.

I’m going to be seeing plenty more of my family and friends over Christmas, including Aunt Lily and her numerous descendants.

More details of how I’ve been doing since arriving home are available at Mum’s blog:

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