Why is there always something so emotional about sunset/sunrises at the airport?
The longer I live here, the more I don’t understand the saying “there’s a boat in the morning“ as a response to any criticism or negative opinion because so many times it doesn’t even go loool. I oddly prefer the boat after giving it a third try.
There are a lot of complaints about our airport, but efficiency is a priority for me. Could the carpets have been changed 85 years ago? Yes. Do I normally get through security -5 minutes? Also yes. Try living in Dublin or London and being a FF going through swarms of French and Spaniard students on the regular.
The best thing about annoyingly early morning flights are the airport staff who are always friendly (subject to personal relationship maybe? 😅) and the lack of people acting as if they’ve never been to an airport their entire lives. I do love watching a good sunrise from our airport before I enter the big city madness.
I often think of all the characters I have met and who have become part of my journey over the years. Being alone, you notice everyone. You get to talk to them. You have to learn to lean on people you normally wouldn’t. Strangers become friends. The drivers are not just drivers. The doctors are not just doctors. The assistants are not just assistants. The hotel staff are not just staff.
The first face I always see at 5am is my driver, probably wishing he didn’t have to work that early but still remains chatty and friendly because he knows I’m a patient.
First official stop: Isle of Man Airport. The staff there are always such a pleasure and I normally get lucky when old colleagues are on shift (airport & flight). It’s always like a little warm goodbye and good luck at the start of my long day.
No longer than 30 minutes and I am in Liverpool Airport with the same sea of men holding board names at arrival. That loud scouse “Morning Chloe!” before we get into the car and start chatting about the most random things. He’s the man that I go to for all my travel needs over the days. I want to GTFO that hospital and straight to my hotel? Call Garyyy. I want to go to airport and beat traffic? Call Markkk. Besides my medical team, I don’t think there is anyone who has seen me more vulnerable and in a proper state 🤣
We get to the first hospital. Greeted by the receptionist and same team of assistants.
The receptionist is always so friendly and on it because I think she knows that the IoM patients don’t want to be there, and it’s a long day for us. So I immediately get passed around all the assistants like a cheap hooker on happy hour. In and out of different rooms with different machines. The little small talk catch up from the last time we’ve seen each other. These little friendly interactions that calm my nervous system down before the inevitable terrifying part creeps up. It’s like getting a kiss on the cheek before you know you’re about to be slapped. You appreciate the kiss, but you also know the slap is coming 🤣 sometimes we have a chitchat with the big dawg, and she delivers me the news that will dictate my mood for the rest of the day / month. I know she cares about me because when she sees the sadness creep up, she changes the topic to cars and Asian food.
This is normally the part where I exit the building to have a (sometimes mild) panic attack. The part where I snap back from dissociating because I realise I’m about to be strapped into a chair and have either laserbeam or injections coming at me in slow motion. Probably the worst time to be a millennial and watched most of the classic horror movies that involve being stabbed in the eyes while awake and strapped down.
But do you know what?
I always make it through because I have the best team ever.
My surgeon who has the steadiest hands and the longest patience. The nurses and assistants in the room, who voluntarily role-play what would be loved ones in the room, to calm me down. The genuine conversations and moments we have had in many operating theatres, over the course of a very long time, while I was at my most terrified and vulnerable.
When I’m finished with that entire ordeal, my body is normally begging for some rest. I don’t have vision in any of my eyes so I am like a bird in a dark forest. It really is a vulnerable thing to feel when you are alone and essentially putting your trust in strangers.
One of the jolly scousemen is usually waiting for me to guide me into the car. I’m pretty sure they can tell the difference in mood from the early morning so they usually stay quiet or offer warm encouraging words. If it’s an OG, I get to have a power nap and close my eyes for the first time in what is already a very long painful day.
The last people I meet are those in the hotels. I usually stick to the same few, and I have gotten to know the service staff throughout the years. The perks of being a lonely curious yapper sometimes. I think I read somewhere that if you talk to someone for just 12 minutes of your day, it makes a drastic difference. In general, I always try to give at least one compliment out a day and a lot of the time it starts a conversation, so I guess now I have friendly familiar faces when I visit places! They normally know why I’m there because I want check in early, or maybe because there are bandages around my eyes LOL. The concierge helps bring my belongings to my room, and one of the girls normally accompanies me up to my room so I don’t walk into the walls. The last friendly conversations before I pass out into the bed for the next few hours hoping I can wake up well enough to go on an adventure. A lot of the times everything hurts too bad so it’s more like a sick person’s version of Kevin in Home Alone 2 when he went to New York (except I’m not in The Plaza Hotel booo)
I first lost my vision because I improved my diabetes. Yes, vision loss is a side effect if you improve your diabetes management too quick. It’s like you can’t win… but whatever, learnt the hard way. That’s a whole different story.
Anyway, they saved my vision in Liverpool. I didn’t realise how long and painful this journey would take. More importantly, I didn’t realise how important these people became in my life. I try to find the things I am grateful for in crappy situations, and rather than focus on the fact that I go through this solo, I stay grateful that I get the opportunity to build relationships and have all these individuals be part of my journey that is saving my vision.
I’m glad that losing your vision is not a common occurrence as it is truly terrifying. I lost mine when I had just gotten my drivers license and new car, so that triple sucked. I’m not gonna act like Jesus walking on water, but seriously, when you get your vision back after losing it, you genuinely feel grateful for the fact that you can just see what’s in front of you, and all the people it took to get there.
Those are all the people I think of when I see those morning sunsets and hope one side of their pillow always remains cool.
Just how I pick my battles with our local airport VS the stress of international ones, for all the complaints that ManxCare and the NHS get, we do have it good. Out of all the countries I have lived in, healthcare systems I have been under, these ones are the best in the grand scheme of things. Sure, waiting in A&E is probably prolonging your pain as well as having to watch paint dry, but it’s free, and the people are just doing their best.
Chau for now,
Chloè
