Steve was in so much pain after he did the splits that he couldn’t sit. I was grateful he didn’t have “Delhi Belly” although I had fallen in love with the toilet in our hotel room. Not only did the seat salute me every time I walked past the bathroom, but it was heated and had all sorts of sprays that were fun to try while I contemplated our options. The hotel doctor wrote a prescription for a painkiller and I knew everything would be ok. Or it wouldn’t.
I was so grateful Steve was alive that my concerns about having to change our itinerary and wasting money didn’t matter. Well, didn’t matter that much. We were in a 5 star hotel and we each decided to order our own chocolate dessert, and the icing on the cake was learning afterwards, that the entire meal was “on the house.” Life was indeed still sweet.
We asked the butler for an ice pack and a cane. He showed up with a silver pitcher of water and a walker before he finally understood what we were asking for. When he returned with a “walking stick” it was a metal cane with a label that ironically said Karma.
Our tour guide and driver picked us up the following morning after breakfast to bring us to an orthopedic specialist. We got driven through impoverished streets to an underwhelming office but our guide reassured us that the most prominent and intelligent doctors in India tend to choose to keep a low profile. The Sikh doctor listened with quiet wisdom, wrote several prescriptions for pain meds and told Steve to rest.
We spent Valentine’s Day in our hotel room. Steve was pain free and I was enjoying being Eloise in India.