Travel talk

Life’s spontaneous dance never misses a beat, and within the awesome dance moves, Matt and I have uncovered a secret weapon (thank you, social media): The power of percentages! Well, more like the key to communication, but find what works for you. Imagine a world where each day demands 100%, yet nobody ever seems to have all 100% to give. As parents and partners, we’ve attempted to master the art of vocalizing when we need the other person to swoop in and pick up the remaining slack.

Three months ago, I embarked on a journey that ended with a hemorrhoidectomy. You can see that full YouTube video and the experience we had here!

Since then, we had begun life in Costa Rica, and even though I could manage daily tasks and had even resumed my workouts, I still experienced lingering discomfort and occasional pain—something that wasn’t typical for the months post-surgery. Imagine my disappointment when we found ourselves booking flights back to Mexico for my round two, courtesy of unruly scar tissue during the painful healing process. Luckily the timing couldn’t have been better for our trip back to Puerto Vallarta, school hadn’t started for our little social bug, and off-peak season discounts didn’t tear us a new one (pun intended).

Oh, the art of packing, a glorious process of proper folding and shove n’ stuff. We zipped the only bag we were taking and left the rest of our belongings with a new friend. Matt armed with our luggage, we set off on a whirlwind adventure without knowing what was ahead. The local bus ride from Tamarindo to San Jose would be a hefty trek but only $15 a person. Sure, renting a car was the comfortable way out, but why not save $175 and dive headfirst into the colorful scene of local life? We set our alarms for 4 am as the bus departed at 5:30 am. A walk to the bus stop, and we were off on a six-hour ride to the city.

All was glorious before Shanti’s stomach staged a rebellion only 30 minutes into the trip. Was it car sickness? Or perhaps a dreadful tummy bug? Let me tell you, barf bags are the unsung heroes in this story. As an unofficial self-proclaimed professional backpacker, I’ve always been committed to carrying bags inside of bags for all occasions. Thus, the random plastic bag I had on hand when she got that look in her eyes. Our bus ride was a unique thrill ride, and we carried a tiny puke bag as a souvenir.

Since we had to board our flights at 6:00 am the following day, we got a hotel just outside the airport. Going to bed that night, I was prepared to rebook as I wasn’t about to drag our sick baby on a flight, nor expect Matt or I to endure the trip if either of us got the horrendous bug. Luckily, she slept through the night, and neither of us got it! So another 4 am alarm clock and a shuttle to the airport, we’re on our first flight.

Fast forward to a shaky landing and a pit stop in Mexico City. Thanks to the magic of the Priority Pass, we snagged free food and drinks during our layover. (I wish I had this dreamy pass during my countless international layovers, sleeping on floors, eating leftover trail mix, and “borrowing” utensil packets from any cafe that had them on display in my solo traveling days).

Shanti unleashed her inner artist, Matt took on his work empire, and I tackled my never-ending momma to-do list.

Towards the end of the layover, we noticed a commotion—angry passengers lined up. It turned out our flight had morphed into a sardine can. The scheduled aircraft had been canceled and replaced with a pint-sized carrier leaving over 60 passengers, including the three of us, without a flight. Like, “Sorry, your paid-in-full seat doesn’t exist anymore.”

They booked a hotel room with a shuttle and sent us on a scout to find our bag. Imagine that treasure hunt with a tired kiddo, a determined dad, and a weary momma. As we scoured for our bags, Matt’s battery reached critical levels, 10%, to be precise. A subtle signal that he needed some space to breathe. So, Shanti and I set off on an “I spy” mission, the perfect distraction and a lifeline for Dad.

It was another 4 am wake-up call, and off to the airport. We found ourselves contending with three consecutive early mornings, a double-header of travel days, all while assisting a four-year-old on the mend from a stomach bug – oh, the joys! But fear not, for the remainder of our journey unfolded smoothly. Our friend Carlos, practically family now from previous travels, rescued us from the airport chaos.

My bag barely hit the ground as we arrived at our Airbnb before I was off in an Uber, bound for the surgeon’s office. The verdict? Another round of surgery. I felt a whirlwind of emotions as we geared up for a week of Matt juggling his businesses and caring for us girls.

As I mentally prepared the day before the operation, I struggled. I struggled to be patient with Shanti. I struggled with my thoughts. Tears threatened to well up at every turn. Finally, I went to Matt, “Babe,” I confessed, “for some unaccountable reason, I’m operating on autopilot at about 15%”. With his typical understanding, he took the reins, stepping in to handle dinner and cuddles. It was a moment of surrender, a moment to acknowledge and embrace that, turns out, I’m not a robot. Was it the surgery I was anxious about, the recovery? Could it be the weariness from the 72-hour whirlwind of non-stop travel drama? This uneasiness felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. I usually handle these things really well.

Nonetheless, I was sad. I was mad, and I was sad-mad at the idea that after taking months off from physical activity, I was finally walking long distances and enjoying a life of adventure. But here I was, facing the reality of another 4-8 weeks of no lifting, no exercise, and minimal movement. To me, that’s heartbreaking. Movement is my meditation, mood stabilizer, and self-love ritual, my priceless momma time.

Cue the tears and a restless night, only to wake up feeling like a new person. The surgery wasn’t life or death. Our family wasn’t facing a terminal illness, and I was surrounded by love and support. It’s funny how a good cry and some sleep can transform your perspective. With a heart full of gratitude, I was ready to face whatever came next.

After the successful surgery, mornings contained coffee-scented cuddles, while afternoons demanded a slower pace. Our family percentages were constantly fluctuating. Sunrise was my time to shine, but by lunch, the pain crept in, and I handed the baton to Matt. Amidst it all, our little Shanti emerged as a shining star when we weren’t at our best. A fluffed pillow here, a thoughtful gesture there, all learned (at least I’d like to think so) from the example of love and support we’ve built as a family.

Here are a few pics of our creative moments passing the time as I let my backside heal. Daddy singing for us girls, construction of mega forts, fun in the kitchen, some swimming, a DIY nail spa, and snuggles, lots and lots of snuggles!

So, as I look back at our whirlwind journey, I’m reminded that life’s percentages are ever-shifting, and that’s okay. In those fluctuations, we find strength, love, and balance. And even though our Puerto Vallarta adventure had its ups and downs, it was a reminder that no matter the challenges, we’re in it together—neighbors, friends, co-workers, family, kids, strangers. All of us just balancing our percentages, living with love, and taking it one day at a time.

Dra. Pamela, I am forever grateful for your remarkable skill and compassionate care that has transformed my life. Your kindness, thoughtfulness, and exceptional talent have not only mended my body but also touched my heart. Thank you for your unwavering dedication to your patients and for being a reassuring example of true medical excellence. Sincerely, Erika