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When I stepped onto my first-ever international flight, it was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime. I was finishing up my final semester at university and thrilled to join an exchange program in Italy, where I would spend a few weeks.
Then, six hours into the flight, I ate a dodgy chicken sandwich. While the two girls seated next to me enjoyed gin and tonics, I avoided their side-eyes while puking my guts up.
After the longest flight of my life — both figuratively and literally — I arrived in Rome feeling pretty shoddy.
I had been awake for over 30 hours, spending the last 18 or so vomiting and nauseous. To top it all off, it was 110 degrees in Rome and an hour after our flight we began a walking tour of the city. Not one to give up or cause a fuss, I tried my best to keep up.
Thirty minutes later, I passed out on the sidewalk.
Going to a hospital on your first day in a foreign country is an experience. There was only one doctor in the whole building who spoke English, and could barely get my consent for the blood tests, ECG, and ultrasound they performed.
Ruling out any serious medical issues, the hospital staff pumped me through with IV fluids and prescribed some anti-nausea tablets before sending me on my way.
While I felt a little better leaving the hospital, I just couldn't fully recover in the hot, sticky air of our un-airconditioned student accommodation. Days went by with me trying and failing to keep water down, and the program group was preparing to leave for Florence.
I was too sick to travel and too overwhelmed to figure out my next steps. So I did what any anxious 21-year-old would — I called my mom.
Before leaving for Italy, my mom had jokingly said she had a passport and would come over if I needed her to. Mind you, she only had a passport because she had attended a destination wedding with a large group of people a few years prior. A seasoned traveler, she was not. And yet, she got on the first flight she could to come and rescue me.
A few hours after our call, my mom was in the air and on her way to Rome. Living with autoimmune disease, and having never traveled overseas on her own, this was a huge feat. But I think she was running on pure momma-bear instinct.
I can't describe the immense relief I felt when I saw her.
Moving into an air-conditioned hotel room and having my mom at my side, I slowly began recovering. It took a few days for me to start feeling better, but with little sips of water and small bits of food, I eventually got my appetite and energy back.
Though I had been ready to call the whole trip off and come home, my mom wouldn't have it. We ended up spending a few days in Rome together, and it was the best experience.
We saw the Colosseum and the Vatican, ate pasta next to the Pantheon, and caught a glimpse of Trevi Fountain.
I don't think I would have had the chance to travel with my mom if it weren't for this trip. While it didn't go to plan, and I didn't finish the program I'd signed up for, I have the most spectacular memories walking the streets of Rome with my mom, and I wouldn't give them up for the world.
