In February 2014, my closest friends and I decided we needed to look forward to the end of the semester and what better way to anticipate fleeing from the tundra of Rexburg than a California getaway? It just so happens that one of the six of us girls, Brittani, lives in Valencia, California. So that was it. Immediately after finals, Brittani would fly home with all of her belongings, and the five of us would cram in Whitney’s Honda Civic to make the fifteen-hour drive to Southern California. Lindsay, being the wise older sister she is, concluded that we should make plans to drive only halfway the first day and stay one night with our uncle Rex and aunt Loma in Las Vegas. The plans were set, the parents approved and all we needed was finals week to be over to get our show on the road (quite literally).
About two weeks prior to finals week, I found myself enduring crazy migraines that could not be conquered. Picture a dull nail inside your skull trying to puncture its way out all day long. Sleep made it worse, ice didn’t help and acetaminophen just created a lump in my throat. With no solutions in sight, I was forced to study through the pain. Finals week rolled around and the migraines were mysteriously tamed. I still had a lingering headache, but it was like the dull nail decided making its way out of my skull was no longer worth the effort. So I was able to take my final exams in peace. Until the day of my last exam. I woke up that morning with a sore, achy throat and slightly swollen lymph nodes in my neck. Of course, I had to press on in order to complete my last exam, however once the day was over I was extraordinarily fatigued. I figured this was simply great timing for a common cold. I wouldn’t let anything keep me from experiencing my California getaway.
The moment had finally come to squish into the back seat of that glorious Honda Civic with my four other excursionists. Lindsay, a medical assisting student at the time, was worried about the white specks resembling the seeds on the top of a hamburger bun that had appeared on my tonsils overnight. She made me call Grandma and Grandpa, a retired nurse and pharmacist, to see what they thought it could be. By the list of my symptoms (fever, sore red throat with white bumps on it, muscle weakness, and swollen tonsils) Gramps’ unofficial diagnosis was strep throat. It may have been my mind denying my illness, or straight delusion, but I felt fine and was still determined to enjoy that vacation. I took Grandpas advice and gargled a cup of warm salt water before we all hopped in the car as if everyone were as healthy as a horse. The journey to Vegas included cramped legs, sweaty backs and a whole lot of off key sing-alongs.
We passed about a hundred McDonalds’ and only stopped at one of them. Vegas was as big as I remembered from my family vacation nine years earlier. Of course, the bright lights against the black night sky hadn’t thrown off my depth perception at all. After a few missed turns and about four U-turns, we made it to Rex and Loma’s house just after eleven o’clock PM. To our surprise, both Loma and Rex were still awake and fully prepared to play the role of welcoming committee. A tour around the house and a few designated rooms later, aunt Loma decided we needed a lecture on giving ourselves monthly self-breast-examinations. She was fortunate to catch breast cancer early enough to get rid of it completely because of her monthly self-examinations. It wasn’t until after we all promised to obey her demands that she let us settle in and get some sleep.
