The revolving door that is my room

Oh the revolving door that is my room. My back still feels fine after the procedure yesterday but I am exhausted. All I want is a nap. 30 minutes to recharge and allow my baby stem cells to do their growing and healing. Not a chance. If the door is not opening my room phone is ringing. I am not even the intended contact nor is anyone in my room at the time of the call. By late afternoon I am done. Either I start screaming at the top of my lungs or run away. My mom and I choose the latter. One of our favorite markets is lit for Diwali with strings of lights and decorations. We wonder around the market and return to the hospital for dinner. As the natural light fades riding down the streets in a tuk tuk become like driving through neighborhoods in the states looking at Christmas lights. The major difference — in India lights are hung vertically like a waterfall. I needed the break and the lights are a most pleasant surprise after an overwhelming day. I have been here for Diwali before but I was not well enough to go out and see the lights. Now I am.