I could write a story about people who travel to Israel for two months. It would have a mother and a father. They’d travel around the country and report back to the family about what a nice trip they were having.
Midway through they’d share a tale about how the father contracted pneumonia and had to be hospitalized. Since that is not dramatic enough I’d be sure to write in a scene in which they hit the E.R. the same time as the victims of a terror attack.
They’d weather the storm and go through a few more ups and downs and eventually we’d hit the climax. That would be the part where three days before they’re supposed to return home the father pays a visit back to the doctor. I’d throw everyone by writing about how it was a routine follow up, or at least it was supposed to be.
Instead of going off without a hitch the visit would bring a recommendation from the doc for the father to use oxygen on the flight back to the states. See, in a pre-911 world that would have been no big deal. But in today’s climate you can’t just bring it on board.
No, now you need to jump through all sorts of hoops.
Did I mention that the story would include a part in which the mother and father tell their son that the airlines don’t want to let them board without a trained medical professional to operate a small oxygen tank.
Not to mention that only some of the airlines are even willing to let you bring it on board.
Then, just to add a little spice I’d include a part about how the happy parents were scrambling to find a hotel room because not only is it Israel’s 60th birthday, Pesach is just around the corner.
One of these days I’ll have to really tell the tale. When I do I’ll include all the crazy parts that I have left out of this fictional account, because the truth is always stranger than fiction.