New Friends Can Pay Off in Crisis

“Get up, Mom! I’m hungry!” Seven-year-old Melanie jarred me awake.

I couldn’t believe I’d slept so late. It was nearly 10:30 on a blistering hot Mexican morning and I could hardly move. Certainly the couple of Coronas the night before couldn’t have done that much damage.

I didn’t know then that my worst nightmare was about to come true: While traveling solo with my three kids in a foreign country--Mexico, no less--I was on my way to getting terribly ill.

I wasn’t supposed to be alone this trip. With our husbands tied up at work, a close friend from California and I had planned a Mexican reunion with our kids. But at the last minute, she had to cancel.

Disappointed, I resolved to meet some friendly parents to provide needed adult counterpoint to a week with the kids. Little did I know how important those acquaintances would become.

They are the silver lining to this tale, in fact: The casual around-the-pool relationships I’d made with two other moms during the week at the resort would, in the course of one awful day, deepened into real friendship. I hate to think of what might have happened if I’d had my head unsociably buried in a book that week.

Very quickly I would also discover how much I could depend on 14-year-old Matt and 12-year-old Reggie. Travel, I realized, can be a great equalizer for families: Away from home and all the familiar supports, we shouldn’t be afraid to ask for our kids’ help, if only by pulling together to weather the rough spots.

It was our last day in Mexico, and even if I’d been perfectly fine, the day would have been a bear. Our return was a 2:30 a.m. charter flight to Dallas, where we’d have to clear customs and face a nearly three-hour layover before heading home on another three-hour-plus flight. We were instructed to be out of our rooms before dinner. “We party until it’s time to go,” one parent said, laughing.

But that night, while everyone was dancing the macarena, I was lying on a couch outside the resort infirmary, feverish and trying to convince myself, in between trips to the bathroom, that I wasn’t really that sick. I didn’t even have any spare clothes--everything was at the airport. I’d never felt worse.

Earlier that day, when I pushed away the first-rate gazpacho and everything else at lunch, my new friend, Lori Dahlberg, urged me to see the resort nurse. “Leave Melanie with me,” she commanded.

Lori is a take-charge single mom from Calgary, Canada, a successful real estate agent. Her daughter Jacqueline and Melanie had been fast friends since they found each other in the pool the day we arrived. We’d gotten to know each other while watching the girls play water games--with competing shrieks--in front of us.

I’d met my other buddy through the kids, too, practically pouncing on Woody Lawson, a warm-hearted North Carolinian-turned-New Englander from Hingham, Mass., on the way to breakfast with her husband and family the first day. She had a daughter exactly Reggie’s age. Reggie already had declared that if she didn’t find a friend immediately, the trip would be a complete bust. Luckily, Reggie and Eleanor Lawson clicked; so did Woody and I.

Woody urged me to go to the infirmary too. My mistake was not insisting on seeing the doctor the resort had on call. The nurse had suggested Pepto-Bismol. A nap would help, I figured.

With Melanie taken care of and Matt and Reggie off sailing with their friends, I slept the afternoon away. I woke up feeling worse, dreading the travel ahead but with no alternative. I managed to get us packed and the kids to dinner. By the time the dancing started, I was burning with fever. I couldn’t keep anything down. Lori called the nurse, who called the doctor. He prescribed an antibiotic, but it would take a few hours to kick in.

Finally, it was midnight and time to head to the airport. Lori corralled the resort manager and managed to borrow some clothes for me and get us upgraded to first class. Woody took charge of Matt, Reggie and our too-many carry-on bags. The resort nurse accompanied me on the half-hour ride to the airport. I needed a wheelchair to make it to the plane.

I was nearly in tears when, one by one, people I’d shared dinner or a conversation with offered to help us. I realized that people want to help--as I would. You just need to ask.

All the way to Dallas, I slept. Somehow, we made it through customs. Lori and the Lawsons took charge. For once, the kids weren’t fighting.

We collapsed in the first-class lounge, courtesy of Lori’s membership. I dozed while Lori and Woody took care of all the details for the next leg of the trip. My husband was waiting when we arrived.

A bad case of food poisoning, my doctor said the next day. I was lucky I didn’t end up in the hospital.

Phew, I’m glad that’s over. But I wouldn’t have missed knowing Woody or Lori for anything. I just hope I have the chance to return the favor sometime.

Taking the Kids appears the first and third weeks of every month.