Some of you may have noticed a bit of a lapse in my blog writing schedule. I set off a month ago to write about a recent first trip to Dublin. Then life changed, and I found myself on quite a different journey, this one to the U.S. to help get some answers for why Rachel's knees were swollen and painful. I have learned a lot about medical uncertainty and thought a lot about navigating the medical world from afar and from near. I know this is primarily a travel blog, but this gives me a platform to bring you all up-to-date on that journey. I'll share some details later in in this post, but let's visit Dublin first.

These books of mine by Irish writers were happy to pose for a photo. Some people may call them dark, with all the family trauma and drinking problems. I say bring it on. This year, I especially gravitated to the books by Colm and Colum, and to Someone by Alice McDermott, in which not much and yet everything happens. And also Matthew Thomas' giant Irish family saga, We Are Not Ourselves. I love those sprawling Irish books that take you through generations. You see the root of all that sadness and watch it spread to children and grandchildren. Real life.

Actually, before we arrive in Dublin, a bit more about my connection to Ireland. I've spent most of my life with an attraction to all things Irish. O.K., maybe not all things, but not just with the books. I'm also drawn to people who at some point in their past hailed from Ireland. That explains my friendships with Danny Kelley, Pam Kelly, Kate McCaffrey, Sheila Murphy, Mary Ann Kelleher Spencer, John Lawler, etc. I love their stories of their sprawling families, which fit in with the fantasies I had as a kid about being part of a huge family, á la Cheaper by the Dozen. While my friend Danny described his family of seven kids lining up in the kitchen in the morning with plates in front of each of them, waiting assembly-line style for their toast to pop out of the toaster, I felt both jealousy and relief. Jealousy that there were only a meager three kids in our house, and relief because I knew full well I had a hard time sharing even with those two siblings I had been granted.

Danny Kelley, gets another extra mention here, though he hates to be in the spotlight. He's the doctor friend we all wish we had. You can call at any time with your family's medical issues. He patiently gives advice, explaining all the doctor-speak in plain and simple and sometimes brutally honest words. He does this not just from the perspective of the fine doc that he is, but also as a patient. He's unfortunately had a ton of experience in that role, too. He's been through cancer, a liver transplant, and Hepatitis C, so he knows what it's like to be on the patient-end of the tunnel, peering down a dark hole and not getting any clear answers. He hasn't been able to make it to Amsterdam, but two of his kids and his wife Laura have, so it almost feels like he's been here, too. As I've said before, one of the many advantages of being an expat is that your friends' kids actually want to visit you. I love getting to see glimpses of my friends in the genes of their kids. Here's not just a great Irish song, but a great song. Period. This one's for you, DK.

Now that I've filled you in on my Irish history, we are ready to travel. Somehow, I had never made it to Ireland before, a distinct travel gap in my suddenly much more active travel life. For my maiden voyage to Ireland, we only visited Dublin. That felt like missing the best part of the party, standing on the fringes instead of being in the center of the action. What I really wanted to see was the green villages, and the coast. That would have to wait for another trip. Even my friend Tracy, an American expat transplant to Dublin from Amsterdam, lamented the lack of "things to do" in Dublin. Unlike in Amsterdam, she sighed, there aren't great museums or historical sights. Nonetheless, I was determined to make the most of my weekend.

The adventure started with my cab ride from the airport. I understood about every 10th word that my cabdriver Vincent Markey uttered. So much for a weekend spent in an English-speaking land. In the short 15 minute ride, Mr. Markey brogued - maybe not a word, but it should be - about everything from the large portions in the U.S., to our sedentary lifestyle. His musings were accompanied by the obligatory story about visiting his brother in Virginia and trying to walk along a highway to a Home Depot, with the stops and stares of drivers along the way. Or at least that's what I could make out from his lovely sing-song stories.

A long walk along a canal made me feel right at home.

I know I spend too much of my time comparing places. I can't help it! Maybe Dublin doesn't have the museums to offer up, but I think it outshines Amsterdam in the restaurants it serves up. We had two really great dinners, one at a French place called Dax, and the other at a hip and happening spot called Forest & Marcy. At the latter, we sat facing our tattooed chef, who assembled each course with a fastidiousness that seemed at odds with the laid-back hipster vibe oozing from his never-seen-the-sun Irish pores. Everyone who worked at the place looked so young. Yes, I've hit that stage of life.

The one culinary misstep I took came at breakfast, at a place called Seven Wonders, where I fell prey to my craving for a decent bagel (another thing I can't find in Amsterdam). Deciding to go local, I ordered a bagel with eggs and something called ballymoe. It sounded so Irish, and the fellow behind the counter described it by saying it tasted, "like roasted tomatoes" and "the Irish love it". Turns out it was basically a spicy ketchup, and it seemed to be tagging along on many items on the menu. I guess it has to grow on you.

Luckily, I was able to get back on the horse that threw me by visiting the Temple Bar Food Markets. The scones alone made the weekend worthwhile.

While I needed subtitles to understand much of the Irish lilt, the bookstores did not disappoint. I could understand the words on almost of the books I saw. The Temple Bar Book Market had a small but well-stocked selection of good used books, with an emphasis on the Irish writers I have always had a crush on. We also visited a few bookstores, where I continued my hobby of seeking out my author friend - and longtime fellow Maplewood Book Group member - Pamela Erens' books on the shelf. I always send her a photo of her books. If I were a famous writer, I think that's what I would want, too. If you're in Dublin, Hodges Figgis is a terrific place. When it comes to saying what makes for a great bookstore, I think a lot has to do with the arrangements of the books, and the little blurbs written by the staff, or by reviewers, which catch your eye and help you make a decision. And, of course, the books themselves, which Hodges Figgis had in all their glory in every genre a bookworm could dream of.

Like Amsterdam, Dublin has its share of parks you can duck into to catch some green and some quiet. In St. Stephens Green, there are places to seek shelter during the rainstorms. And you can also pose next to James Joyce. I doubt he would have approved of my orange Nikes. What with all of the grey days and the rain, I think the weather helps explain the abundance of Irish writers.

With no coffeeshops or a Red Light district to keep the tourists busy, Dublin seems to shuffle many of their tourists to Trinity College. Once you are there, you, too, can line up to see the Book of Kells. It's considered Ireland's "greatest cultural treasure" and also "the world's most famous medieval manuscript". Who knew there was competition for that award? It was really crowded, which was a bit puzzling, since I had no idea so many tourists were interested in medieval manuscripts. The best part of the visit is the stunning library.

You can almost feel yourself getting smarter and smarter as you wander around the grounds.

The final stop on our visit was the National Botanic Gardens, a huge, gorgeous oasis in the city. The list of no-no's in the gardens helps explain why it's so peaceful. According to their website, they do not allow, "dogs, picnics, bicycles, scooters, ball games, jogging or running, nor the playing of musical instruments or recorded music." The fact that there are rules - or, rather, that the rules are obeyed - was very unlike Amsterdam park life.

And speaking of rules, I very much appreciated the signage spotted in Dublin and the attempt to persuade people to be neat and tidy.

Now on to my travels through the dark, uncertain recesses of the medical world. Not all of our travels can be full of pretty scenes and food, right? Sometimes expats find that their distance from the U.S. is a giant, anxiety-producing monster. Like it became earlier this month when Rachel called in tears of pain from her swollen knees. The first doctor (orthopedic surgeon) proclaimed it a symptom of Lyme's disease (who knew?). So back to the U.S. I came to help her navigate the decidedly non-science world of medicine, where different doctors tell you different things and start the appointment by criticizing what the previous doc did. Three weeks into treatment for Lyme's, we were told she doesn't have Lyme's after all. She has rheumatoid arthritis. It's an auto-immune disease. Not exactly the news we were hoping for, but I'm trying to put it in perspective. Does it make you feel better to try to think of people worse off than you? It's my go-to when things go wrong for me and mine. And like most of you, I start to search for information and answers. Google is truly a double-edged sword when it comes to medicine. It gives you some much-needed information, but also takes you down a rabbit-hole of scare-you-silly stories. I'm trying to minimize the time I spend searching these days.

One thing this journey has reminded me is how hard it is for most of us to deal with illness. Maybe it's the difficulty of dealing with uncertainty or things that can't be quickly fixed. So what we do is ask the person who's sick, "How are you feeling?" or "Feeling any better today?" because it's just so hard to hear that nothing has changed and she doesn't really feel any better. We do it out of love and concern, and because what else can you say? No one teaches you how to deal with this, until you have a long-term sickness yourself or you are in the throes of helping someone close to you manage. Is it O.K. to just say, "Sorry you are feeling this way," and leave it at that? That goes against our human nature, I think, which is to seek results and cross things off of lists. We seek change and improvement, and when that doesn't come because of physical or mental health issues, we are left bewildered. We also try to help out by sharing stories of our own connections to disease, as if this will make the person with the illness feel better, in a more-the-merrier kind of way. Believe me, I've engaged in this story-sharing, too. I realize now that especially when a person first gets a diagnosis, the last thing they need to hear are horror stories of disease gone horribly wrong. Again, I know this is just our human nature: to connect somehow to bad news and somehow lighten the load for the person who's sick. Disappointment is tough to deal with. Best song ever about disappointment. Sorry that the song doesn't match up with the video. Just another example of things being a little off.

I just started reading a book called The Tincture of Time: A Memoir of (Medical) Uncertainty. The author is a mom, ex-lawyer turned writer, daughter of a doctor (yup, we share some history) who is writing about some of the issues I've been turning over and over in my head, usually between 3 and 4 a.m. Apparently, there is a concept known in the medical world as "the tincture of time". Given time, many medical problems seem to resolve themselves. That's far from comforting when you are waiting and waiting for answers. When you are sick, or helping someone who is, your days quickly lose the energy they usually have. "Many days fell away with nothing to show." That's how it feels.

I've learned more than I can explain from friends who have had to struggle with some of the cruelest diseases there are. Thank you, Kelly, Arthur, and Danny for all of the lessons I've learned from you. And then there are the strongmen and strongwomen who stand by their men and women. The word caretakers doesn't begin to explain what they do. Thank you Mom, John, Janet, Laura K., Laura F. and Cristina (and apologies to anyone I've left out), for being role models, for showing me how to be there for someone who is hurting. That's one tough job. There is something particularly painful about watching your own kid experience pain. You would do anything to trade places with her. While sitting in various doctors' offices, I couldn't help but think about this scene with Shirley MacLaine from Terms of Endearment. Brilliant.

So thanks to family for all their love and helping us laugh (first prize in the laughter category to my sister Jen), to my mother-in-law Lenore for letting us take over her place), to books and Netflix for helping Rachel and me take our minds off of illness, and to writing for letting me vent and sift through my feelings. And to you for listening. Thanks as always to music, for helping us sing. Soon, we hope there will be dancing. A lot of dancing. And a trip to the Irish countryside, too.