I've been to some weird and wonderful places on my travels so far, but none more so, perhaps, than the one in which I find myself right now. It's a small island in the Northern hemisphere, with a cool climate - a very cool climate actually, particularly at this time of year. The people are friendly, the scenery can be breathtaking, and there's lots of cultural stuff going on. It's a bit expensive, but I've organised a homestay, and my 'hosts' speak really good English! Okay, enough of my so-called jokes. I'm in England, at my dad's. So, let me explain how it's come to be, that just over 6 months into what I had expected to be a year-long adventure away from home, I find myself looking out of a bedroom window, at leafless branches and a grey sky...

Tell anyone you're going to India and, along with various warnings about personal safety, they'll tell you to beware of the water! So when I arrived in the country on January 13th, I was vigilent from the off, drinking only that which had been boiled or bottled. Of course, you can't account for the hygiene of others - and I suspect that's how I ended up with my first (and mercifully short) bout of sickness, just 4 days in - but wherever possible, I was careful. Even though I'd been told the water in the place where I was staying was filtered throughout the building, I played it safe - until one day, about a week ago, when I was in a hurry and decided to fill my water bottle from the tap. I knew others who'd drunk from it, and they were okay, after all...

Now, I may be wrong - there's no way of knowing for sure what made me so poorly - but it seems very likely that it was my bad luck (or, as you will soon see, GOOD luck!) that for whatever reason, the water in the building wasn't drinkable, after all - at least, not that day. Maybe the filters needed changing. Anyway, the result was an entire night of extreme sickness and diahorrea (sorry if that repulses you, but surely it was obvious what was coming next?!), made worse by the fact that I was trying to rehydrate myself with the very water I now suspect had made me so ill in the first place!!

By 6.50am, I could bear it no longer - my body was wracked with pain, my forehead feeling like it was being prized open by a crow bar, and my kidneys as though they were so sick of trying to rid my body of toxins, that they were trying to make an exit through my back. I was also becoming a little delirious, presumably because of the dehydration I was experiencing. So I staggered out of my room and knocked on my friend, Daniel's door, who didn't need me to say much before suggesting we pay a visit to the local hospital.

Thankfully, Aadithya Adhikari Hospital is just a short walk from where I was staying, so despite the absence of any rickshaws due to the time of day, we were able to get there pretty fast. And when we arrived, things didn't slow down. I was seen immediately, by Dr Chandra Shekar - a middle-aged Indian man with a sunny disposition, perfect English, a tendency to sing, and an almost fatherly desire to help me get better as quickly as possible.

After an initial consultation, I was given an injection of strong pain killers and taken to a room of my own, where I was rehydrated via a drip, before being taken for an ultrasound scan of my abdomen to rule out the possibility of kidney stones (the intense pain I felt in that area had raised Dr Shekar's suspicions that this may be the cause of my rather sudden demise). The woman who did the scan was, like all the staff I'd encountered so far, efficient and friendly. But it was in a rather casual, matter-of-fact manner that she informed me, in her rippling Indian accent, "Well madam, you don't have any kidney stones, but you do have a cyst the size of an orange on one of your ovaries". I'm sorry, what?!!

It certainly wasn't the diagnosis I had expected. I don't know what I was expecting (although I was, of course, hoping it wasn't kidney stones), but it hadn't crossed my mind that this might be the outcome - even if, looking back over the months and years, I did actually have a number of symptoms which suggested something wasn't right with my reproductive system. Naturally, I asked if my fertility would be affected - "Oh don't worry, your right ovary will still be fine". Okaaaaay......

After that, everyone - myself included - lost interest in my original complaint; now, the focus was on my left ovary and the 'fruit' that was growing in/on/around it (I still don't actually know which of those applies). Before I knew what was happening, I was unplugged from my drip and taken to the nearby Vikram Hospital - by Dr Shekar himself, in his own car. It really was VIP treatment, and that only continued, with the staff at the next place quickly preparing me for a CT scan - something Dr Shekar had suggested I have, so he and his colleagues could be sure of their diagnosis and advise me on what do next.

The scans (or my holiday snaps, as I now like to call them), show the cyst very clearly, and upon seeing the images for the first time, I wondered how I'd been carrying around my 'satsuma' (for it's not quite as big as an orange) in such a small space, unknowingly and for so long. But it turns out that most people with these sorts of cycts don't know they're there - according to the NHS website (the only one I've allowed myself to look at), they're usually only detected by accident, when some other condition is being investigated. And in some people, they grow as big as 14cm - to melon-sized proportions!!

Now, I should be clear: this is NOT a serious condition, as many people will already know. As scary as it was to be told I'm that currently playing host to a sack of yucky fluid in this most delicate and feminine area, I'm aware that it could be a lot worse. But the fact that it bursting is one way in which it could be worse (due to the fact that such an event could lead to infection), does mean it needs to be removed at the earliest opportunity. And until then, I need to be careful not to do anything which might cause that to happen - including my Ashtanga yoga practice...

I was told I could have the necessary surgery in India, and that it would be a fast and simple procedure. I must say, I was tempted - India has a very good reputation for surgery and a burgeoning 'medical tourism' industry, as a consequence. In fact, I believe we employ a lot of Indian doctors in the UK, partly because we don't have enough British doctors to fill the posts, but also because they're often so good at what they do. But I didn't want to be alone for such an experience, and I'd have had to have travelled to Bangalore, four hours away, for the best treatment. Call me a wimp, but I'd barely survived my recent bikini wax (that's a WHOLE other story!!!), so I didn't fancy my chances gettting my ovaries tinkered with without the support of a friend or, ideally, a family member.

So, over the next few days, as my cyst gradually filled up with enough water for my body to start letting some of it out again (and this time, from the right orifice!!), I made the decision to come home. It wasn't an easy decision - I had plans to do futher yoga teacher training in Mysore throughout February, and to explore Kerala for some time after that. Plus, I still have a number of other countries on my hit-list, which I had anticipated visiting before my 'official' return date in July. Mentally, I wasn't prepared for the prospect of coming home. But it only took one conversation with my mum to confirm what I knew in my heart of hearts: I had to make a detour. A very big one - to England.

I gave myself a couple of days to fit in a few sightseeing missions I'd not yet ticked off my list (Mysore Palace being lit up at night, the marvellously colourful Devaraja Market, and Chamundi Hill, which overlooks this majestic city from a height of 1062 metres), and spent time with the small group of close friends I'd made over my three weeks there. Then, on Tuesday 3rd February, I began the long journey home... And now, one rickshaw, two buses, two planes, a train and a car journey later, here I am in the magical kingdom of, errrrm, Leeds!

Being here feels so familiar and yet so foreign. It's a bit like I've woken from a very long dream (although my bank account is all the reassurance I need that I have indeed spent the last six months away!). I could feel disappointed about coming back, and there is a small part of me that regrets not having the courage to get the surgery done in India. But I truly believe this was meant to be part of my journey. It's provided me with an opportunity to see how I feel about the prospect of being in England long-term, something which might well inform decisions I need to make about what happens after July, when in theory, I should be coming back for good...

So I shall try to enjoy this temporary interlude with grace and a smile (although, being a massive wimp, I can't promise the same for the surgery!). I don't have a point to prove; I don't need to have been away for a year exactly, even if it definitely did feel like that at the start. The adventures won't stop after July - adventures are a lifelong gurantee, after all, and I get the feeling there are a few big ones in store for me yet! And, there's certainly a lot to smile at right here, right now - not least the beaming faces of family and friends, who I've missed so much!

I will also continue to remind myself daily, of how lucky (or blessed - call it what you will) I am. Lucky to have averted a minor crisis - quite possibly, a yoga-induced, cyst-popping incident, somewhere in the back of beyond!! Lucky to have so many lovely people - both old and new, near and far - in my life. Lucky to have already had the good fortune to explore some of the most beautiful places in the world, and to know there's more to come. Lucky, in fact, to spend any amount of time in any of the corners of this endlessly fascinating planet - since your experience of life can be good, wherever you are; it often just depends on how you choose to look at it.