Monster, warm and water-proof

I rode the 355 into work this morning. It was a short, full bus with just a few seats in the back. I made my way to the rear of the bus and sat down.

Here's a photo of the monster, prettily dressed in warm and water-proof clothes.

When standing out in the elements at a bus stop, I dress for the weather. The inside of a crowded bus has a different climate than the bus stop, so once sitting on the bus, I swelter. The mask adds about 20 degrees of heat inside its discreet area. My glasses steam up. I scare children and little old ladies. Looking at this photo, I realize I wouldn't sit next to me.

I talked to my Nurse Navigator yesterday. I agreed to participate in a study of newly-diagnosed cancer patients working with Nurse Navigators (herein called the Nursigator), to help them navigate the confusing, alien and illogical world of cancer diagnosis and treatment. Unfortunately, the Nursigator was assigned to me as diagnosis was wrapping up. I could have used her when the diagnosis bombs were dropping.

I talk to the Nursigator once a week. She asks me how I'm doing, I ask her the questions I've been saving all week, she makes recommendations, etc. Yesterday I told her I had been thinking about returning to bicycle commuting, but was having mildly painful throbbing pulses in my head, chest and lower back when I exert myself. Her opinion was that this was due to depleted oxygen in my system because chemotherapy kills white blood cells.

Chemotherapy kills fast-growing cells, which applies to cancer. Cancer is cells growing at an out of control pace. Other fast-growing cells are white blood cells, which battle disease and infections. Chemotherapy reduces white blood cells to such an extent that not only is my immunity down, the other fast-growing cells in my body can be damaged, such as stomach lining, hair, and mouth. And since white blood cells are made in bone marrow, the Nursigator explained, the throbbing pain was occurring.

So, we agreed that pedaling 17 miles a day through hilly Seattle may not be such a good idea. My knees can't take running anymore, so I may be doing lots of walking. Dammit. I love riding my bicycle.


When my manager came into work this morning, he said there was a trail of my masks on the stairs. I asked him how he knew they were mine. He looked at me oddly. I went and looked. Sure enough, there were two masks on the stairs. I must have dropped them when I left work last night. I picked them up and threw them away. I then told Mr. Manager that I didn't see any masks, that he was just messing with me and my fragile condition. He adamantly insisted there were masks on the stairs. He and I and a few other curious staff went to look. What do you know! There were no masks on the stairs.

He said "Someone must have picked them up." I told him I was very worried about him and if he saw any more masks on the stairs, I wanted to know about it immediately.