|Way cool light show through|
the O'Hare Airport Tunnel.
Okay, so after a while, I'm going to have to take a break from these Chicago posts. Well, actually, I don't plan on going back unless some things change with the transplant clinic. Oh, I want it known and understood that I absolutely, unequivocally, love and appreciate and love the surgeons who gave me a chance to live free of diabetes and extend my life. They ROCK!
But at the appointment I had on June 10th, a day before I left to come home to Spokane, Washington, I was made to promise cooperation with the requirements set forth by the head surgeon in order to release me to go home. I did.
I was in travel clothes which included my jeans, had a heavy backpack to tow, and once again luggage to pull. I can do this. The exercise will be good after being on a plane. So here I was, roaming the streets of Chicago lugging luggage--again.
After the first mile, I was sweating so bad the water dripping from my face and hair blurred the GPS on my phone. I had to keep stopping to wipe the sweat from my glasses. I came upon a Baskin and Robbins and stopped for a scoop of ice cream and a respite in air-conditioning. I can't make the other mile. What to do now?
My watch displayed 4:50 PM. I called Lenee--the angel a couple of posts back. "It's perfect timing," she announced. I get off work in a few minutes and pick you up and bring you to the apartment. But I can't stay--have to get my daughter to soccer practice."
"That's fine with me. I'll wait on the corner."
Sweaty, armed with a backpack and suitcase, and dressed inclemently in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, I leaned on the corner pole. I'm pathetic.
Lenee arrived and dropped me off. I took a shower and changed into fresh clothes to settle down for the night. The complex had dinner to purchase from area restaurants that came on Tuesday and Thursday. I got pot roast and veges and called John to let him know all was well.
Again I appreciated a free place to stay, but this time was really tough. The apartment brought back scenes of lonely days and nights, the couch a reminder of how many days post surgery I laid on it weak and sick, and the memory of paramedics collecting me onto a stretcher when I had semi-passed out from a 104.5 fever. No worries--only a few days to stay here. I didn't fall asleep until 3:00 AM.
Friday morning, I got up early and had to catch the bus at 8:20 AM. I was exhausted but had to go get blood work for the afternoon appointment. I took the train back so I could stop at Starbucks and get an ice coffee--a large ice coffee. The train conductor announced there was a dangerous storm moving in with hail and dangerous lightening.
We arrived at the Clinton St. Station and I made my way down the gray, dirty steps to the street. I saw the storm getting close but figured I had time to get coffee and walk the four blocks to the apartment. Not. I waited on a short line and by the time I was handed my Venti, Iced Latte, 2% Milk, SF Vanilla, the storm had arrived.
A few buildings shielded me for a while but then the fierce rain pounded my unprotected self. I watched people's umbrellas fly away and did my best to run for the building. Once inside, the extreme air conditioning froze my clothing creating a pocket of cold air between my shirt and me. "I would have made it if I hadn't stopped for Starbucks," I joked out loud to the people standing in the lobby. No one looked at me or smiled. Such fuddy duds.
When I got up to the apartment, I laid my clothes on chairs to dry and took another shower. I had a few hours before leaving for my 1:15 PM appointment.
Next post: Oh why, Oh why, did I fly to the city, oh why, oh why, did I go?
Visit me at http://www.cindyscinto.com