A different driver from a different service took me both ways. He was courteous and on time and even called me when he was getting close. And he came into the driveway! He told me he is from Russia – Siberia – and he has lived in Boston for six years. His Americanized name is C.J., but his real name is Sergei.
The photopheresis was uneventful. I had dozed in the car (a luxury to be a passenger and not fighting to stay awake), so I wasn't sure if I would sleep, but I dozed some in the chair and also read the paper and watched the penultimate episode of The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, which made me laugh out loud.
The rest of the day was nearly a social event.
It took me a minute to realize that he was talking about the ECP.
Since I wasn't sure how long I would wait for Melissa, I had left some leeway when scheduling my ride home. I ended up having extra time, so I walked over to The Brigham and went up to my old transplant unit, 6A. It was wonderful to see a couple of nurses and the aide who had bathed me in bed when I could barely sit up.
Going over the bridge from the Yawkey Center to the hospital provided the opportunity for me to pay it back for the many times people had shown me the way.
I played tour guide along the way, gesturing to the birds carrying medicinal herbs on The Bridge of Hope and showing them the Emily Dickinson poem Hope is the thing with feathers that served as inspiration for the motif.
They were amazed by it all and said they looked forward to stopping on the way back to take a closer look. I hope that wherever they were going, I was able to show them something that might make their trip easier just as other people have done for me.