Thursday, August 13, 2015

On high alert

But sometimes worrying is good for you
Today is my day to go to Boston, and the anxiety created by being stuck in the back seat with the psycho driver last week is spreading its tentacles into the beautiful morning.

It is not the freaking out kind of last week but more of a low level that is probably a good thing: a survival instinct keeping me on alert.

I took the appropriate steps, filing a complaint and writing a negative review on the website of the Prevalent transportation company. Also, Hannah in the Dana-Farber resources department said she would follow up.

When I got the automated call last night saying which company is picking me up, it was Prevalent again. I called the number and said to not send that driver because I won't get in the car with him.

I'm going to have a bag packed and a full tank of gas in case I need to drive. Since I lose some blood during the procedure and also because, even though I often doze, it's not a real sleep, I wouldn't want to drive home when I'm done, which is usually about 6:45, so I talked to Diane about sleeping there if I need to.

Some people have asked if this transportation arrangement is worth the hassles. Well, it is, because I wouldn't feel safe driving home afterwards. As stated before, except for the one who left without me because he wouldn't go down my driveway, all the rest have been fine; we've even had some interesting conversations.

The problems really stemmed from The Ride and mixups between the two different cab companies driving me to Newton or Needham, but now that I am done with that I hope it will go more long as the psycho driver doesn't come.

But first, a little relaxing tennis on at the Canoe Club to hopefully let off some anxiety and get tired enough so that a nap will come easily when I have that big needle in my arm. I'm so glad I joined. It was inexpensive and it is a great group of people, serious enough to want to have a good game but not taking themselves too seriously.

Actually there are some real jokers in the group, such as one man, Char, who makes fun of an idiosyncrasy of mine: If I miss the first serve and leave the first ball at the net, I always miss the second serve because it is a distraction in my peripheral vision. Sometimes I ask the other player to move it and then the player says don't worry it's not in the way and then I make a little fun of myself and say my concentration is too fragile to keep it there.

When Char is on the other side and a ball rolls to the net, he has taken to moving it to various spots such as putting it on a post or moving it to just under the net and asking with a big smile, "Is that OK, is that OK?"

Tennis+laughing=a good time.


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