I was nervous. It was rainy and windy, just like the week before. The driver was an old hippie (nothing wrong with that) who had Dark Side of the Moon on the radio. Nothing wrong with listening to an album whose "heavy lyrical musings on the human condition inspired countless bong-fueled headphone listening sessions in darkened bedrooms." It carried me back to college and my "junior year abroad" at Wesleyan University. I remember a particular scene with the songs playing in the background. Days of innocence and all that. In the car in the rain with a headache it kind of creeped me out.
If you have to go to the hospital for a procedure, going to the Kraft Family Blood Donor Center is a good place to do it. My ECP session (the light therapy on my blood) started out on a good note. I must have been well hydrated because the needle in each arm went in on the first try. Interesting what gives me pleasure! They are all so friendly, and they all hate Donald Trump. They have are funny and kind and are good at fluffing pillows. From one of them I learned something new. He has a spiritual advisor. My nurse for the day said another nurse had shown her a video. I thought maybe she was making it up. But sure enough on my way out, the other nurse showed me the video of Paula White offering a prayer condemning the president's opponents, "accusing them of being aligned with evil spirits and using sorcery."
When I showed one of them the school photos of the kids (the grandchildren, who, back in 2008, I thought I would never see), her mouth dropped open. I thought something was wrong. But it wasn't. She said she was thinking how much Nell looked like a photo of me, as a child, that I had showed them a while back. I don't see it, but some say that Katie looks like me, and I don't see that either. In any case I like showing them off.
The drive home started off on a strange note that was different from the strange one on which the trip had begun at 2 p.m. that day. Usually the drivers live in Western Mass, and the one who drives me sticks around. For some reason I had a Boston-based company. The old hippie driver had complained that he had been driving since 4 a.m. and he had no idea why they sent him out to get me. A different driver was going to bring me home. I said I hoped they wouldn't forget me. They didn't forget me, but I had another who lived in Boston, and he didn't seem to know the route back. I wasn't paying attention when we headed back around 6:30 p.m. Then I noticed that he was on Route 20. I asked why he wasn't using the turnpike, and he said it was because his Waze had told him to go that way. I said there were a lot of lights on this road and he should take The Pike.
"I can't help it that there are a lot of lights," he said.
I asked what his app said our ETA was. Mine said 8:30. His was around 9:15.
He agreed to find the turnpike entrance.