Sick Bus

That's what I call it, the Sick Bus. It's the 80; runs from the Kennedy Center to Fort Totten. Stops at two Kaiser Permanente centers, the VA hospital, and Washington Hospital Center. And to ride this bus is to look sickness and death in the eye nearly every time.

It's scary, really, the number of scooters, wheelchairs, canes, oxygen tanks, and bandages that can be found on a single bus line. And remember: I'm no first time rider. I've been on buses for over a decade now, from "bad" neighborhood to "good" one, east side to west, 3am or high noon. I've seen a lot. But this bus - which I used to take every day to get to work - now puts me in a sober mood after just one or two stops.

To ride this bus it to be smacked in the face with the realization that health care reform is so fundamentally crucial to who we are as Americans that it cannot be done wrong. Or not be done at all. Why must so many of my fellow riders struggle? Literally, physically struggle - to step onto the bus, to sit in a seat, to reach up and pull the cord to signal their stop, to walk off the bus to their destination. Is it really possible that everyone on this bus besides me has made bad decisions about their health that have led them to this place? And haven't *I* made many of those same bad decisions along the way? I'm struggling to eat healthy, exercise, and preserve my health. And I have every incentive - including monetary - to do so. Why am I in such a different place than the other riders?

These questions confound me and profoundly sadden me each time I ride this bus, which is only maybe once or twice a month at this point. I had become so desensitized to the suffering on a daily basis that only now do I realize just how sick this bus really is.

I invite every Senator, every Congressperson to ride the 80 with me on a Saturday morning. If you don't think we're leaving behind many, many people when it comes to healthcare, then you're dead wrong. We have to act fast, for many of these riders have little time left. That they have to rely solely on a sometimes-late, never-entirely-comfortable bus ride while simultaneously suffering from ill health makes me mad. They deserve better. We all do.

Patients/Patience

One thing that all of my physical and psychological struggles this summer (pleurisy, change of meds, sick cats) have taught me is the tremendous power of patience, especially when you're the patient. It sounds cliched, I know, but I've come a long way from when I once had to lay still for an hour during a PET Scan and nearly lost my mind. For me, that experience at the time was equivalent to two weeks in solitary. It was that traumatic.

But now, after weeks of bloodwork, IVs, waiting rooms, tiny syringes with live-saving pet medicine, the excruciatingly slow process of stopping two meds and starting another, I realize I've come out much better on the other side.

To wit: the other morning I experienced something that might have really frustrated me before. I got to the bus stop - five blocks away, running late - only to realize that when I'd switched handbags that morning, I'd left my SmarTrip card at home. I scramble into my wallet and, to my relief, realized I had a single dollar and two quarters. Bus fare's only $1.35, but it was better to have more than to not have enough. One hurdle crossed; I still had to purchase and use a paper Metrorail ticket once I got to the station.

Now I'm lucky in that McPherson Square is a relatively mellow place to catch the train during rush hour. I'm heading out of the city, which helps, and only the orange and blue line stop there. I skip down the escalator, extracting my ATM card to make the purchase and realize there's a long line...at one single ticket dispenser. All of the others taunt us with "Out of Order" signs. Really? During rush hour? Okay. It's not so bad.

In fact, the guy ahead of me bails. As does a second guy. Sweet! I'm now second in line. And I quickly realize why they'd left. Standing in front of me were to very sweet, very slow elderly people trying to purchase what must have been their first Metro Cards ever. EVER. As the wife peers over her glasses at the screen, the husband drops in a dime. Clink! The dime's no good. So what does he do? He pops it back in the machine. Again. And again.

By that time the line is eight people deep and I'm wondering when the candid cameras are going to pop out and reveal that I've been a part of one of those 20/20 experiments on human behavior. But as the husband turns around, smiles at me and says with a chuckle, "The machine doesn't like the dime," and his wife finally, mercifully pulls out a dollar instead, I'm reminded that a little patience goes a long way.

After all, if I've sat around waiting to see if Harry was going to make it through the night; if my chest pains were just inflammation or something much, much worse; or whether my own brain had turned against me (it hadn't, thank goodness), then I could surely grant this couple a few minutes of patients as they navigate what, to them, must be a terribly complicated process.

Turns out I made it to work on time after all, and as I sipped my first cup of coffee of the morning, I realized things were pretty good, after all, if you just take the time to stop and enjoy the ride.

PSA: Sweet Kittehs

As many of you know, this blogger is passionate about mah kittehs, H & P (just look at them!). They're so precious and loving; I can't imagine my life without them. Many evenings and weekends find me pet sitting as a part-time job. It's probably the best PT job ever (okay, it's a close tie with fashion, but that's another story) in that I get to goof around with rabbits, cats, dogs, and sometimes other things (the occasional ferret and hamster), while being paid to keep an eye on someone's home. Like I said: nearly perfect.

Currently, my summer's filled with the on-again/off-again sitting for five (5!) kittens and an older female cat at a neighbor's house. Only the kittens are rescue kitties and all are looking for forever homes. Their feeding and care in their foster mother's house is supported by Alley Cat Allies, an amazing organization that realizes the value feral cats bring to an urban ecosystem, while simultaneously acknowledging that spayed and neutered animals are happier and healthier animals. Check out their PSA:



If you're looking to add a sweet kitten to your home, any of these five would be a great addition. They're about 12 weeks old, litter trained, playful, fluffy, and just about every other good thing one looks for in a kitten. Contact Alley Cat Allies directly or consult their website for adoption opportunities.

Okay, I'm off my soapbox. Mee-yow.

For the Birds...

Unbelievably, I've been pulled into a natural disaster waiting to happen. A quick Google search shows that 90 - 95% of wild birds that are hand fed don't survive. Yet here I am, using dull tweezers and a quarter-teaspoon measuring cup to feed Archie. That's what I've named him: Archibald. Archie for short.

What's wrong with me?

Why did I have to stumble upon his gaping wide open yellow mouth last night? What led me to be outside on a ridiculously humid evening, when thunder and lightning were barely a memory and more of their ilk threatened my lush neighborhood any minute? And why him? A sibling lay prostrate nearby, clearly killed by the fall. But this little guy...he thrived. He survived.

So a 12-pack diet Coke box is his home, and a brick keeps him safe from predators. I cannot believe he even survived the night. His feathers are growing, his legs are getting stronger. And like a newborn baby, his head is WAY too big for his body.

Grow strong, little guy! Spread your wings and fly...

Sweat Equity

Ugh. I hate hot weather. Heck, I hate warm weather. Why? One word: sweat. For as long as I can remember, I've been a sweatier than average person, but this problem has only been compounded as the weight's crept on over the past few years.

It's to the point now that I'm extremely self conscious about my appearance whenever the temperature hits 75. Do I look overly hot? Is my shirt damp? Does my hair look like I just got out of the pool, even though I don't even know how to swim?


It's crummy, for sure. However, I've noticed that as I'm exercising more and getting my heart rate up with greater frequency, I may still sweat, but I'm able to cool down much faster. This is a relief. As much as I want to kick myself every single day for "letting myself go," I'm constantly reminded how small changes can make a big difference. And for that I am grateful...

On Bus Rides and Other Things

Today I took the bus to the grocery store. So did my neighbor, who has a perfectly functioning car. That she chose public transportation makes me like her more. But on Saturday, all was not good times and grocery runs. Saturday's buses were full of those in wheelchairs, scooters, and on walkes - those who have had a rough go of it, to say the least. And Saturday's experience brought me back to my Chicago days of bus riding...

My first real experience with mass transit occurred in Chicago, as an undergrad on the South Side. Want to get to the city? Take a bus. I mean, you could hop on the El...but you'd have to take a bus to get there. So, we reconciled ourselves to getting around via buses.

And I have no qualms with buses. Trains are sanitary - chock full of suits and novels and all that nonsense that rarely occurs on a bus. Sure, they're faster, but are trains really better?

I soon discovered the benefits of the bus. From Point A to Point B - what's the fastest route? The bus. Want to know who's driving and who to sit nearby in the case of sketchy fellow commuters? Get to know your bus driver. Running a dime or quarter short on this trip? S/he probably won't mind, as long as you make it up on the next ride.

That's what's so great about bus drivers. Today's driver - on the way back - was able to laugh along with all of us as two gals in Louboutin platforms (I kid you not) discovered the intricacies of the payment mechanism. Yep, it's $1.35 and yep, you both have to pay the full amount and, nope, there are no longer any transfers. But as we all laughed and the driver nearly passed my stop, I was reminded of the reason why I enjoy riding the bus so very much - sometimes human interaction can make all the difference, even if it's just a bus ride...