Well. Today was rough.
I woke up in pain; not the stomach pain that I've been facing since October, but an inflamed-joint type of pain, probably from arthritis or fibromyalgia. I can only assume this is a my-body-makes-things-worse type of soreness from working two full shifts on the floor for the first time in five months.
Fortunately I had today off from work, though I still had two doctors appointments to make. I übered into town, knowing there was no way I'd be able to make it to the bus stop, a thirty minute walk away. With surge pricing and traffic, however, the Über was so expensive that I couldn't take one back home.
So I took the bus, with which I have quite the love hate relationship. Love because work helps me pay for it, and, as long as I am comfortable walking, I can get almost anywhere in this city (in about two hours). And hate for lots of reasons but mostly because there are too few buses for the number of people that ride them, and thus I've developed an anxiety of being forced to stand on the bus, because I don't look "sick enough" for someone to give me their seat. Once when I was in too much pain to stand, I sat on the floor of the bus in front of the moving door, and people say there, watching it hit me as it opened, still guarding their own seat.
And yes, there is "priority seating" for the elderly and people with disabilities, but again, without a visible illness, no one believes a twenty-something claiming to be sick. Someone even yelled at once for sitting in that section, and thus I became increasingly anxious, of using just finding a seat, but finding one not in the section ironically there off for me to use.
And bringing it back to today, the entire bus was full, handicap section and all. So I stood: knees wobbling, ankles throbbing and my swollen hand holding onto a pole in front of me.
Now I have to be honest: I have never approached someone sitting in the disabled section to ask for their seat, as I don't know their story either. They may need to sit as much as I do, and who am I to profile whom it is that I ask? So I stood, eventually shaking in pain as the bus jumped over every bump and crashed over every pothole.
When it was too hard to stand, I at last lowered myself to the ground to sit; knowing I was in the way and unable to quickly get up, but I couldn't stand any longer. I suppose this is what it is to collapse.
And I will admit this group of bus-riders surprised me. I think I heard a gasp and about three people helped me back onto my feet. One asked if I was okay and I said that I thought so I just needed to sit. One of the "elderly" gave me her seat in the sacred section and she was quickly given a seat by someone else. The woman who had been sitting next to her got up too, perhaps afraid that I was contagious. That didn't make me feel great, but I also hadn't felt great from the start so it barely affected me.
And then a woman excused herself from her seat, squeezing past the others standing on our crowded bus and she sat in the next seat to me. "Are you okay?" she asked, and I looked over and saw she was wearing scrubs. This off-duty nurse saw herself as always on the clock and asked me what was happening, if I needed to go to a doctor, if I had medication, and if I was going to be okay getting home. "I have to be" I replied to her last question, now shaking from the pain.
I admired this woman's kindness and concern, though grimly know after months of pain that there really isn't anything that can be done. Still, the concern and company I appreciated. It soothed me to know that this woman spends her days looking after others and how lucky they must be in her care. She's one of the good ones, fighting the impossible fight. I felt grateful to have met her.
Her stop was before mine and she hesitantly pulled the yellow chord. She asked for a third time if I was alright and trusted my response. She stood up to leave and quickly double checked that the tea in my thermos was caffeine free. Even to the last minute she was thinking of me.
And with that she left and we both continued on our journeys.
I eventually made it home, taking many breaks and walking extremely slowly; grateful to know that even in the most stressful of moments in my least favorite environment, that I still wasn't alone.
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