Except exempted expectations

Arriving late for late work

Today was going to be different at work, we finally have the authority to make changes that have been held up by power-plays, anxiety and unmentionable attitudes – the day was going to be long.

So, a leisurely start of the day would be for 11:00AM, there is no point working all hours even though contractors might want to maximise their charges, one has to temper the needs for work with those of rest, recuperation and commonsense.

Vast changes on scales

I am constantly reminded by my body that it would not always respond in ways my mind expects though my weight seems to be going North at speeds that could become a cause for worry – in 6 weeks I have gained 5 kilograms and I can assure you it is not from food.

Somehow, the things the chemotherapy held in abeyance have begun to break free which also means my body should gain more of the ability to fight off opportunistic infection and amongst other things my taste is returning, I tried yoghurt the other day and it tasted better than I have known for 6 months – now, we have to try Greek yoghurt with honey.

My pain patch has now been quartered and it lasts a week from a full dose that began to wear off within 72 hours, in two weeks I see my specialist and hopefully there would be good news all round about health, a possible change in drug regimes and much more.

Stretching the time in minutes

Anyway, the inspiration for this blog goes back to the beginning where I had planned to get to work by 11:00 and arrived 30 minutes later. Having taken a tram to save myself the 5-minute walk to the connection that goes to the Central Station or “Centraal” Station, the Dutch stretch their vowels as a “generaal” thing; the indicator informed that the tram should arrive in 2 minutes.

For a while, it seemed the minute had been recalibrated to mean 240 seconds, then the countdown to zero left us expecting the tram but it still did not arrive, by which time a few had run out of patience and sought alternatives.

We waited in hope and expectation as the indicator teased us with another 2 minute wait and lasted for another indeterminate number of seconds per minute, one look at my watch showed that I had been standing for about 25 minutes and then the tram arrived.

Back at an ache I want not

If only the indicator had said 25 minutes when I first got to the tram stop I would have sought other means of getting to the Central Station and not wasted my time pining, hoping, getting irritated and suffering from unnecessary backache.

You can imagine, this is supposed to be the least obstructed tram line in Amsterdam, hardly any jostling with traffic except at crossings where trams have priority and it all consists of no more than 10 stops – however, it is easily one of the most inefficient at times with little information about problems when they occur.

After all that, the tram was so overcrowded maybe only half of those waiting got on, there is a possibility that there would be so many more so soon after the one I boarded but few would chance that expectation as a lady gave me her seat on seeing I had a cane – I stood all the while waiting, when I should have sat down and a pain I had not felt in my back for ages seemed to be making an unwelcome visitation – not for me again, no, not that pain.

A long and windy road to the bloods

A course of detours

Another free day but not from things that need getting done; I had scheduled going to hospital today to give some blood in advance of my third quarterly check-up with my medical consultant, I also took the opportunity to book a meeting with the Catholic pastor who has so ministered greatly to my psychological and spiritual needs.

A quick chat to the neighbours meant I missed the tram going towards the hospital which includes a 5-minute walk so I thought I’ll take the next bus and sort of jump onto another tram that would put me in from of the hospital.

I was not too sure of the route the bus would take but after a few stops, it appeared to veer off course, I disembarked and walked the road I expected the bus to ply, it had been dug up and the bus had only taken a diversion – as I got to where I expected to get the tram, the bus came hurtling by but not in the direction I wanted – what a diversion that was.

I got to the hospital only to find that the main entrance had been blocked off for some repairs, we all had to go in by the side entrance and I was just in time to meet the pastor first before going for the bloods.

Where my heart is

Over a cup of tea we chatted about the progress I had made since I last saw him, the job, the conditions, the support and other conversations I had had with my relations. As usual, he asks the most searching questions like where my heart was when I think of Nigeria, England and the Netherlands.

I know my heart is not in Nigeria but my mind really is, my blog in a way lives in Nigeria when I review how much I write about her, I feel strongly English but I do not have any inclination of returning to live there, whilst I am in the Netherlands where my home is, I love this country but I have not convinced myself that I would settle here though in May I would have been here 10 years. Something to think about I thought to myself – where is my heart?

The pastor opined my inability to answer directly might well be that I have in a way become a world citizen; I suppose I need to travel a bit more to aspire to that kind of description.

Two pricks for seven vials

The queue for the bloods was short and soon I had registered and noticed they were taking 7 huge vials of my blood, I had to keep myself together thinking of the blood-letting I was about to suffer without swooning.

My body had survived 11 weeks without a pin prick, I was not sure if I was going to be a sissy at the sight of a needle piercing my skin, I was surprised when I watched but it got stuck, there was no blood entering the vials after the second, a few more vials were tried before the nurse decided to give up on tapping that vein.

She dressed that up and rather than trying it again, she got another nurse to try, so I switched arms and had blood drawn into the other 5 vials, watching the action, I realised the vials when attached to the receptacle attached to the inserted needle seem to fill up – what I thought was capillary action was in fact a vacuum-suction process.

Once that was done, I was ready to leave; in three weeks, we should find out about the tale in the bloods again – what a long and windy road it was to get anything done today.

I had to run for the train

Got to get out

My itchy feet get the better of me every now and then. The emotion and reaction can be so rash, well more determined, I’ll say, the planning and execution sometimes leaves me enough time to end up in disappointment.

Luckily, that has never really been the case, but my fuse gets shorter and my awareness is heightened and intuition sharpened.

Too alert for my liking

I miss nothing in context and occasion; it has not helped a developing but annoying side of me that I see as aggressive, intemperate, impatient and grumpy all as a result of some of these issues.

For instance, I really cannot afford to get angry because it has a horrible physiological effect on me; I begin to shake, my voice rises into a falsetto and it is suddenly lost, not helping my coherence – now, that is anger management as an evolutionary enhancement to my makeup.

I note that this rarely happens in company of friends, their contributions, interjections or conversation generally offers palliative respite in times of dire human frailty.

Tram 26 again

So, I decided, I would be off to Antwerp for the night. Having decided to catch the last train from the Amsterdam Central Station, I had 25 minutes to spare and the wretched Tram 26 was to arrive in 5 minutes, with a 6 minute ride to the station, I should have 14 minutes to get a ticket and get on the train. All planned down to a T.

Tram 26 came on time and we only have 2 stops before the Central Station and so everyone gets on and we proceed according to plan.

We reach the next stop and a crowd of young ones gets on, the conductor and driver both check tickets or collect fares on entry at any of the 2 entrance doors.

However, some of those adolescents used one of the exit doors and got on, which is fine if you then walk up to either the driver or conductor to confirm your fare.

Conductor misconduct

Some did not, so the conductor announces that the tram would not leave till everyone who got on has been checked.

Nothing happens; I have a train to catch and it is looking like my 14 minute leeway is cut in half and swiftly moving to a quarter.

Wait a minute! I have a season ticket, I have pre-paid for my travel as many season ticket holders have done and then we are denied the service we paid for because some “black riders” - as fare dodgers are called in the Netherlands – got on the tram.

I ran for the train

I am getting exasperated, the conductor could easily have walked through the tram and checked, but no, the protection of the cage and the need to do obeisance at that temple had me literally running for the train, one big leap as a cheetah catching prey, I am on, but panting in the most unsightly way.

Now, I remember, I once had a ride on a cabriolet [1] – not a car, but horse-drawn – (Philistines) as I gracefully got on and looked rather majestic in full African garb, well, as if one looks any less on a bad day.

http://www.museudoscoches-ipmuseus.pt/en/img/coleccao/carrinhos2.jpg

Courtesy of the Museu Nacional dos Coches, Lisboa

Running except for when one is on a cross-trainer is just not the done thing, but that is how well-laid out plans get messed up because others are in being utterly inconsiderate.

My journey to Antwerp is another episode.

References

[1] The National Coach Museum, Lisbon, you should consider visiting in person, like I did in June 2005.