Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Pre-emptive Strike & Getting back on the bike

I'm booked in for a haircut tomorrow. Going to be embracing shortness, which might take a few people by surprise but they need to get used to it if it may all be gone by this time next month.

I think I need to go heavy on the eye make up from now on. Or people might think I'm a boy.

But I'm looking forward to riding a bike for the first time with short hair. I know I'll still get helmet hair but it won't be nearly as hot.

That's if I can get my bike started. Jumped on it ready to go on Monday morning, 45 mins before I was due at the hospital for the latest appointment with Prof Mokbel. Unfortunately whilst I was ready to go, the bike was not. And it showed no vital signs.

I paddled with both feet as I sat astride the bike, desperately trying to get it going fast enough before letting the clutch out in 3rd gear and trying to bump start it. I was knackered within minutes. It's pretty tiring but because of the op I have not even exceeded a slow walk over the last three weeks, and what's more, I was sporting full bike gear on a day where the temperatures rose to hit the mid-20s. (In April. If I didn't have more interesting and self indulgent tripe to write about I'd definitely be banging on about our strange but lovely weather...)

Anyway, suffice to say I got incredibly hot and sweaty in a short space of time. And the bike consistently failed to start. When I had wasted a good 15 minutes I gave up and put the dead bike away and whizzed upstairs again to get changed from now sweaty bike gear to a proper summer office outfit, mopped my brow, admitted defeat and went to the train station to buy another weekly travel card.

I will have to teach myself how to remove the battery and put it on charge.

And quickly. The two chav girls on the train this morning thought they could bitch about how my heavy laptop bag swung into one of their arms momentarily without me hearing because I had my ipod in. In the silence between tracks I felt like shoving their little pikey troll faces into the closing doors. This is public transport. At 8am. There is no room and you will get jostled. And if I didn't manage to control my heavy bag it's probably because I was carrying it with my left arm. The one that isn't still sore and swollen from my operation, but that wouldn't even cross their tiny stupid minds.

Not that I'm touchy or anything, but I need to get back on the bike...

3 comments:

Steve said...

Best thing about chemo haior loss is that it's a visible sign of treatment ... nothing more satisfying than turning to a couple of mouthy pikes, whipping off the headscarf and demanding their seat as you're on your way to treatment. I used baldness as a weapon. Jude got annoyed with me. She's have used it as an excuse for Hermes... speaking of which send me your address to the e-mail addy you have for me, I have a little something for you

Anne-Marie Weeden said...

Yep. Being a baldie will certainly shut the public transport chavs up. In a funny way I am almost looking forward to it, because as you say, it is a visible sign of the treatment. And if the treatment is going to make you feel shitty then you may as well have the equivalent of a sign pointing this out to people around you. I'm not so proud that I don't need a little empathy. R and I joked about getting a T shirt printed up, saying something like 'I've got B.C. so get out of my way'. x

Charlotte said...

People should read this.