The worst part of my first chemotherapy-and-cold-cap treatment was the taxi drive home. My session start had been slightly delayed, then unexpectedly it also ran over schedule. Unfortunately, the driver had arrived to collect me well before I was ‘done’. He could not be persuaded by the delightful staff to relax and accept a cup of tea whilst he waited.
Finally, when I emerged from the ward (with a white hand towel draped over a head full of icicles), I wandered through the main lobby area past a stone-faced man, whose moody gaze was fixed firmly on his mobile. The truth is that I did not want him to be my taxi driver either: so I decided to give myself a chance to find, or be found by, a friendlier one!
After I had had a quick glance around outside on the forecourt, a lovely member of staff approached me and explained that I had actually walked past the driver (so he had therefore ‘ignored’ me too). Even when he was politely reminded by her that he was supposed to ask me for my name - to check that he had the right passenger - he continued to stare at his phone screen, before barging silently through the exit door ahead of me towards his car.
Really, it was kind of embarrassing. He wasn’t even reading anything of obvious interest online: it looked to me like he was simply staring at an unchanging number – possibly his fixed fee? I don’t know. But I do know that “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” Still, that could equally well be the definition of optimism, couldn’t it? So I am definitely, definitely trying not to be too judgemental.
The last time I saw a face so utterly lacking in expression was many years ago, on an armed bodyguard with a Kalashnikov. Sometimes there are people have a personality (or absence of one) that is a weapon in itself: he struck me as one of those. To put a more positive spin on things, I believe that he would almost certainly be far better suited to a career as some sort of guard. Maybe not a nightclub bouncer, due to the people skills requirement. But quite possibly he could guard a bank, a body or a country border? Alternatively, if he is not that keen on people or buildings, he could be an excellent zoo keeper. There’s always hope, for everyone.
Shortly after I got in the taxi, my mobile rang. I guessed it was likely to be the hospital calling because I had left something or other behind. (This was true.) So I asked the driver if he would mind me answering my phone. From his horrible silence, I knew that it would not be permitted. Suddenly, I did not want to take my mask off and breathe in his air anyway. The feeling was clearly mutual.
I longed for a comforting foot-shaped, gel cooler pad to be placed on my forehead again. Or even to have the icily refreshing cooling cap back on, hose and all. Instead I wrapped a long scarf around my neck and used it to create more conventional-looking headwear, combining it carefully with the towel from the hospital. Then, for good measure, I considered putting on my dark sunglasses too. They could be useful for hiding behind, I thought. The problem was that I was already wearing a towel, a face mask and a scarf, so adding sunglasses might have seemed a bit over the top. Then, recalling advice from the 'world's most elegant woman', I looked in the mirror and changed my mind about the sunglasses and left them in my bag. (Thank you, Coco Chanel.) I had nailed the post-chemotherapy look.
A while later, as I was getting out of the taxi, the driver wished me a “good evening”. Until then he had not said a single word. It was astonished. I paused, then wished him exactly the same. Whatever that was supposed to mean. There is a lot of irony in this world, sometimes.
