Tuesday morning, my hubby and I sat on the couch while I drank my coffee. My bags were packed for New York and I was sleepily enjoying the last few minutes at home. Will asked me a question and I started looking through my purse. I stopped and looked up.

“What are you doing?”

I looked at him blankly. “I don’t know; I forgot.”

“What do you mean, ‘you forgot’?”

“I don’t know! I forgot. I can’t remember what I was doing!”

Less than an hour later, what I had forgotten was obvious when I went to buy an overpriced bottle of water. It’s extortion for airports to charge four bucks a bottle knowing I can’t bring my own through security. But back to the problem at hand: my debit card wasn’t in my purse. I immediately called Will. He said he’d asked me if I had my ID and card.

“Well, I don’t remember you asking me, and could you please not give me a hard time about it?”

He chuckled and said he wasn’t, he just didn’t know what to do now. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know! I had it in my hand yesterday, and thought, ‘Better not forget this,’ and now for the life of me, I couldn’t tell ya where I put it next.” Even though I had already done so, at his insistence, I looked through my bags again. He had just gotten home and couldn’t find it in the usual spots. I have a tendency to place my ID and bank card around the house in random locations. Can you tell we’ve done this before?

The kids and I went camping this weekend, and had arrived home yesterday. I’d only partially unpacked and there was clutter everywhere. Well, plus the clutter already everywhere…it didn’t matter anyway. My flight was getting ready to board; there wouldn’t be enough time to get it to me even if he could find it.

I got off the phone to brainstorm. I texted Will’s uncle Roger. I knew he was flying out west at the end of April, but I hoped he might still be in town. He’s the sort of person you can count on in a bind.

He was flying out that very afternoon. At first I thought he might be heading to JFK in a perfect timing, serendipitous kinda way… but then I remembered he likes to fly out of Long Island. I asked and he confirmed it. I didn’t tell him about my dilemma.

Will called back. He’d already googled the cost to get me to Hope Lodge using Uber; it would be nearly a hundred bucks. If you don’t already know, the Hope Lodge is part of the American Cancer Society. It’s free lodging for those of us fighting the good fight. Anyway, we didn’t have those kinda funds, so his plan was to add our credit card to my Uber account. I cringed inwardly. It was going to be a costly mistake. I apologized to him, but he brushed it off.

He needed my login information, but I couldn’t remember the password (I know, big surprise), so I reset it and texted it to him. I called him back once on the plane and told him to check his phone. He hadn’t received it yet. Just then, I got a message from Roger – I’d texted it to him instead. Good going brain.

Will came up with the idea to open a new Uber account under his name. This way we could soften the blow with a twenty-two dollar promo credit. It occurred to me he would probably double and triple check I’ve got everything in the future. Whatever, I could probably use the safety checks.

I was happy to be able to send and receive emails in flight; it made things easier to coordinate with him. I told him I’d only need 20 bucks. Eight bucks for the subway and the air-train coming back; the other twelve I’d use for food and water. It doesn’t sound like much, and it isn’t if you’re eating in NYC, but I usually spend the day before preparing meals for the trip. The rest of my food fund covers things that don’t travel well or won’t make it past security.

I used to get slightly embarrassed when TSA went through my bag, or as I like to call it, my mobile kitchen. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Especially since an agent told me nothing would surprise him after he opened a bag full of frozen meat.

That’s also around the time I learned I could freeze liquids and they’d let it through. A new guy looked at my frozen almond milk and had to call over a supervisor. “What am I supposed to do with this?!!” She said frozen was fine and he shook his head as he put it back.

I received an email from Will with all the information I’d need to get the cash and set up Uber. He choose to wire me thirty bucks. The tone of his email told me he was worried about me. As I was typing a response, assuring him everything would probably go smoothly, I vividly remembered another time he’d wired me money. It struck me as funny that I could remember something from over fifteen years ago, but couldn’t remember a question I’d been asked over fifteen seconds ago.

The plane was chilly and I reached for my sweater – oh, hadn’t brought that either. Well. That did complicate things. I figured I may end up needing the extra ten bucks after all.

Before the plane took off, I’d googled the cost of having Uber drop me off at the 53rd Street Sloan Kettering location instead of Hope Lodge. Then I could walk from there and it would save me twenty bucks. I contemplated what 62 degrees feels in a t-shirt, but I couldn’t remember (#floridaproblems). I’d be walking, so maybe it would feel refreshing.

I figured, I could take the shuttle from Sloan if it was too cold, but that didn’t solve the sweater issue for the next morning, but I was getting ahead of myself. I decided not to include this new development in the email to Will. No need to stress him out more.

On the plane I made a plan. Once I landed at JFK, I’d do some research. I made a list.

• google the different Sloan locations and see which one costs the least, travel wise
• install Uber and set up the acct
• wait til I got to Sloan to decide on the sweater

Have you ever seen someone you’d swear you’d met before? This happened to me on the plane. I couldn’t quite place another woman waiting to use the restroom and asked her if we knew each other. Her expression said she didn’t know me at all. When I got back to my seat, I realized she was sitting in the row next to me. Maybe that’s where I knew her from.

The flight wasn’t booked up, and I had the row to myself. So when a woman came up to my shoulder and looked at me expectantly to move out of her way, I was understandably confused. When I didn’t move my computer to stand up, she said, “I need to get back in my seat…. and where are my things?”

We both looked at the middle seat together. Then it dawned on her; she was in the row behind me. We laughed as she told me she had sat in the wrong row when she got on the plane. I wondered how she wasn’t aware of the fact I hadn’t been sitting next to her the whole flight.  But as evidenced by my track record, I was hardly in a position to judge.

I texted my brother David from the runway:

“Arriving at JFK without my debit card. I like to keep things interesting.”

His reply:

“’If I use my left hand… over too quickly’ – Inigo Montoya”

Inside the airport, my first order of business turned out to be lunch. I function better on a full belly. Whenever I think of being hungry, I think of this (:57) bit by Louis C.K.

So yeah, I could eat.

Since I didn’t get water this morning, I’d repeatedly asked a flight attendant for a bottle of water. Once I took two when they were left unattended. I now had three 8oz bottles stashed in my bag for the ride to Sloan, and my possible walk to the Hope Lodge. I know I’m not in the middle of the desert or anything, but I like to keep hydrated.

Despite my assurances to Will, things did not go as planned. The app took a while to download, which didn’t bother me. I had nowhere to be, and some kindly soul had left behind a part of the New York Times for me to read. Once I finally downloaded Uber to my phone, I logged into Will’s account. He had included his own number while filling out the online form, and Uber was immediately suspicious of me.

I called him, but as he doesn’t have a smart phone and was busy at work, there was little he could do. I tried to change the phone number myself, but I couldn’t do it from my phone. A little later, he would try from work and was also unsuccessful. It was obviously to prevent fraud and I knew it would be difficult to circumvent. I sat down and sighed.

Then I remembered. The last time I came home, while waiting at the curb of the Fort Lauderdale airport, a woman handed me a card for Lyft. It said I could get “up to” $50 off my first ride. I called Will back and he gave me his card information. The download took less time and I installed the app. When I opened the payment section, it offered me ten dollars off each of my first five rides. I thought this might be the catch of the deal, but still hoping to get fifty bucks off, I tried to uninstall and reinstall it.

I would like to say I have handled this whole situation with grace and poise, but I didn’t. All my meditation and deep breathing went out the window. My mindfulness was absent and I could almost feel the cortisol pumping through my veins.

At this point I was done with the whole thing. I decided to just take the ride and be thankful. I waited for a black Odyssey van to pull up. The driver and I waved to each other. I walked around to the back of the van, and noticed it said Sienna. I thought that was weird, but when the driver opened the rear door, I put my bag in anyways. I wasn’t really surprised when a man said “hey, that car’s for them!” The driver and I turned to see him pointing at a tired family and their bags.

A minute or two later I was in an actual Odyssey van and on my way into the city. It was clear driving in and I thought, well at least the traffic is light. Almost immediately the traffic slowed down and I began to wonder if I should stop making assumptions for the day. On the upside, Lyft was slightly cheaper than Uber and would take me directly to Hope Lodge for the same cost as going to Sloan.

After I had checked into my room, I called Will; happy my day was mostly done and I only had to get butter, eggs and water. Will reminded me I still had to get the Western Union money, and then I recollected the sweater. We both had a good laugh at the inadequacies of my memory and he wished me luck on my next adventure.

I walked over to Duane Reade, it’s owned by Walgreens, and has a similar vibe. I was testing to see if the weather was manageable. With the clouds and wind, it wasn’t. A volunteer at Hope Lodge said there was a Kmart close to Duane Reade. When I got there, I was surprised to see their sweaters started at twenty bucks, and were mostly for style, not function. I knew my best bet was the thrift store.

I know only generally where I’m headed. I’ve been to the thrift store before, but couldn’t recall the exact location. I love walking in the city. I get such a kick out of the changing scenery and people watching. I wished Will and the kids were there with me.

The only sight which always pains me is the number of homeless people. I know some say this a staple of the city. I’ve even been told it’s due to the many systems in place for the homeless. I don’t know if this is the case or not. All I know is that lately, I’ve been seeing more camp sites. People with all their earthly belongings, usually tucked under a construction scaffolding; or sometimes out in the open, at the mercy of the elements.
Today is no exception. On the opposite side of the street, I see a man and woman talking. She’s seated on a box and he’s on the sidewalk. Their stuff is fenced off by torn up boxes and he keeps wiping tears out of his eyes. I stop and say a prayer for them, even though I know it doesn’t physically feed or shelter them.

A few minutes later it starts to rain and I wait it out under an awning. After about twenty minutes, it settles down and I decide to keep walking. I was sure it wasn’t that much farther. I start to question my decision making as the light rain chilled me when I saw the Goodwill on the opposite side of the street. I jaywalked towards it.

I recently learned where the term ‘jaywalk’ comes from. It has a long history, but basically a ‘jay’ is an idiot and only idiots would cross the street where they’re more likely to die.

Moving on.

I had been to several thrift shops in the city, and this was my favorite. It was where I had bought my bright orange “never get lost in the snow” winter jacket. Looking through the woman’s section I started to get discouraged. I didn’t need anything fancy, and my budget was ten bucks. I went to the men’s section, and it served me as it had before. I found a few sweaters that fit the bill.

I chatted with a man looking at a jean jacket, he was trying it on and asked my opinion. I thought it might be too big, but loved the style. Last time I was there a woman had given me her unsolicited advice on which jacket she liked best. I know New Yorkers have a reputation of being rude, but I find them mostly friendly.

My “new” sweater cost eleven dollars. It’s a dark gray number with WASHINGTON across the front. I learned later it’s a school, but at the time, all I knew for sure was it was warm and fit well. I head back up 23^rd street towards 7^th Ave. This route takes me through Madison Square Park. It’s a beautiful park. Spring is blooming and a sign informed me once the grass takes root, the short fence will be removed. I made a mental note to come back to this park and lay in the grass.

I bought my groceries and left the store. I’d been walking for two hours and my left foot throbbed it’s disapproval. The store is only seven blocks from Hope Lodge, but I was so tired. I consider just dealing with the discomfort before I remembered Lyft again. (I swear they are not paying me for this.) I still had four rides left which would be free to up ten dollars. I checked the app. My battery was nearly dead, but when I saw it would only be eight to nine bucks, I got it. I quickly texted the driver my description before my battery died.

As we head back, I asked him about driving for Lyft. He politely asked me if I planned to drive. I say maybe, but what I didn’t say was, I would have to go back to work someday. God willing anyways. The driver earlier had told me drivers for Lyft tended to drive for Uber as well, and soon there will be a new service option. This had gotten me thinking about driving. I don’t have a clear driving record and that might make it harder. Last year I had gotten my first speeding ticket in a long time.

He told me about all the hurtles New York required. A special license and the insurance was more than double what he paid for his private insurance. He said when he first started driving he could make almost two thousand a week, but things weren’t as profitable any more. He also told me there is a special police for taxi drivers. One day he was driving across the bridge and a woman flagged him down. She asked for a ride across. When he told her to hop in, she pulled out her badge. He tried to argue that he was merely being a good Samaritan, but like me, she didn’t buy it. The ticket cost him $600 to get his vehicle out of impound. He said the experience had jaded him, and now, if he saw a woman bleeding in the street he wouldn’t help her. The conversation stopped after that, both of us in thought.

I wondered if he had told the story enough times to believe it. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who would do that, just a guy frustrated with the system in place. Maybe it was time for a career change.

Once back, I made my tea and dinner. I was trying something different, and it turned out better than expected. This could have been attributed to my hunger, but still, it hit the spot.

I talked to my sister Kathryn a bit before bed, and texted David again and told him I would call him tomorrow. I was exhausted and going to sleep by 9pm seemed like a brilliant idea.

The next morning, I noticed little brain fog moments from the previous day. In my notes, which is just a file of my to do list, I dated things as 3/22. I had woken up at 8am instead of the necessary 7:15am. I guess when I was setting my alarm clock, I had only turned the alarm on to it’s default time of 9am. Both things made me laugh and shake my head.

That morning I felt more mentally astute, certainly not 100%, but definitely better than the day before. I chalked it up to either last night’s sleep or being on the other side of the sugar detox. I read this article. The guy was doing a two week sugar free experiment to see if it would improve his cognitive ability. Things had gotten worse before they got better. He said he was more alert around day 8 or 9. Wednesday was day nine for me. I wasn’t doing it to improve my mental function, though Lord knows I could use it. I was doing it to bring down my blood sugar

I was late getting to my appointment that morning, but not by much. The walk takes forty-five minutes and I zigzagged across the map, letting the white walk lights determine my path.

When I was taken in the back to do blood work, I saw Kimberly, a fellow clinical trial patient. She’s had Hodgkins Lymphoma for over twenty years. I can’t even imagine what that’s like. We bonded a month ago over the cool streak of color in the front of her short hair. I had been wanting something similar to what Pink had in ‘Who Knew’ video.

I asked her about last week, and she looked at me blankly. “Your test!” It dawned on her in a moment and she told me she had passed! She’s getting her realtor license. Later when I mentioned my day, she would joke that chemo brain was doing a number on both of us.

Keith led me into the large procedure room. He’s the one who usually walks me back. He’s kind, quiet spoken, and witty. Today he says he didn’t recognize me without my water. I usually buy a gallon of water for the day.

I now think of the procedure room as “the video room,” ever since one of my appointment was filmed there. I was nervous as hell and had to fold my hands to hide their shaking. Kristin, my nurse, asked me how my UTI was going and if my urine smelled and I almost lost it. I wondered if they were focused on her or I when my head dipped back in silent laughter. I briefly thought about breaking the fourth wall and giving the camera a thumbs up.

Kristin came in soon after I was in “the video room.” She has a contagious laughter and I liked her immediately. I hadn’t seen her in a while and we caught up. I told her I was no longer taking melatonin and I was able to fall asleep without it. As usual, she asked me for the exact date and I said a week ago but I only knew for sure it was recently. Now that I think about it, it may have been three weeks ago.

When I told her I had cut out sugar, she asked me how it was going. I told her about the smore I didn’t eat, even though I had an internal debate with myself as to why one wouldn’t be so bad. She said she didn’t know how I did it. She didn’t have that kind of willpower. I didn’t tell her about was two false starts, where each time, I went two days before I made a late night Reese’s run.

I saw the doctor next. I like him; he’s smart, funny, and a cup’s half full sort of guy. He did the usual exam and told me everything looked good. There was one thing however he would keep an eye on: my bilirubin. He explained it to me, but I wasn’t following. I still don’t know EXACTLY what it means, but after googling, it’s related to the liver function.

He told me he thought it might be due to a new process they were using in the lab. He had noticed some variations in some other patients as well. It was probably nothing. He paused, and seemed to remember who he was taking to.

“You haven’t started taking anything different have you?” I laughed and said I had changed some things. Namely the reduction of processed sugar, the melatonin and I was drinking herbal tea. Of course I couldn’t remember all the teas I was drinking and I didn’t mention I was using it to cleanse my kidneys and for my general health.

After my appointment with the doctor, I stayed on the eleventh floor. It’s peaceful up there. I use the window seat to set up camp and soak up the sun. It usually takes a couple of hours for them to mix my meds. I take the time to write, read or call Will and the kids. Sometimes I knit with a group that meets on that floor. That day I was writing and texting back and forth with Roger. He was giving me a running commentary of his trip. Kimberly was sitting on the window seat with me. She was studying for her next test.

I started to feel sleepy and Kim offered to move the the next window over. She asked before I even said anything. She said she could see it on my face. I laid down, but couldn’t sleep. I went to the fourth floor and hadn’t sat down before they called my name. I wondered if my body knew the schedule better than I did and was preparing for the nap I usually take when I get treatment.

Part of my regimen includes benadryl. During my first treatment, I had an allergic reaction to the meds, so now I take benadryl as a precaution. The whole treatment only take an hour and a half. I was groggy when it was over, and my nurse told me to take my time heading out the door.

I walked back to the Hope Lodge and stayed on the sunny side of the street while listening to Pandora. I danced a little as I went. When I got back, I ate my dinner standing up in the kitchen. As I stood there, I thought about the woman who had just left.

I found her eating a rice cake with peanut butter when I entered. She said her husband didn’t want dinner yet, but she had to eat something. It was my third time seeing her, but it was the first time she was alone. Her husband is the patient, and last night he seemed like he might fall asleep in his supper. She was attentive; asking if he wanted this or that. The first time I’d met them, they were skyping with family.

She said he was doing well with the transplant, and his cells had grafted sooner than most. When she asked about my treatment, she seemed genuinely happy that I was receiving an immunotherapy and responding to it. She told me her husband had received something similar, and we talked about the science behind it. Then she said something I got the impression she hadn’t told anyone before.

She said she bordered between trying to encourage him and wanting to kick him in the butt! With the last word she swung her fist for emphasis. I laughed seeing this tiny, quiet woman fire up. I guess it’s always easy to tell a total stranger something you just need to say. I understood where she was coming from having felt this same way about my own husband, and certain Will had felt the same way about me too.

When I got back to my room, I heard the bells from St. Francis’ church chiming. I love the chiming of the bells; they move me. I looked out my window at the church and I said a prayer in gratitude for my life and being here to experience the beautiful moment.

I chatted with both Kathryn and David in the evening. I miss being near my family. Perhaps some day that will change.

Instead of the usual early morning flight, I was scheduled to leave in the late afternoon. It was a nice change. I slept in until 8:30am and then lounged around until nine. Then I head the the communal kitchen for breakfast and wrote for a bit before checking out at noon.

I left my suitcase on the sixth floor, which is main floor of Hope Lodge. It would be easier without it to run a few errands. I had six dollars left and I couldn’t remember how much was on my metro card from my previous trip. I walked to Penn Station and made my way smoothly through to the subway. It turned out to be the perfect as I still had two dollars. I walked a different route towards the exit, passing a curved wall where I tended to see homeless people using the railing as a chair. I had no money to give; only prayers to send.

I stopped at St. Francis on my way back, but not before calling home to let my daughter Fish, 13, know her next comic book was waiting for her at the library. She squealed her approval. My son Red,9, told me about a video game he wanted to download. He was testing the waters, not sure if I would approve of it. I told him we’d look at it when I got home.

*I did not name my kids Fish or Red. Perhaps when they are older, they may not want to be a part of this blog adventure. For the time being nicknames seem like a good idea.*

I entered the prayer garden. It’s a tiny rectangular space squashed between the church and the next building. One long wall is covered with three separate murals, the center one of the Virgin Mary. The rest of the wall is covered in candles that can be lit for a fee of two dollars. The opposite wall is covered with three long benches separated by tall planters.

When I walked in, I noticed a man sitting on the center bench out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t look directly at him, as I thought he might the same man I had encountered the last time I was here. We’d had a raw, uncomfortable encounter I did not look to repeat.

I sat down on the bench closest to the door and said my prayers. I smelled sage burning and it was calming. It reminded me of the sage Kelly had burnt to keep the mosquitoes away while camping. I approached the rail running down the center of the enclosure and knelt down on the padded rest to say a final prayer.

As I stood, I figured if it was the same man, then we were destined to speak again. I pivoted in his direction. It wasn’t him, but rather a polite Frenchman. He told me the sage was to cleanse any bad energy and I thanked him as the wind shifted and covered me in it’s earthy fumes. We wished each other a good day and I was off.

After retrieving my bag, I headed down to the lobby. My plan was to take the Sloan shuttle to the 53^rd Street location and fill up the small water bottles I had gotten on the flight. I had run out of water, and Sloan filters theirs.

On the fourth floor, I passed this sign:

“This is my family.. it’s little, and broken, but still good.” It was my motto when Fish and I moved back to Florida more than a decade ago. Now this saying on the sign seemed to imply something more. We have become a global family. How do we ensure no one gets left behind?

After I filled my water, I mixed my protein shake in a cup and sat down. Two old women were discussing a relative. He was making what they considered to be bad relationship choices and they had tried to talk some sense in him. One of the women said something I found interesting. She talked about how we tend to get stuck in patterns, so certain things become the new normal, and we don’t look for anything to change. We don’t look for anything better. It was food for thought.

Then she added, “but I guess anyone he can find to lay with him, he should take. If I had that big hairy belly laying on top of me, I’d throw up.”

I chuckled as I packed up. After checking when the next train was coming through, I headed for the subway. There was a man playing an instrument I wasn’t familiar with on the platform. The exotic notes were beautiful.

I’ve seen a lot of street performers in the subway, and sometimes while I was riding in it. After the kids flew in to stay with me in New York, we visited the city. A mariachi band got on the E train for one full stop to play. Lauren was embarrassed when I clapped along and shouted “Woopa!”

This sign is part of an ad campaign. Each one suggests different policies the subway would like you to follow to make the ride easier for everyone. Like no eating or grooming on the subway, and letting pregnant women or the elderly have your seat. The first saw this sign, I thought it was just being cheeky.

It’s turns out people actually do their routines using those poles and it’s awesome. I wonder which came first. Is this in place because it was already common? Or did someone see this and think, I should totally do that!

I talked to my dad while I waited at JFK for my flight. When I landed in Fort Lauderdale, Will and the kids picked me up. The hubby didn’t have to work and it was nice to be home for the night as a family. I don’t get as many of those now that I travel every other week. After I was home, I thought of what Fish said when we got back from camping, how it’s a different sort of energy being back home and you have to get used to again.

I think she’s right.

I’m looking forward to it.