Oh, this is an unlucky one. The weather is wonderful, it’s payday, and it’s Friday. Other than getting paid to take time off when the weather is good what more could I ask for?
And I’ve made the yearly goal for cycling – a 5,200 km journey to nowhere – and I’ve got 19 weeks left to cycle up and down back alleys, over and under whatever bridges offer themselves, and to and from such meetings with friends as I can make. Sounds like a good end to the year.
Over the last couple weeks I’ve been poked and prodded again and again, with respect to my blood clots and the attendant damage they leave behind. The procedures are painless, non-invasive, and relatively short. The bitch is the time, and scheduling, none of which seems at all considerate of the notion of ’employment’ amongst the afflicted.
Your phone rings. Some voice, as often as not either far to quietly, or for other reasons not completely understandable, begins to inform you that ‘you have an appointment at blah, blah, blah. And you must confirm 27 hours in advance – no earlier, and no later – at this number…. which you cannot hear. Thank you.’ Click.
So, you spend half an hour trying to track down the source of the message, which procedure, which building, when, and if you’re unimaginably lucky, for how long.
But that is in the middle of the work day, for those of us lucky enough to have a job in the currently precarious economic environment, and we’re being asked to tell our employers that we are going to arbitrarily take time off work. How much time? I don’t know.
And two days later the process repeats itself for a different test, in a different place, at a different time, but oddly with exactly the same delivery. And again you tell your boss that on such and such a date you’re going to vanish in the middle of the day, again.
So, as of next week, I’ll have vanished for two hours in the middle of the day, for three weeks.
And I’m pretty sure that what I’m going to hear is this; ‘well your heart seems pretty good, perfect maybe, and that 1 cm bit of scarring on your lung has resolved itself nicely. Thanks. Goodbye.’
Hell, I could have just forwarded the spreadsheet that records some of my mileage, weight, hours cycled, total km/to date, ‘decimal’ hours, and the comments. The weekly average seems to have improved markedly since the beginning of the year, the weekly totals are often in the 300 km range, and I’m putting in about 11 or 12 hours of cycling a week.
And the cycling does a lot more for my health than taking time off work just to be told that the cycling is doing my health some good.