March 5, 2005

Diary of A First-Time Arthritis Advocate - Continued

Sunday, February 27, 2005

7:19 am

Up at 6 am to catch my flight. Even before the RA I have never been a morning person and now with RA I’m even less of a morning person than before. So Matt stops at Caribou Coffee to get me a large skinny latté for the ride to Columbus International Airport. I manage to dribble a little on my coat, a pea coat that is thankfully black. I try to sop it up with a little napkin with a Caribou Coffee “Espresso Truth” printed on it. A day without coffee is alike a day without coffee.

I made it through security O.K., with the taking off of shoes and all. This is mostly because there were not tons of people taking off early Sunday morning. The shoes thing, while necessary, is a big pain in the butt for those of us with joint issues. I should have worn slip on shoes, but even then it’s not easy with a swollen knee. But I don’t begrudge the airports the security check… it’s just difficult, that’s all.

Maybe they could have a “special needs” line so we wouldn’t feel like we’re holding everyone else up. Of course the woman in front of me has two overstuffed duffels as carry-ons, while I have only a seek tote.

They did have chairs to sit in during post-security re-assembly, which was nice.

My flight doesn’t take off until 8:05, but I’m happy to sit and wait.

8:14 am

In flight. As a snack I’m offered a tray loaded with packets of mini-pretzels or a biscuit/cookie type item. I select the latter, something with the trade name “Biscoff.” Incidentally, Biscoff’s wrapper shows that it has a website, Biscoff.com. Everythign has a website now, including the cookie/biscuit type airplane snack. Cyberspace certainly did blow the world open to every and all possibilities and in turn is populated with everything conceivable. This seems to be a weird thing for a blogger to contemplate, since I put my ongoing inner narrative into cyberspace and I’m wondering if it is healthy to take a break from my computer.

Actually, I’ve taken to naming my computers; my current computer is “Gatsby.” I wonder if my Gatsby dreams on the green light at the end of the dock like the Gatsby of Fitzgerald’s book did.

I feel like I should be reviewing some political policy or new arthritis breakthroughs while in flight, but honestly I don’t have that kind of material, it’s too early, and I’m still worried about my knee. So I munch down my Biscoff and wash it down with a mini-bottled water with the Delta Airlines logo on it.

10:15 – Fairmont Hotel, Washington DC

This hotel is downright swanky!

After checking in, I went through all the cool amenities in our room. Joanna and I are sharing a room, she is not here yet having spent Saturday visiting with friends and family in the area. The bellman set my little roller suitcase on a stand next to valet, where I hang the blazer I intend to wear on the Hill tomorrow, and carefully drape my pants and skirt so that hopefully they are not wrinkled beyond repair.

The bathroom is large and has a scale (I still weight 125 lbs, the weight I’ve been pretty much since I quit dancing and was 110 lbs and considered, “chunky.” I now am still weight conscious enough to always step on the scale - the old habits die hard and in my soul there is still a part of me that is a dancer. Occasionally I dip down to 122 and up to 128, but almost always right about 125 lbs and 5’5”). There a little bottles of shampoo and bath gel emblazoned with the hotels ornate “F.” There is also two fluffy bathrobes, plush white terrycloth with gold corded borders and embroidered with a crest-like golden script “F” like on the bath gel bottle. I slip one of the robes on over my clothes just because I can.

Back out in the room I leaf through the in-room food service and am somehow excited by the idea that for $15 I can order gourmet macaroni and cheese to my room. This is inordinately exciting.

I end up taking a shower because I want to play with all the room’s features and feel that layer of travel grime over the surface of my skin. There is nothing like a hot shower after flying and travel. Even the tension in my knee loosens and I feel a little bit like a celebrity with a towel around my head and the big fluffy bathrobe edged in gold. I slip on my big oval sunglasses and look out the window into the sunny morning.

After getting primped and dressed, I got to the lobby to sit and write and people watch. First I go to the hotel gift shop and buy two postcards – one for my husband and one for my parents, write a few lines and give them to the concierge to send out. I’m only gone for three days and two nights, but it is my habit to send postcards, especially to Matt, whenever I am away. It makes me feel better than being apart from him.

I have a tea in the lobby and camp out in a lavish wingback chair near a large window looking out to a courtyard with topiaries. I can’t tell if I’m surprised or impressed that this is where the Arthritis Foundation is having us all meet for the national advocacy summit. The tea I’ve picked is peppermint and is soothing and warm to my tongue.

I love hotel lobbies like this, fully of the dull hum of chatter, the coming and going, the anonymous feeling of sitting and observing. This is where the writer in me feels like she’s in her heyday.

A cluster of people sit further down the lobby from me, set up on wing backs like mine and a couch/settee type thing. Two women, one young, one old, and three men, two younger-middle aged, the other grayed well. The young woman sits as if holding court, a thin elegant type woman smoking a long cigarette between her fingers. It surprises me to see her smoking, which is odd because I don’t know her. Smoking seems like something from another era, something that is out of place in public unless it is a panic-stricken alley smoke, hidden and contraband.

This cluster of people converse in a language I don’t recognize.

Two other women walk down the long expanse of the lobby. As they pass me, the comment on the décor. “It’s good design,” says the one to the other.

I think the lobby is rather opulent, although I must admit that I prefer mid-century modern and so my view is tainted by this preference. It strikes me as odd that I’m thinking about my design preferences instead of focusing on why I’m there – arthritis advocacy. But that doesn’t get started until 1:30pm, and I have this morning to just be in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel. And the lobby says to me “luxury,” with its sense of being away from home and in a capitol city. It looks the way I imagined the Vice Presidential mansion from Ann Patchett’s novel, Bel Canto.

I have a way of always relating things in life to stories and books and movies. My imaginary life and my real life blend together.

Someone in the lobby is smoking a cigar, even though there is a sign asking guest not to do so. I can’t see the smoker but the smell of a cigar is distinct – sweeter and fuller than cigarette smoke.

By the concierge is a little dog house and on a leash is a black lab. She begins to bark. This seems like an odd thing to happen in the lobby of the Fairmont. I go up to see the dog and see that she is the hotel’s service dog. Her name is Maggie. Maggie comes right up to me and her handler at the concierge station says, “You must be a dog person.”

I nod. “I have a little beagle.”

“Those dogs are so cute!”

Immediately I feel homesick for Emmie, even though I’ve been away only a few short hours. I feel far away from my dog and my husband, from my little house and my quiet life inside it.

1:20 pm

I’ve taken a seat in the back of a ballroom where we’re getting ready to be primed on how to advocate. I’ve gotten a tote bag full of stuff and a name tag, so I suppose that makes me official. I put my tote on the chair next to me to save it for Joanna. We’ve not met up yet, but she said she wouldn’t get in until later so I’m not worried. Plus, she has my cell phone number, so I figure she’ll call if we don’t meet up soon.

A man is duct taping some wires to the floor in the isle. The ballroom is set up with rows of tables and chairs. The room hums with the chatter of people who know each other. Currently I know no one.

In the front of our ad hoc classroom are two enormous screens, and then row on row of tables and chairs becoming more and more full.

A woman asks if she can sit next to me and I say, “Sure” and she puts her tote and coat over two chairs next to her because, like me, she has not met up with the people she knows.

I have not found Joanna at the time the session begins. In a way, it feels good to just get this thing started, although I feel anxious and I’m not sure if it is because I haven’t met up with her or just because the real reason for my visit has started and I feel vague and small in a room filed with people.

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