Its launch day. After months of preparation. Long days and late nights. Researching and writing and editing. Meetings and negotiations. Missing my physio sessions. Checking and cross checking. Shouting last minute instructions. Printing and publishing deadlines. Press releases and speeches. My whole focus since returning to work. Now just the conference to get through. The conference, however, is not in my home town. Its an hour's train ride away. I don't give it a second thought. I'll just get a taxi to the station. Hop on the train. Then hobble a couple of hundred metres to the conference centre. Need to leave home around 7.30 am. And return around 12 hours later.
Yeah... Whatever....
I was OK in the taxi. Early at the station so bought a coffee. Couldn't really carry it so drank it too fast, too hot. Boarded the train and sat, ironically, in the bike area. Plenty of leg room. Picked up my papers and started reading. Train left the station. Then the strangest of things. My hands started shaking. My heartbeat increased. I was dreadfully tired. I couldn't focus. I was afraid. But afraid of what? Leaving the city? The train? the conference? These things were part of my normal life blood. Nothing to worry about. Wasn't even speaking at the conference. Arriving was no better. Struggled out of the train. The crowds were too close and too rude. The distance to the exit seemed ridiculously far. Hobbling out in the heat of the city. Meeting a couple of colleagues. Facing the twenty steps up to the entrance of the concert hall. Lurching into the centre. Far too many stairs and not a lift in sight,
Telling the story once more a thousand times. To colleagues not seen for months. To strangers. To people I vaguely recognised and to apparent strangers who claimed they knew me. My voice started trembling. It was far too much. I sat in the back. But I had things to do. People to meet. Speakers to thank. Food to eat and later, wine to drink.
Back on the 6pm train my legs wobbled and my concentration faded. I couldn't catch my words. I could barely stagger to the waiting taxi to take me home. The conference was a success. My colleagues tired and happy. And I, seven months after being under a truck, was totally fucked.
Yeah... Whatever....
I was OK in the taxi. Early at the station so bought a coffee. Couldn't really carry it so drank it too fast, too hot. Boarded the train and sat, ironically, in the bike area. Plenty of leg room. Picked up my papers and started reading. Train left the station. Then the strangest of things. My hands started shaking. My heartbeat increased. I was dreadfully tired. I couldn't focus. I was afraid. But afraid of what? Leaving the city? The train? the conference? These things were part of my normal life blood. Nothing to worry about. Wasn't even speaking at the conference. Arriving was no better. Struggled out of the train. The crowds were too close and too rude. The distance to the exit seemed ridiculously far. Hobbling out in the heat of the city. Meeting a couple of colleagues. Facing the twenty steps up to the entrance of the concert hall. Lurching into the centre. Far too many stairs and not a lift in sight,
Telling the story once more a thousand times. To colleagues not seen for months. To strangers. To people I vaguely recognised and to apparent strangers who claimed they knew me. My voice started trembling. It was far too much. I sat in the back. But I had things to do. People to meet. Speakers to thank. Food to eat and later, wine to drink.
Back on the 6pm train my legs wobbled and my concentration faded. I couldn't catch my words. I could barely stagger to the waiting taxi to take me home. The conference was a success. My colleagues tired and happy. And I, seven months after being under a truck, was totally fucked.
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