Bus Stop. Bus? Please stop!

The 19A runs past my house, though wasn't one of the buses involved in my journey today!

 
'Art has to move you and design does not, unless it's a good design for a bus.' - artist David Hockney

What's your experience of ME/CFS on public transport on the days you feel able to use them? If you feel able? I completely understand, as in my own case at times, that some friends with this illness are far too sick and housebound/bedbound at the moment to even dream of venturing on a bus.  I've been there, and on many days, still am!

Ron Mueck (Australian, b. 1958). In Bed, 2005. Mixed media, 63 3/4 x 255 7/8 x 155 1/2 in. (161.9 x 649.9 x 395 cm). Private Collection

Other days when I feel a little stronger, and if I'm blessed enough to have my Mum to help carry things and support me, I do tackle the odd bus journey. The shorter the better, as even a trip lasting a few minutes can turn the ground to a quagmire of wriggling nauseous blur to me! These days bus journeys can be one of the most draining and nerve-shredding ordeals in a day!

I should explain I have never driven. My pre-M.E. me rode everywhere by bicycle, or walked miles on foot, or used public transport. This is mainly because I prefer to tread lightly through the earth, leaving it as I found it, if possible! It's also because, with my lack of hypo-awareness from my very earliest days as a diabetic, driving would be tantamount to suicide, or worse, potential murder of other innocent raod users! I have never for one second regretted this choice. I have always embraced the alternatives with enthusiasm!

Since M.E. struck, my lack of strength, co-ordination, reaction times etc make the prospect of driving even less feasible.  Believe me, the world should count itself very fortunate I'm not on the tarmac behind a wheel!

Yesterday I noticed to my chagrin that the 'dusty stain' I thought had appeared on the toe of my only pair of comfy flat shoes was, in fact, the sole parting company with the upper. I have been wearing them almost non-stop for the past three years, after all! Fashion victim I ain't!

Worn out shoes - not the author's own, folks!

So today, I knew I really needed, with my Mum here as usual for the weekend to support me, to travel into the local town to buy a replacement pair from the helpful, relaxed local shoe emporium. (Brantano in Parkgate Retail World, Rotherham, I do love you!).

Managing to drag my rickety excuse for a body to the bus stop in my village, (boy, those legs and that chest did ache and weigh a ton today!), I waited for the first bus into town with my Mum carrying the bag while I juggled my walking stick and oversaw the shaky interface between my feet bones and the pavement.

The bus approached. It was evident this journey wasn't starting well. The boy-racer driver, seeing the crowd of passengers waiting with hands extended to hail him, screeched to a halt several bus-lengths beyond the stop. We moved along to catch him up and boarded, thankful at least that he had stopped at all, and not overshot our stop altogether and ended up in the next county.

At every stop, the same thing. Brakes slammed on at the last moment. Everyone thrown forward as if in the belly of a vomiting whale. An elderly couple got on, with some difficulty. The driver swerved away well before they got to their seat. That's surely not in the "how to drive a public service vehicle" manual, but happens so frequently, it's like a sport to certain drivers! How many passengers and pedestrians can I shake up without actually maiming them or losing my license while they lose their lunch or at least their balance?

I arrived in town at the travel interchange with every sinew sore and shaky. I guess the able-bodied passengers felt shaken too, if not stirred! 

The sound in the bus station was unbearably loud, funnelled into my ears in a distorted way. Luckily there was a comfy place to rest before embarking on the last stage of the journey, a five minute ride to the out-of-town shopping centre where the shoe shop is.

That too had the square wheels connecting with every pot hole and kerb edge in South Yorkshire! The seats are hardly adequate unless you have the posture of an ape with curvature of the spine. That's how I felt when we emerged, thankfully in one piece (more or less) at our destination.

The staff of the shoe shop itself were wonderfully helpful and accommodating as always. The atmosphere in there is quiet and unhurried, with loads of places to sit and recover. No fussing staff or intrusive music. That was the best part of the day, and I was fortunate to find a pair of comfortable flat shoes, pretty similar to the pair that had been like a second skin to my poor old feet for so long. Cheap, smart enough for formal and casual enough for everyday.

The actual shoe purchased!

The return journey, after further rests and recovery from a diabetic hypo brought on by the enormous outlay of energy this all took, wasn't quite so frenetic as the outward bound one. Still bumpy of course, shrill with kiddies' squeals and short tempers after a day at the shops in the summer heat, giddy and sickening but survivable.

As usual, the last few feet back to my own front door were navigated over ground that felt as unsteady as liquefaction in an earthquake, with every muscle and cells shrieking for rest.


Do other ME/CFS friends have the same dread of public transport's foibles? It can take me days or weeks to recover now from going through the vicious mill of a bus's innards. How about you? Please let me know! 
I'm off to lie down in a darkened room! Catch you later!

Author's actual head. Skull and swollen synapses included!