The doctor on the bus

I was standing at the bus stop near my home at 11:52 a.m. and by 11:54 I joined about a half-dozen other midday riders heading to Sac State and the 65th Street light rail station. I sat down and took out my notebook.

The wife will leave her office at 12:30 and walk to her regular bus stop to catch a ride to the Mather light rail station. I will arrive at 65th Street at 12:39 and walk to Starbucks. I'll be back at 65th in time to meet the wife's train at 1:18. We'll ride together to 23rd Street and then walk to the doctor's office.

I put the notebook away and returned to my book. The bus ended up arriving at the 65th Street transit center a couple of minutes late. I was standing at the corner of Q and 65th streets waiting for the light to cross the street when the wife called to say she was on the bus.

At Starbucks I took out the notebook and scribbled some more. I was back in the station in plenty of time to meet the wife's train. We rode to 23rd Street and then walked six blocks to the doctor's office.

"Tell me again why we're walking?" the wife asked.

"It's a bus thing," I lamely said. It was hot -- really hot, like more than 100 degrees hot -- and midtown's famous shade was missing from our route to the doctor's office.

At the doctor's office we waited. The nurse eventually called the wife's name and we were escorted to a regular exam room. And then we waited some more.

And then the wife heard the words "infiltrating lobular carcinoma grade 1" and the explanation and prediction that this is curable.

We left the doctor's office and walked to J Street to catch a bus. A half-hour after arriving at Sac State we were on our way home on the No. 82.

The wife has already scheduled her meeting with the surgeon. We haven't decided if we'll drive or take the bus.