The Journey: Being Accepted

It was my first day back to work after the surgery and  I fussed with my appearance as though it were my wedding day.  I tried to look past my puffy face as I very carefully applied make-up to cover the pallor that had become my "new" complexion.  I dressed slowly, paying attention to every detail .  Fully dressed and made-up, satisfied I looked the best I could, I donned my wig.  I took great care adjusting it and fixing the little tendrils until they were just so.  I hated the idea of having to wear one, but to be honest, as far as wigs go, it wasn't half bad.

I left very early since I had to go for my radiation treatment first and I took a taxi to the hospital. The treatment was finished  though and it  was time for the subway ride into Manhattan.  It was still rush hour and I was very nervous and self-conscious, but it was nothing compared to entering the building I worked in.  Miraculously, I managed to take the elevator all the way to the 34th floor without seeing anyone I recognized. 

Arriving  at my office, I was greeted with a great deal of hugging and kissing, lots of good wishes, gifts and coffee and cake.  Surrounded by friends, I quickly forgot about how I "looked" and just enjoyed all the love.  When my welcome back celebration ended, I settled in and looked forward to getting down to work. 

I learned that we had a new secretary, Marietta, beginning that day and since I was the manager, it was my duty to take her to her assignment, introduce her to other people in her area and generally make her feel welcome.  This was one of the nicer of my responsibilities and I always looked forward to it.  Today though I would have preferred the safety of my office where I felt protected from scrutiny.

Ever the soldier, I met with Marietta and took her upstairs to meet her co-workers.  I had forgotten that Barbara worked on the 35th floor and believe me she was something I hadn't bargained for.  Barbara could best be described as socially challenged.  She had absolutely no tact or social graces and couldn't seem to get along with anyone.  Anyone, that is, but me.  Although very intelligent, I always felt that Barbara needed a mother and just couldn't cope with being an adult.  I never seemed to get angry with her and so  I was probably her best ( and maybe only) friend.

So, here I am on the 35th floor, out of my safety zone, Marietta (who never laid eyes on me before) at my side .  Just when I think it's okay to exhale, all the way from the other side of the floor Barbara shouts, "Welcome back, is that a wig?!!!!!