The drive out of the airport was pretty much a south to north thing. Of course we didn't take the underground train to the main terminal, where hundreds of complete strangers would be able to cough or sneeze, and my low white blood cells wouldn't be able to do much about it. The ambulance would have been waiting for me not far from where the plane had landed. Keep contact with the rest of the world to a minimum. A service road out, then north to 518.
There isn't much to this road before it turns into 405. A cloverleaf interchange, plus some confusing HOV lane changes, three lanes splitting off into three directions, north, south, or continuing west. Further west would be the way home. Take 405 a few more miles until you get to one of the downtown Renton exits, then follow one of the main roads (usually Benson, but sometimes Petrovitsky) up the hill.
But this was a drive north. I will be receiving treatment -- whatever that means -- at the University of Washington Medical Center. Roughly the mid-point of Lake Washington, north and a little west of downtown Seattle. Not too far from Dad & Jane's house on Phinney. The University (or was it The Hospital) had been expecting me a few days prior, I've been told. They have everything ready. They have been waiting.
And so we turned north onto I-5. It heads uphill for a bit, then jogs down and to the right as it crosses the Duwamish River, settling in for a long valley ride north. Boeing Corporate offices, then Boeing Field on the left, with vast wide hangars and any number of 707s, 727s, or 747s just outside.
Not that I could see any of this. I was stretched out in the back of the ambulance. There were two small windows, one on each of the two rear doors. My view was limited to what could be seen through those windows, facing backward. I knew that we were running parallel to Boeing not because I could see it, but because the road was so familiar. Home for the first time in almost six months, my senses were heightened, ready to welcome anything recognizable.
The mountain is out. I shouldn't be able to see Rainier from this direction. We're traveling just a little north-east on this section of I-5, but I can see it behind us to the south-west, clearly, looming high above everything else. I'm fascinated by this unexpected view.
"It's just because you're all turned around," I tell myself. "If you weren't in the back of an ambulance, you'd never see it this way."
It's quiet. Pavement spins underneath. We're moving closer to the hospital, but Rainier barely seems to budge.
"I know," I finally respond to myself. "That's what's so cool about it."
