I am currently in heaven. Not actual heaven, but a disinfected, grey reclining heaven with a remote control, foot rest and neck support. In short, I do not want to move from the plastic covered cloud I have found myself on, even if it is located next to three of the most miserably rude people I have ever come across in clinic.
I have sat in one of these grey chairs before, several times in fact, but never have I ever truly understood their beauty and power until today. I was shallow and could not see past their appearance. My treatment has concluded and yet I remain in this seat, because for the first time in what feels like an age, I am comfortable. Maybe I have spent too long paying attention to the big red chairs. All flash, no substance. I should have known that ugly but supportive is better. Maybe I should apply this theory to the gentlemen, if there were in fact any eligible gentlemen out there able to make me feel as good as an ugly grey chair.
The fact that I have not been able to get comfortable is not a secret. It is not groundbreaking either, much to my dismay. Warning, do not put me on a hard fold down chair. Bad things will happen. Everything, whether it is a bed with a memory foam mattress, a sofa, a chair, a cinema seat, a bath, the toilet seat; nothing offers sufficient respite to my spine. Every position is noticeable, and movement from any position is followed by a comedic groan designed to disguise the level of pain I am actually in. I sound like a broken record. At this precise moment in time however, I am not. The record has changed. My bum is snugly tucked between the arms of the chair and for added razzamatazz, I have two pillows behind my back. Any minute now, I may start to make embarrassing noises.
The purpose of this new found comfort today, is the bone juice. I have come in for some bone protecting awesomeness. I have been looking forward to getting my bone juice all week. Zometa, I have previously discovered will buy me a few days of lesser pain. Not feeling my spine on this waterproof lump is a bonus. I was not anticipating that administering said drug would feel like a massage and a warm jacuzzi all in one.
People are looking at me now. This is the NHS, they need the seat. I just do not want this comfort to end. Sod medication, this is treatment. It says something about my current physicality that sitting in a chair next to three ruddy faced blobs, is my ideal, but that is just the way my life is at the moment. It’s an ugly grey chair.