Armed with a to-go cup of coffee with a heaping of milk I hollered, “I don’t know how long I’ll be; wish me luck; I love you!”
Into the luxurious 2015 loaner car I plopped. Heated seats. Heated steering wheel. Automatic transmission. The vehicle was nearly perfect. I hate the head rest – a consistent complaint of mine in autos of all sizes. This will not be the case for the chair I intended to purchase today.
I’m struggling with building reserves. My body craves to be restored. Forcing myself to take the time I need is a battle. I’m semi-successfully managing the bare minimum. “Why is this happening?” gets tossed at me periodically. “Is there something your doctors can do?” Reasuring my community, of course they are taking care of me – Alectinib is managing my cancer burden and Decadron is managing my radiation necrosis.
My body is beat up; I show it and I feel it. What’s wrong Kim? Attempting to soften my eyes of steel, I grin softly as I calmly remind I have advanced lung caner, this is what it looks like on me, right here, right now.
Dissatisfied with lounging between bed and couch I set out for a chair. Investing lots of tush-time to chairs across the city – various shapes, sizes, fabrics, gadgets, and gizmos. I went home not owing anybody money.
The solution presented itself later that day. A petite, easy in/easy out, inexpensive, ready to take home and assemble chair and foot rest from Ikea. Hooray for Poang!
I’ve claimed ownership, well, co-ownership with Yam the cat, of this great little chair. Its worked wonders on my outlook. I’m sitting upright. I’m attentive. I can easily get up and out. Peacefully my body is rebuilding. Mentally I’m slowly accepting my need for downtime.