Tag Archives: back

The Ugly Grey Chair

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.



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Screening Number Four

Film: Computer Chess

Running Time: Mercifully brief, however that did not prevent back pain of epic proportions only matched by the dreaded nervy headache, present for the film’s duration, which was slightly distracting. Incredibly distracting in fact. I blame the seats. It definitely was not my fault.

Protagonist’s Myeloma Survival: 10 years +. In a story about computer programmers developing the ultimate game of chess in 1980, anybody could be sitting there tap, tapping away, not knowing that their bones were wasting away into their blood. As the film was set in the ‘olden days’, any myeloma sufferer would be passing just a few years later. Shame that. I guess however, were it not for persistent nerdy types, with limited people skills and a taste for drugs, the average lifespan of the myeloma sufferer would not have risen to 10 years now, would it? Not that one should be looking at what happened behind the scenes, but this improvised piece, could have been designed by somebody on thalidomide.

Fellow Audience: Damp. The rain yesterday afternoon was committed. Types. Mumblecore esque movies collect types. I obviously, do not fall into this bracket of which I speak. As the introducer said, “you’re at the ICA on a damp Friday afternoon and you are about to see a film called Computer Chess, you know what you are getting yourselves in for.” He was correct.

Trivia: The producer of the film appeared to be having The Hot Flush of to flushes. He had my sympathy. I had one in there and I was wearing pleather.

Tired Rating: Rockin’ rollin’, full of beans though somewhat perplexed by the nervy headache, which is bound to be a brain tumour. Intent on ignoring the brain tumour, to make my third film of the day.

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The Roller Coaster

It is something that has been in the back of my head since all this nonsense started, but this last week, I finally acknowledged the sad truth. I, Emma Jane Jones will never be able to go on a roller coaster again.


Sure, I was not going on one every week, but I enjoyed the occasional trip on a thrill seeking adventure ride. I do not think I am the sort of person to grow out of it. I know this because Big Sister is older than me and she went to Alton Towers last week. I was quite jealous.

As with anything I am told I cannot do, I want to do it even more. I want to be strapped in, spun around, go upside down and more than anything I want to feel that nervous anxiety in my stomach just before the ride takes off and then again when you come off it and wait to see how hideous one looks in the photographs taken at the worst possible moment. In this circumstance, I usually look like I am pushing out something really big whilst being incredibly comfortable with my double chin.

It is indeed sad that I am now one of the people to whom the warning sign at the start of each ride’s queue, applies. I have a known back problem. Sensibly, if I will not step outside my front door when it is icy, I am most certainly not going to run the risk of paralysis by giving in to childish fancy. This sort of thought probably goes against the key principles of the roller coaster. You are not supposed to think about being a grown up when you are going on something designed to make you feel sick.I have to. And that is the sad truth.

The most frustrating thing is that I spent a period of my life, morbidly obese and thus unable to go on some of the really scary rides because I could not fit in the seats. That my friends is a very embarrassing true story. If only I had known what was to come. Potentially, I would have lost weight sooner and taken up residence at Thorpe Park. After I lost weight, I got to spend a wonderful three days with my family in Disneyland going on all the rides they had to offer and stuck two fingers up at the Tussauds Group, by giving them my money and going on all their rides. It was so much fun, it is was mindless and I felt free.

Now, My Myeloma dictates that this sort of fun is no longer possible for me. Unfortunately, any thrill seeking is going to have to be done by broadening my mind. Fun.


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