NOTE: Every three weeks I have a procedure for an absolutely non-life-threatening issue. I just do it and it's not a big deal. Recently though, insurance has removed me from the calm of an in-home setting to a new office environment. Seemed appropriate to write about, so I did.
Sitting in the infusion chair my feet dangle and do not touch the floor.
Why is that? Is it made for giants?
I understand why my sweet Annie had the couches made smaller and special for her. Feet on the floor is both grounded and controlling.
Dangling means dangering. You never know when/if you are going to contact something/anything solid when you finally get out of it. It could also be that the chair's size/dimensions are designed to make clear how we just float in life on our own while it goes on around us. The chair overwhelms us as does the sickness forcing us to give ourselves over to the illness and those who have expertise/skill/desire/empathy to help us.
Easy to say but difficult that is for me.
Giving myself and, worse, my self-control to another person is liberation and subjugation, uncertainty and confidence all wrapped up into one. It says life is bigger than me and if I have done right/am lucky someone will be there to help when I find the courage to finally try for the ground.
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