Musings from a recliner – living the dream.
Walking to my GCSE’s I saw someone retired pottering in the garden. At that light bulb moment, aged 15, I realised I aspired to be retired.
Now at 38 I’m living the dream, if only for a sort while.
It’s day 2 after the removal of my gallbladder and I’m reminded of that thought as I struggle to get out of the plastic reclining chair in my conservatory.
I can’t walk very well or quickly, I’m preoccupied by bowel movements (or lack there of) and while my body aches, I think of how youth is wasted on the young and dream of the time I last rode my surfboard.
I got dressed today, but only to keep up pretences while I visited the GP, once home I slipped into something more comfortable – my slightly grubby track suit trousers.
Conscious of my inactivity I wave my feet and legs around in a vague nod towards chair exercises.
But this is day 2 of my temporary convalescence, what if it were year 2 or decade 2! What if my frustrations and dreams of what I was once able to do really were unattainable goals never to be relived.
My peace will be shattered when the 4 year old twins return from school but what about those who’s lives are governed by the routine of medicine.
The cruel irony (or accuracy) of ‘My Dad Can’t Dance – Ladybird reading book stage 1’ staring up at me feels more profound than normal.