An Inconvenient Tumor

I'm tired, but I can't sleep. Not for any particular reason. Oh, wait. Yes, there is a reason. It's called our bed. We're sleeping on the same bed that I received as a gift from my wonderful parents at the tender age of 14. Maybe 15. Regardless, that bed is a good 16 years old now. In its prime, my bed was a Four Seasons Hotel masterpiece. My mom, who worked with Four Seasons as one of her clients, got an amazing deal and bestowed upon my brother and I our very own queen size beds. As teenagers, that was huge. Literally. The bed was a behemoth compared to my twin bed of years past, and I felt like I had arrived. While my friends enjoyed their trundles and extra-long twins, I had a queen-sized bed all to myself. Life was grand.

Well, fast forward 15 or 16 years. The bed looks the same, but sadly, it's lost its luster. For the past two months or more, Bryan and I have awoken each morning to sore backs, tight muscles and aching spines. At first we just thought it was Bryan's bodily reaction to the stress of the chemo and radiation. Nope. When my back started to hurt – as in, I can't lean over to wash my face in the sink "hurt" – we knew we had a real problem. We've flipped that son of a gun mattress more times than Jeff Lewis flips Hollywood Hills stunners, but to no avail. Bryan even decided that the middle of the mattress was a new-found "sweet spot" and would push me to the edge of the mattress to wiggle his way into position. I'm not sure who the joke was really on that next morning when we both woke up in pain. His pain from an old mattress; my pain from hanging on for dear life throughout the night, just inches from plummeting a whopping two and a half feet to the hard wood floor. Jokes aside, given everything else that we're going through, waking up in pain is the last thing we need to deal with. Seriously. Sleep is a precious commodity for both of us and we're both natural sleeping pros, easily getting a solid 10 hours or more on any given night. That was before the bed started fighting back.

Ahhh, what we wouldn't give to get back those glory nights of solid marathon sleep. No pinched nerves, no cricked necks, no jockeying for the mythical sweet spot. Well, tonight, as I sit on our couch typing this, avoiding the aching back that I know is inevitable, I take solace in the fact that this is the last night we will spend in this bed. Upon returning from our wedding weekend and subsequent honeymoon, Bryan and I made the decision that we could no longer let this past-its-prime bed get the better of us. Physically and emotionally. We had just spent 16 nights in King-sized beauties with flowing duvets, wooden bed frames and down pillows. Coming home to our sad, sunken queen bed, we felt crestfallen. And crestfallen is an unacceptable emotion, especially for a recovering brain tumor patient and his "caregiver" (please, please someone come up with a better word than "caregiver"), who desperately need quality sleep to not only function, but to heal and survive.

A new bed is a serious investment. It's easy to be daunted by prices, confused by a selection seemingly more endless than that of your local grocer's cereal aisle, and intimidated by the thought of physically lifting and maneuvering said bed into its new home. Well, Bryan and I did extensive research, asking our friends what beds they had, how much they were, where they bought them, etc. Needless to say, we had no idea some of our friends had such strong opinions about mattresses. One of our friends even follows a "bed buyers" blog and would forward us tips for buyers. We're a savvy bunch, I'll tell you that.

Just last week, we made our final decision. We bit the bullet and ordered a King size (not California King, mind you) orthopedic bed. It's like a Tempurpedic knock-off, but half the price and complete with a box spring and lifetime guarantee. Heck, they even threw in two free memory foam pillows. To top it off, we went to Ikea (Bryan was a champ pushed the cart allllllll the way through Ikea) and bought a wooden bed frame, complete with headboard and foot board. Fancy, huh?

Considering that we're out of town tomorrow through Saturday and our current bed gets picked up by its new owner on Sunday (we're dismantling the bed Saturday night and spending the night in our second bedroom), tonight is the last night we'll spend in that bed. More importantly, it's the last night I'll spend in that bed. My bed. It may sound ridiculous, but I'm sad about giving the bed away. Granted, I know it's not right for us anymore, but that bed has been through a lot with me. It gave me a good night's sleep before high school exams. It supported me through 5-hour-plus teenage phone marathons. Its sheets hid the glow of my flashlight from my parents when I wanted to read but they said it was time for bed. During college breaks, my bed was the sincerest reminder that I was no longer in a dorm or sorority house; I was home. After college, the bed became my cross-country companion, traveling with me for years to Chicago, Dallas and Scottsdale. It sat unslept in for days while I was cooped up studying during grad school at Northwestern. It held me as I sat perched, taking in the sights of snowflakes swirling in all directions during my first Chicago blizzard. In Dallas, it served as a shelter for my dog and I during a terrifying tornado warning siren (not the smartest idea, but what's done is done). In Scottsdale, my bed acted as an over sized sponge for my tears after learning a previous boyfriend had cheated on me with a girl in Tennessee (perfect timing, because then I met Bryan). Finally, after four years back in L.A., my bed isn't just my bed anymore. It's our bed. Which is why it's okay that it's time for our bed to move onto greener pastures. The bed has lived a good long life. So, with that, I bid my bed adieu.

Who am I kidding? I'm counting the minutes until our new bed arrives. I just hope I can move it all by myself without throwing out my back. Because that would be ironic.

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