By the time Carol reached my office, she was on her third "premium" chair and her fifth cushion — and she lowered herself onto the very edge of the seat, because sitting all the way back hurt too much. She'd spent her whole life being the dependable one. Now she could barely make it through a workday.
"Doctor," she said, and her voice cracked, "I've spent thousands. I just want to sit through one dinner with my family without wanting to cry."
Sitting pain had already stolen the two things she loved most — the long drives to see her grandkids, and Sunday dinner at the table. I looked at her file, her failed treatments, her X-rays… and for the first time in 20 years, I had nothing left to offer her. That night I drove home and asked myself the one question I'd been trained never to ask: what if the chair was never the problem at all?


































