The Big Red Chair

Before she died, Mom declared that Dad's big red chair should stay with the house. It is a nice chair, and I'm sure other relatives would have liked it, but Mom was adamant. I'm not especially fond of the chair and don't usually sit in it, but okay. Other people in my family do enjoy having a nice recliner and it is probably the nicest piece of furniture we've ever owned.

Still, every time I happen to sit down in it, I think, "I really don't like this chair." It tips into recline so easily that you can't really just sit unless you perch on the very edge. It smells mildewy. It reminds me of my parents' decline. But now I find I need to officially apologize to the red chair for every ugly thing I've ever said or thought about it, and apologize to Mom for not being as grateful as I should have been for her gift of the red chair. Because over the last week, the red chair and I have come to a new understanding.

Last week I got short of breath and my chest hurt. I went to my doctor, found out my heart and lungs were okay, and came home with a diagnosis of pleurisy and some steroids to reduce the inflammation. My chest hurt too much to lie down in bed, so I slept in the red chair for the day and half of the night. The pain went away, but my energy never returned and I spent even more time in the red chair.

This week the pain returned, even worse, so that I couldn't wait for my doctor's appointment. Dave took me into the emergency clinic, where we found again that my heart was okay, but there was pleural effusion, fluid in between the lining of the lungs and the chest cavity. Ew. And ouch. After a bag of IV fluids, Dave took me home with more antibiotics and a bottle of vicodin.

Back to the red chair, where I have spent the past three days and nights. I still can't sleep in bed for any length of time, and the smallest exertion sends me back to the chair. Dave and the kids have once again stepped in to pick up the slack. Friends and family have brought meals. A small group from church brought food and circled around to read scripture and pray over me. All as I sit in the red chair. The kids observed, "You're like Grandma and Grandpa!" Oh boy. Pretty much, but I don't think we need to call hospice just yet.