Sick Watch

When the youngest became sick last night I ended up in my chair. It is the same chair that I sat in for years next to Raymond when we would be up all night trying to get him through either a rough chemo treatment, or a night of horrible phantom pains. It is the same chair that I slept in night after night while he was in hospice here in the living room and I would not leave his side.

As I sat here last night with the youngest, all those horrible memories came back to me. It is times like those that I think about people with post-traumatic stress syndrome and wonder how they get through their days.

I tried to replace the memories last night with others. Such as the day Raymond and I picked out our "chairs." I was so excited to find one made for short people. All my life I had been sitting in chairs where my feet could not touch the floor. Raymond was so excited to buy me a chair that I found so comfortable.

Raymond's chair became the only place he could sit in the house after his amputation. Oh, he tried to sit on the couch a couple of times, but there was no way for him to prop himself up. His chair was the only place he was comfortable. It became so lopsided from his leaning that I wanted to get him a new one, but he would not give that chair up. No one else could sit in it because it was so lopsided.

When Raymond would go to the hospital I would come home and steam clean his chair so it would feel fresh and clean for him. It was equivalent to putting fresh sheets on the bed.

After Raymond died the boys wanted to keep the chair. We did for a while, but they finally came to the point where they were ready to get rid of it. The constant reminder was too much. I was glad to get rid of it because to me it represented the prison that Raymond had been assigned to when he wasn't in his wheelchair.

At least I can sit in my chair any other time and not be overwhelmed by some of the horrors of the past, but sick watch brings them all back. Good thing my boys are healthy 99.9% of the time.