You know how when medical examiners talk about a dead body they always refer to it being cold? Well, that’s because the blood has stopped working it’s way through the body. The circulatory system has stopped, the blood isn’t moving. That always makes me wonder about when we get chills when we are sick. Our bodies feel cold. Is it a similar feeling to when our bodies are dying? Has the blood stopped moving? Do we feel cold because our bodies are at a standstill?
I feel cold.
My teeth are chattering, my hands shaking, my body violently convulsing. I feel so cold. The fan is off. Why am I cold?
Is the pain doing this to me?
I’m in so much pain. The bones feel broken again. How many salon pas patches can I wear before the whole exercise is redundant? Does the shaking cold have to do with the pain?
I wish I could sleep.
But every movement I make ends in moans of despair. It hurts everywhere. And I’m so very cold. It hurts.
Hours pass as I doze in and out. The pain waking me every time I move an inch. But the exhaustion lets me doze again and I find comfort in the small snatches of rest I get here and there.
Every slight movement causes extreme pain. My fingers look grotesque. They are fat and shiny, like pudgy sausages. I can see the bruising of purple, only that’s not really a bruise. It’s just the discoloration of my disease poking it ugly head out the window any chance it gets.
Pain. An overwhelmingly painful trip to the bathroom leaves me sobbing on the toilet seat. How many people have to psyche themselves up to stand again? How many people deal with pain on this level? Is it like this for everyone or just me? My knees scream as I finally lift myself up again and hobble back to bed.
I’m cold again. My teeth chatter and I struggle to keep warm and get back into bed. It’s hard to pull the covers around me when I can’t grip them with my hands. They are frozen in useless claws. I peel off the now used anti-inflammatory patches and wonder if they provided relief at all.
I look at my feet, swollen as big as footballs. Shiny and fat. I wonder if they will let me walk today, if they will allow me out of bed. I glance at the clock and yearn for a hot cup of tea. The loneliness is all consuming at times like this. How much easier life could be with a companion. Someone to share my emotional and physical struggle with. Someone willing to try and understand.
I doze again, and then wake to a comforting sight. One of my cats has come to sit with her mom. Her empathy serving as a warm fuzzy blanket Got my soul. She senses I can’t pet her today. So instead she pushes her head against my face, rubbing her face against mine, scenting me, showing me her love. I fall asleep again to the rhythmic sounds of her purrs.
The birds are sounding. It’s morning. It seems I survived the night. One more night passed. I wonder how many to go.