I’m dying. Or, I seem to be dying.
Better yet, solve the following riddle:
What do you call someone who has been seriously ill for five years, unable to walk since June 2015, no longer able to sit upright (due to weakness/exhaustion), and has been told by doctors that there’s nothing that can be done for them (mainly due to the fact that the patient remains maddeningly undiagnosed, despite several batteries of tests and expert opinions)?
Well, that’s me… I think.
And since I’m lying here on a mattress, this must mean I’m on my death bed.
I think I’m too young to own and operate a death bed. And I don’t have one, but I don’t suspect a manual will help.
Anyway, I chose to wear myself out by typing this. In an hour my forearms will be painfully sore.
I awaken at 814am and lay in bed quietly.
I assess my situation, realizing things are still bad.
I check my email.
I mentally visualize each of my diagnosis/cure theories, one by one.
Ugh! My fingers on my left hand are going numb. And my left bicep is beginning to throb.
To be continued…