Monday, June 2, 2008


Two nights ago I had a nightmare. It was one of those nightmares that are so real, you fight to wake up from it to make sure that it’s not real.

My fingers were deformed.

That was the nightmare.

All twisted and crippled and unusable.

I’ve never had a nightmare of this kind before.

I’ve had thoughts in my head during the day while I was awake, early on, about what it would be like to lose my autonomy.

But this was far worse. I woke up at 4 a.m. and pulled my hand from beneath the blanket. It looked normal enough in the sleep-laden darkness.

And again, when I got up just before 8 a.m. to take my first round of medication, I held my hand straight in front of my face, in the light of morning. I felt it to make sure that the normal looking hand in front of me was real.

All this illness stuff is getting to me. I must be going crazy.

There was another part to this dream. I was wearing a hospital mask. One of those that severely immune-compromised people are supposed to wear.

What could this possibly mean?

And then I look at my toes, which have always been slightly curled.

Do my already genetically defunct toes looks more genetically defunct than normal?

Really, truly, this is getting kind of ridiculous.

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