On Thursday, March 3, 2011, Georgia <thecottage.georgia@gmail.com> wrote:
> It's awfully late-
>
>
> Should have been asleep hours and hours ago, but I can't. I just
> can't. It's too painful to sleep. Around eight o'clock tonight my
> friend who is a retired nurse gave me my shot and the side effects are
> the strongest they have ever been.
>
> I find myself in a sweatshirt, pajama bottoms and socks wrapped like
> a burrito in a cotton blanket on the futon. Its hurts to move an inch
> so I stay put and cross my fingers hoping that Craig Ferguson will
> bore me to sleep. I'd gladly trade a partial night of sleep on the
> futon to one full one in the bed It's only a mere six foot distance it
> seems like the entire Appalachian trail at the moment.
>
> At 1:35 force myself to move. Moving slowly at first because of the
> pain but then I decided to go as fast as I could to the waiting bed,
> not unlike ripping the blood stained bandage off my leg where my
> injection went into my thigh. Ok, I made it to the bed and crawled
> under the covers. The cool cotton sheets hurt so badly when they touch
> even an inch of my skin but I know I have to stay here.
>
> I put my nose under the covers with me so every exhale warms the
> cavern my body makes and gives me hope that the pain will subside or
> the sedative will let me slip off to sleep and I can finally sleep
> through these horrible feelings of numbness that hurt of aches worse
> than any flu. Stupid pains that make every fricking move you make
> remind you that you could easily wake up tomorrow and not be able to
> walk or worse not be able to move your left hand. I've made deals with
> God about that. When I can't sleep at night I offer Him compromises of
> taking both my legs. But, just leave me one good eye and my left
> hand- please.
>
> It's 2:44 and nothing has changed. I know I must make myself get up
> and take some more medicine. I silently fuss at myself for not
> thinking ahead and having the bottle and some water waiting on the
> bedside table. I slowly move the covers aside and try to walk to the
> bathroom. Lordy, the floor hurts. I grab the bottle, gulp down two
> pills and try to keep my balance whole I move back to the bedroom. The
> pain/ numbness is making me wobbly and I feel the uneven door frame
> and know I'm close to the bed. I slide back in taking the covers back
> over my nose in another attempt to warm myself through exhaling. And,
> I wait and think and wait some more.
>
> I try to stretch out my legs straight pushing through the pain that
> makes a fetal position the favored layout. I point and flex my toes
> thinking back to ballet class knowing that toe shoes aren't in my
> future any more. The one time this double A width foot with a quad A
> heel was deemed 'perfect' was when I was first fitted with my toe
> shoes. I was so proud of those pink satin shoes and I carefully sewed
> in the ribbons and practiced strapping them to my feet with some lambs
> wool cushioning my toes. I couldn't wait to break them in and have
> them blood stained by blisters that popped as I teetered on my
> 'perfect' toes. And now? Now I just want to be able to walk without
> pain and with a gait that won't scare small children that I meet.
>
> I look over at 3:34 am. Momma time. Years after Momma died, I would
> be awoken out of a deep sleep right about 3:30-3:35. I read and
> learned it was the time of the trilogy and when spirits used to slip
> back to Earth to check on those whom they left behind. I became used
> to being woken up and in my head I have a conversation with Momma
> asking her to overlook the messy house and to know I'm okay and love
> and miss her. I'm on Daufuskie, a magical spirit - filled place. I
> wait. I hurt and I wait. I want her to come and put her hand on my
> forehead and tell me this too shall pass and to 'push back my ears and
> do it,' a statement she learned from a dear friend Kit and one she
> used whenever her cancer treatments got particularly rough. But,
> nobody came. I looked at the doorframe, the ceiling, the foot of the
> bed, the crooked window looking for anything at I could tell myself
> was her.
>
> It's 3:45 and I'm hurting really badly. If it was lower I'd think it
> was another kidney-stone. Wondering if the medicine is not agreeing
> with my insides so I make myself turn over again. The pain is still
> there but isn't stabbing as often. I'll gladly take that as an
> improvement.
>
> All of this is for a medicine that you take that isn't to cure
> anything or take away past damage. It's a medicine that you inject in
> the hopes that it will slow down the progression of the disease. So,
> you take it on faith that it's helping since there's nothing else to
> take. The lingering side effects of migraines, depression and other
> issues I put out of my mind. I'm quite certain I'm the small
> percentage of those taking the drug that doesn't have those issues.
> When a migraine comes up, I take my medicine and go seclude myself in
> a dark room and rock back and forth putting pressure on my eyes until
> it passes or I get knocked out. Either will do.
>
> It's 4:20, and I still hurt. I can, however, point my toes and they
> don't feel as though they will pop off my feet and I don't wish that
> they would. Progress. I want to sleep but I can't. Tomorrow is a big
> day here. I promised the farm I'd come trim saplings that have popped
> up...and I'd like to take what I cut and make a waddle fence for some
> of the vegetables or the sea grass patch. While I know the farm will
> understand if I can't make it that's the part that angers me the most.
> I don't like letting people down. I want to fulfill my promises- it's
> a Momma-ism I grew up with and it's a part of me just like my blue
> grey eyes which are rimmed with tears at the moment.
>
>
> Until morning, or dayclean, as they call it on the island I'll
> restlessly try to sleep. And I'll be trying to will myself to greet
> the morning pain free. The chills are turning to night sweats and
> that's a positive sign. I'm going to make that waddle fence tomorrow-
> I just know it. I've got to push back my ears and just do it.
>
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