And So It Goes

I wish that I could be someone else sometimes
I understand that I'm not supposed to feel like this
I should be happy inside I'm trying, honest I am,look how busy I am
but I might not learn how to fix it or even change it

Well I might try opening up
sometimes I can be angry inside
I'm fine, I'll do it myself like I've done it before
and I won't need anyones help I mean anyones help
but I might not learn how to fix it or even change it

~Josh Canova
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I'm writing to you from the me-shaped hole forming in my mattress. I've been in this exact spot for almost three days, making only a few brief appearances in the outside world. Short trips to work, the doctor, the emergency room and two fairly miserable attempts to be social were all my tired little form could handle. I'm not exactly sure what has placed me in bed, certainly not your run of the mill flu as I have none of the usual symptoms. Swollen glands, a fever that comes and goes and a righteous case of fatigue have made this mystery illness a bitch to beat and has left me desperate for the runny nose and hacking cough of influenza.
On Monday, after a seven and a half hour trip to the ER for unrelated problems, I wretched myself from bed and into the office. I lasted only an hour, my limbs bruised and aching and my body screaming for sleep. By the evening I was able to pull myself together enough to make an appearance at my friend's birthday dinner but was back in bed before 10. Tuesday I made it a bit longer, but was sent home after lunch due to a raging fever. This time Motrin and more sleep tricked me into a secure sense of wellness. That lasted only a few hours and I was wiped before I even hit the social scene. This morning, after almost 12 hours of sleep, I was barely able to make it to the doctor on time. He checked my glands, still swollen, checked my fever, still raging, and ordered more blood to be taken and checked for whatever is toying with my immune system. Still no real diagnosis, only conjecture and a whole lot of, "Let's wait and see." On the upside, I did leave with a free stash of Allegra and yet another follow up appointment where I pay him money and he gives me NOTHING.
So, the inventory for this week thus far includes six incredibly painful needle scars, 34 hours spent in bed, three weeks worth of free Allegra, half a box of Motrin Cold and Sinus, four cans of soup and $65 down the drain(taken by doctors who tortured me for hours and diagnosed me with NOTHING). Impressive, I know, but what can I say. We can't all be this forunate.
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One day, during a pajama laden day in the midst of my summertime unemployment, I called my mother in the break between daytime dramas. I don't really recall what we were discussing, probably some inane banter about the fruitlessness of my life, but I began to notice small clicks interrupting her as she spoke. When I questioned her about it, she said she hadn't noticed and mentioned it must be on my end. I suggested someone had tapped our line and was listening in on our conversation. Unlikely, she said, but to prove my point I said ratherly loudly that I was glad I had decided against my plan to plant bombs in the neighborhood sewers. We laughed and laughed until a third voice popped in on the line. "Hello?" he said. "This is the phone man and we're just checking the lines." Startled, almost speechless, I screamed into the phone, "I was only kidding! There are no bombs! I was just kidding!" He never answered me, never assured me that he understood my ridiculous attempt at humor. Instead, there was only silence and a growing pit of fear that somewhere on a watchlist in the offices of the FBI sits my name in giant bold letters.
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This is infectious mononucleosis.
Doctors suspect that this unwelcome virus has nestled in for an extended stay.
Stay back, folks, I could be contaminated. 
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Look how pretty! 
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Another dollar, another day spent in doctor lobbys and hotel rooms. Another course of meals taken at tables for one and another night spent away from friends and family and just about everything else that I love. But I signed up for this when I took this job so, until I am otherwise employed, this is my life.

Today, in the waiting room of my last appointment, there was a steady stream of people seemingly on their last legs. It was like sitting aside the runway of some medical equipment fashion show. Instead of 4 inch heels and bangle bracelets, these models sported all the lasted trends in aluminum walkers and oxygen tanks. There seemed to be so much pain with every step and I couldn't stop myself from trying to find the past in each of their crinkled faces. When I was standing in line for the bathroom, I noticed a small man waiting near the door of the ladies. How odd, I thought, until I noticed an equally small woman hobbling out of the stall. He placed his hand on her back and steadied her as she made her way back to the lobby. I wondered what their love looked like when it was new and I wondered how my love will look when it's old. Years from now, when that elusive he and I take slower and slower steps through life, will our faces have traces of the early years, will our hands still tingle at the touch of the other, will our eyes still glitter at the sight of our beloved? My heart heaves a happy sigh to think of the one who at the end of our lifetime, will place his hand on my back and love me then the way he did when I was beautiful and young. I have ridiculous amounts of love welling up within me and I find it tremendously difficult, almost torturous, to keep it all inside. Intense thoughts for the waiting room of a doctor's office, I know. But there was so much beauty and knowledge and wisdom in that room, hiding under a dense layer of failing bodies and aching bones, that I couldn't help but be touched.
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