The hour is 03:31hrs and I think you need to be aware that at this moment in time, I am highly aware of my hands and my feet. My feet, my hands with their ten fingers, when not buzzing are stinging. Let us throw my left arm into the mix for added discomfort. The effect of which, does not create a snug bug in a rug scenario.
As I am sure you can deduce, I am finding this development to be most inconvenient. For such awareness of appendages, opens the door to thoughts that normally are only permitted one minute of attention per day, before being shut away until the next day, and so on and so forth unless I am feeling ‘hormonal’.
Hands and feet. I have hands and I have feet. There is a thin layer of fibreglass on them.
As parts of my body continue to prickle, it begs the question of why I am aware of them today, when I was not aware of them at all 28 days ago. As one lies in the darkness of night, I can confirm that pondering the possible consequences of me being able to tell you that I have hands and feet, does not directly lead to REM.
Ten fat, marginally hairy fingers. Ten fat, marginally hairy fingers.
Then one remembers a conversation they had whilst receiving the root cause tonight’s unwelcome guest, around someone special’s forthcoming birthday. A birthday, which happens to be a milestone. Then what happens here is a dark trip into Maudlin Town, because a birthday to me is not simply a sign of getting older, it is a big, flashing neon sign that says I have a higher rate of mortality than you. To me, celebrating it is like taking photographs at a funeral; inappropriate.
Fire. Fire. My arches are on fire.
So then, the options for commemorating my birth become more entangled in my brain. Not celebrating it would be depressing. Celebrating it may also be depressing, but then, it may not be. Though what if there is nobody to celebrate it with me, My Myeloma does appear to have diminished the number of people I can turn to for a hug.
Bad vibrations. Bad vibrations.
The thought about one occasion then expands into the wider life losses I have experienced because of my illness. It expands into every life loss I have experienced because of My Myeloma.
Punishment for not being sinistral, that is what this is. Attention seeking.
Then the frustration creeps in. Frustration at being misunderstood; at having no control of my life losses and having to explain the impact of such losses over and over again for it to continue to be misunderstood or bypassed; which in turn only serves to make me feel more and more isolated and alone.
And then before you know it, I am here absolutely hating myeloma and everything it stands for. It is, after all, most inconsiderate. I am resuming some sort of life now and I do not have the time for this sort of nonsense. I am on the 07:35hrs train to Wakefield for goodness sake.
And then it goes round and round and round and round.
Anyway, I must put my phone down now. I have lost all feeling in my thumbs.