The Beatles had a song for everything. I slept finally, my brain drained from the pain; screaming in my sleep where I used to laugh. None of us knows when we are going to die, but it gets a little closer when you are facing down the barrel of the gun that is going to kill you; in my case, the gun is an unseen disease called ‘autoimmune disease.’
One of the many ironies of my life; I have something that attacks my body and causes it slowly to eat away at every cell, organ, bone on the inside.
It is what the normal process of life is but sped up like night lights on a fast photo time lens.
When the doctor had first mentioned it to me, I had to ask him to say it again and slowly. “Your cells are attacking themselves.” blah blah blah,” he said.
“No please how can that be?” I asked. “It makes no sense.”
It was like the game my older brother and sister played with me as a child; “stop hitting yourself.”
The game made me laugh because it was so ironic; the love of irony a gift from God given to me early in life. This game involved the elders taking my arm and hitting my face with my arm while saying, “Stop hitting yourself!”
I would laugh and laugh, and it got to be harder and harder to pull my arm away because I was laughing so much; I couldn’t stop myself.
Well, believe me, I’m not laughing now.
The auto-immune cells that would protect a normal person attack cells that help with the natural daily living of a body. They attack other “helpful” cells where they should actually leave them alone.
This speeds up the natural flow of death at a certain percentage (in my case ‘aggressively.’)
I don’t sleep much now partly from the pain and also what I term the ‘pain nightmare’: Every time I moved I groaned becoming more and more conscious of the pain. All the more ironic because I pray for relief from the ever-presence of this aggressive beast.