First Person

I awaken. It's not so much a single event as it is a series of almost wakenings, my eyes slowly sliding open, resistant to the compulsion of my mind, then, after a moment, in defiance of the sunlight streaming in through my bedroom window, they close again. Time passes, how much I do not know for sure, then my eyes repeat this process, each time staying open ever so slightly longer. Then, at some point, in spite of the continual urge to sleep, I am awake, sort of.

I can feel my body slowly coming to life. I have no reason to get up, no purpose in my day, no expectations, no plans. Mike came by earlier this morning to get my truck keys; he is taking it to the dealers for servicing, as I cannot get out of the building to do so. Since I cannot go out, there is no reason to dress, to clothe myself. I look at my body, seeing the loss and failure within it, noting how skinny my ankles have become, how flaccid the muscles are in my lower leg as well as my upper. I stay in bed, no reason to move.

After a while, there becomes a reason to move. I feel the pressure in my lower anatomy; I need the toilet, not in a hurry but eventually. I have learned how to pee without getting out of bed, a valuable skill for someone as lazy as I am. It's very useful except for those moments when my body decides to do something odd, or when my hands fail to hold my jug, or when I am just plain sloppy. I can do it, so I do it. The pressure remains; I know I will have to get up eventually, if for nothing then for this.

I roll over off of my back and onto my right side, feeling the pain of motion and the energy required even for this simple task. I look out my bedroom window, the culprit exploding all of this brightness into my room. I can see the crosswalk from the mall. There is a man there, a man of indeterminate age, somewhere between mid-forties to mid-sixties. He is healthy, standing tall. He pushes the button for the walk light, receives the signal and strides forth. I think to myself how that would be me but for this condition in which I find myself.

I flop back onto my back again, then sit up. Once again I notice my ankles, then my feet. While I lay down, my feet are almost normal looking. I move them to where they might be if I could stand on them. My skin is a mottled white with patches of freckles and a yellow tone from the residual iron left behind when the blood pools in my feet. I put one foot on the floor and notice immediately the turn from white to blotchy purple and deep crimson. My blood pools quickly.

Finally I have to get up. Bodily functions almost always win the argument. I have no other reason for today. This is it. I get up. I use the toilet, cleaning myself in the process. I wash and brush my teeth. I return to my bed. I get dressed, the effort so tiring that I feel the need to rest. I rest for another 10 minutes, closing my eyes and listening to my heavy breath as my body seeks to recover from this massive work effort. I get up again, into my chair. My day has finally begun.