It was new to me, this pain, and I freely admit I was a little bit more than concerned – though doing my best to keep worry out of my mind. The feeling was like someone with long, jagged fingernails had reached into my intestines & stomach, grabbing them, puncturing and twisting until the muscle fiber began to rip & tear like the stalk of a vine wrenched past its limits. That was the first day, this past Saturday, but thankfully by the evening it was only a dull pain – most of the time.
Sunday came, and the pain was fresh, stronger, & accompanied by my stomach expelling all inside of it, though not much could be – I had eaten very little the day before. Still, with every few small sips of liquid my stomach somehow found that on top of three or four times the amount to purge, though I don’t know how it found it anywhere.
The thought occurred to me that my hernia had finally torn open internally, the intestines had twisted & were blocked, sepsis had set in or a multitude of other things that can happen. Not knowing what it felt like or how quick death could come, deciding that if this was the time I would let it come, I decided to forego the trip to the emergency room. Hell, I don’t have the money for the bus anyway so I’d have to call for an ambulance, and I’m just not into the bullshit of everyone knowing my business that that involves, especially if it turned out to be nothing to worry about. If it got to the point where I had to post asking for a ride on Facebook I would, but more than likely the hospital would keep me overnight which would mean having to again ask for someone to care for Ruby. I wasn’t willing to be let down again so soon.
I thought about all the morphine I had in my drawer across the room, then thought I shouldn’t think about that. Too easy. The pain will go away. The pain will go away…
Gods, I hope this pain goes away…
Day three: Monday.
I still haven’t eaten anything other than a bowl of cereal and an artichoke since Saturday morning. I drink what I can to stay hydrated. Weak, tired, and hoping something left in the kitchen appeals to me, hoping that something might stay down, I pry my body out of bed while holding my intestines inside of me. The pain is less & I’m grateful, but at times it still crawls out, breaks through. Still, I feel better. Better than yesterday & the day before. I decide not to call my doctor. I have an appointment with him on Friday anyway.
As usual I weigh myself, keeping track of where my weight is heading. It gives me something to work with, something to determine if my body is beginning to retain fluid or if it’s doing what it should. I look at the glowing digital number on the scale, telling me that I’ve dropped a little over 10 pounds in the past three days. I’m not surprised, not concerned. Even if there was food to eat it wouldn’t stay down, but I feel the hollowness in my stomach, feel the energy drain out of me. I fantasize about chicken soup but don’t have the money for it. If I did have money, I would need to buy coconut water before anything. It all comes down to priorities.
It’s much more than the lack of food that’s making me weary.
I finally fell asleep at 6am, wake up a little after noon. Today I almost feel whatever normal is, though I have little to go by these days. I’m making an educated guess. I don’t think that normal people feel a normal like this.
I vow to myself to finally finish this post I get out of the house, walk somewhere with Ruby. I wish I had the time strength & energy to just keep going, leaving everything behind. Find a forest, make a shelter, learn how to hunt with my bow to eat & feed Ruby. Just go away; paper, pens, and only what I think I’ll need. Find a river, sit in it for a few months and wash all of this away.
There are many things I would like to do. In none of them do I see this apartment, these streets I’ve walked on & woken to for nearly five years now. In none of the things I see do I feel this way. In none of them this deep melancholy.
It’s hard to believe in anything anymore.
I’ve forgotten how to believe in me.