It’s been a strange week.

Let’s see….

Well, um, I failed my dex scan.
Although I haven’t heard back from the disfigurement doctor, I’m guessing that I’ll remain as I am now – at a standstill. That’s just doing what I’m doing.

The next time the scan will be avaliable is in 2028.. The likelyhood of the antibiotic being effective is anyone’s guess.

Honestly, I wasn’t looking forward to a restructured spine, the wheelchair, and total life destruction. But it would be something instead of just waiting.

I can only maintian the disbelief for so long. My version of reality isn’t reality. One day, I could go septic and that wouldn’t be pretty.

More importantly, I feel that I’ve let everyone down. Mom, little sister, significant other – Despite the suppliments, clean eating, the nightly injections, and gratitious amounts of medical waste in the form of silver packing, gauze, and wound wash, I can’t advance.

I even let the peeps over at the wound care center down. I’ve seen them weekly, sometimes daily, for nearly a year now. I brought them Christmas presents even. I know their names, most of their life histories, their children, their birthdays. It’s honestly a pleasure to go in there, even if it is for just a moment – a pack, pinch, and dash, if you will.

(The times the razor comes out isn’t fun, mind you, but it’s a neccessity.)

I give them heck and they give me heck. It’s what we do. It’s fun. Almost like a community. Friends.

But – yeah.

I failed.

The same week – I had a shocky test. My hands and arms were tested with electricity because my fingers were tingling and I was dropping things. It was becoming difficult to type.

I wasn’t worried, but just annoyed. If it was corporal tunnel or something, I figured I’d just suck it up or have some sort of minor operation.

But, no.

Nuropathy.

Just like my legs, the nerves in my hands and arms are slowly decaying.

Absolutely peachy.
– Let me tell you.

So, to keep score, I can’t produce a child but can produce endless infection.

That my nerves aren’t dying a slow and marching death that could, eventually, keep me from feeling anything at all. – Not even a hug.

I’m trying to believe my own reality that everything is just fine – that my spine isn’t twisted, that I’m not crushing my own lungs, and squishing my own heart down, down, down.

I don’t physically own anything of substance.

And those around me are with me because of – sunk cost – pity me – despite my continual failures and odd habits/behaviors – like pouring the last couple of cups of unsweekened almond milk into classes to throw away the container.

(Seperating the milk into cups makes it super cold and, once doctored up with some sugar free not-chocolate flavored syrup and some not rat killer sweetner, tastes wonderful.)

I’m a burden.

But cling to my fantasy reality – although I know it’s made out of rotten popsicle sticks and bubbles.

I hope Jason passes his test on Saturday.
At least one of us needs to advance in some way.