He remembered when the realization first set in that he was dying. He sat reclined among others, barely able to keep his focus on the discussion and completely distracted by the changes occurring in his body. The dizziness had set in hours ago, which he was able to dismiss that as nothing more than an illness. Then the nausea came, which he blamed on the unseen virus that was wracking the space behind his eyes. He felt strong, he just couldn’t keep the world from spinning around him. He felt able, he just couldn’t keep his food down.
Fucking cold.
He told himself that he was alive and would get better, as he had countless times before. He went about his life, helping someone with some heavy boxes they were moving. Only now, he needed to hold himself on the stair banisters as to not fall on his face. Only now, after the short show of normalcy, he had to stop to vomit the contents of his stomach. Only now, he could not seem to make any sense of what was going on around him.
Fucking flu.
Then there was the drive, and the conversation. He was glad he didn’t have to operate the car he was in. All he wanted to do was sleep, to hear nothing but the sound of air rushing around him and the faint sound of the radio playing soft music in the background. Sleep would, perhaps, take hours off the illness and give his body the rest it needed to recover. He tried to focus on the low hum of music. He hoped it would bring him some peace. Yet, he felt dizzy even with his eyes closed, and nauseous even though his body was complete empty.
Fucking virus.
Then came the moment. A feeling of numbness shot across his face as his nose felt as if it had turned to ice. His eyes opened cursing the dim light as his hands covered his nose, hoping to warm it again. The problem was that he couldn’t find his nose and his hand wondered aimlessly. He had lost control, and as he reached out for the windshield his arm went wildly in the wrong direction. He lifted his leg but couldn’t put it down where he wanted. He was dying.
Just plain fuck.
He interrupted the conversation around him. Get me to the nearest hospital. Why? Because I”m having a stroke. What? I’m having a stroke, get me to a hospital quick.
Jesus…fuck.
The car pulled up on front of the hospital, and soon someone appeared with a wheel chair and a smile. I don’t know that I can get in that chair. My legs are weak, and I have no balance. We’ll help you. Can you try? Sure. He was always game for a challenge, and it appeared one had been issued. His legs, however, were not up for it. His arms could not support his weight. Hours before he was moving heavy boxes. Now, he couldn’t move himself.
Fuck, I can’t do it.
Words he hated came willingly from his mouth. I can’t do it. We got you, just let us support you. Ok, turn slowly. Now sit slowly. Don’t worry, we got you.
He had been the one who always did the getting. He was the one who did the saving. He was the one who would carry someone to safety. This moment, the moment he realized he was dying, changed all that.
What the fuck.
They got him to a gurney in the emergency room. Apparently, they thought he was having a heart attack. I feel no pain. In fact, I feel numb. I’m having a stroke, not a heart attack. They would leave him for what seemed like hours. Time slows to a crawl when you are the one needing help. Minutes change to hours. Eternity seems a reality as you exist in this purgatory. Slowly, then not so slowly, his eyes began to fade. He could not control them, and it was far less painful to shut them off then it was to wish them to life. What if I never see my kids again? What if they never knew who I am? What if I can never tell them how much I love them?
So many things to do. Visions of mountains crossed his mind. He wanted to see the view from up there. He could see the wild, clear streams flowing from the glacial ice. He could smell the wildflowers dotting the trails he would take to the view of his dreams. He wanted to see the elk wonder in their natural home, see the moose plod gracefully without care of his existence. He wanted to hold her hand. Not just anyone’s hand, but her hand. He wanted to love again. Not just some surface love that sent ripples on his flesh. He wanted depth. He wanted his surface calmed as she stirred his depths to ecstasy. He heard his children laughing in the darkness, and he felt them crawl onto his lap once again. He could feel their breath on his face, and their hands grasp his finger as if to say “don’t go Daddy.”
He was, however, dying. He knew it just as he knew the sounds of footsteps meant they were coming again. This time, a new voice asked the wrong questions.
Seriously. What the fuck…
No, I don’t feel pain, so on a scale of 1 to 10, I’d say a zero. Now, if you want numbness, that’s a 12. I can’t see. I’m dizzy. I have no balance. I’m having a fucking stroke, not a heart attack. Let me rephrase that. I”m having a CVA, not an MCI. Got it?
He was hoping that speaking their language would help them understand. His speech had begun to crack, but it was still clear. The voice vanished in the swoosh of a hospital curtain. He was alone again.
Soon, familiar and friendly voices entered the room. He could barely see them, but he knew them just by presence.
How are you feeling? Not so good. They are taking forever. Do you want me to do something? Let’s see what they say. Oh, I will.
A threatened lawsuit had stirred something.
After all of that, the voices had stopped asking him about pain. They has stopped checking his heart for malfunction, and had instead switched to his brain. Calls to other specialists led to a diagnosis…
You are having a stroke.
No fucking shit, really?
He had entered the day ready to take on the worlds as he saw it. He would end the day not being able to see it at all. He began the day not caring how it ended. He ended the day hoping to see another. He had started the day not knowing its promise. He had ended it seeing nothing but promise and, with that, made a few of his own.
He would live. He would hike mountains. He would hug his children more. He would tell them he loved them as often as they would allow. He would live for the moment when love was in his heart and the strength of the truth he was about to discover. He would not sacrifice any of his calling to the whims of others. Yes, he would live, and he would do so on his own terms.
It was only two years before he had wanted to die. Now, he only wanted to live. If only he had one more chance.
To be continued…