Neuropathy

Jane pulled Mildred into my driveway like she did every day after school. My mom’s minivan was parked in the garage and my dad’s car was gone, seeing as he was at the power station, working. Jane put the car in park and turned her head to look at me.

She didn’t say anything for a bit; she just stared at me like a lion watches her prey. Her eyes were on hyper mode, flickering back and forth across my face then to my arm, then my hand, then my ear and back to my arm. She was worried, I could tell.

“Do you want me to carry your bag for you? I mean, so you don’t hurt yourself,” she finally spoke.

“I think I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.” Carefully, I moved my hand over and found the handle to open the door. I poked my feet out and held my bag strap in my hand. Gritting my teeth, I managed to pull myself up without too much struggle. From there, I slung my bag over my right shoulder and walked up to my house like it was nothing.

I didn’t want to worry Jane, so before I got to my porch steps, I turned to face her and wave. I could tell through the windshield that she wanted to say something, but instead, the car backed out of the driveway and left without a word.

Once I couldn’t see Mildred’s dulled blue paint, I faced the stairs. Step by step, I grasped the railing, pulling myself up and over the three little bricks. With every movement, my bag felt heavier and heavier until I wanted to just drop it onto the ground and leave it there forever. As I lugged my body up the steps, I felt my muscles constrict like an anaconda. It was like something in my core was sucking everything straight inwards. I just really wanted to lie down.

Just one more step, I said to myself as I pulled my body up the last stair. Relieved I had made it this far, I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. I threw my bad down as soon as I was inside. The weight immediately lifted off my shoulders, relieving—but not completely fixing—the pain from the pressure of the load.

My mom was in the kitchen, as usual, making tonight’s dinner. From the large pot on the stove to the fresh, crisp smell of herbs—especially thyme and basil—I figured it was soup night.

I had always enjoyed soup nights. Something about drinking my meal was nice. As lazy as it sounds, I liked the idea of not having to put in the excessive energy to chew before I swallowed. The best part, though, was that cute warm feeling I always got in my stomach. This warm, hovering sensation was like a blanket—covering up the cold, dark parts of my inside and smothering it with snug comfort.

Hearing my bag smash against the hardwood floors, Mom instantly scolded me. “Be careful, Sade!” Her voice was softened from cutting through so much wall, but I still felt her oppressive strictness. “The stitches in that bag can hardly hold the fifty pounds of books you carry; don’t push it too far.” I knew she was right—my eight year old backpack would only last but so long—but I didn’t pay her much notice.

Slowly, I stumbled down the short hallway into the kitchen. Like predicted, my mom stood over a big, stainless steel pot, stirring its contents with a classic wooden spoon.

“Hello to you too,” I mumbled, stopping in the doorway.

Mom put the spoon down and turned to look at me. “What? Are you sick?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “I probably just pinched a nerve or something.”

“Where at?”

“My left shoulder. It started hurting in Algebra.”

“Well, let me take a look.” She started making her way over to me. I didn’t move until she reached out to me.

“Don’t touch it!” I flinched away, “It’s really sensitive.” I took a couple steps back as my hand went up to hover the spot, acting as some sort of shield.

“Okay, well do you have any homework?” Leave it to my mother to put school work before my health.

“Just a little English.” Well, that and an outline for a paper, plus a couple pages of bookwork for French, but I didn’t mention that, not wanting her hounding me all night to get it done.

“Well go lay down. Dinner will be at six. If you’re not down, I’ll send Ruby Anne up for you.”

I nodded and sauntered off to my room.

Sleep is probably all I need; I’m just tired, is all. That was the best answer I had at the time. I had always been slightly neurotic, so I didn’t want to even think about what could be going on.

I wanted to lie down; that was all.

**

Sleep is an interesting concept. When one goes to sleep, everything calms. Their heart rate relaxes and their breathing slows down. Digestion and nerve signals pacify, nearly stopping. Thoughts subside and everything nearly dies. This is the reason it’s so easy to use sleep as an outlet. It’s almost as if you’ve left your body. You can dream all you want, living in another dimension, or just become so idle that the world goes on while you don’t. It’s like entering a Wormhole—the way physicists propose time travel is possible.

I wish I could travel in time and just skip being sick all together.

Sleep was fighting a battle with me that afternoon. It had always taken me forever to fall asleep, but this was ridiculous. For two hours and thirty four minutes, exactly, I laid down with the covers over my head to block out the light. I really couldn’t move; a slight shift in position made my entire back burn.

The worst part of laying there was feeling the pain spread. It was like a wildfire—airplanes above knew it was a tragedy that desperately needed to be taken care of, but the task was arduous. No matter how bad the fire got, it seemed as if it they wouldn’t have enough water and fire-suppressants to tame the flames. I had taken pretty much one of every over-the-counter painkiller I had—Tylenol, Advil, Aspirin, Aleve; even Motrin. I knew it was bad, and really dangerous to mix and consume so many drugs, but nothing seemed to work. Every twenty minutes, the fire spread another couple inches. First down my back, into my sides, then down into my left arm. I was trying everything I could think of to calm the pain—laying on my back, my side, my stomach; wearing a sweatshirt then short sleeves. I poured cold water on it and tried to withstand the weight of a cold washcloth (which only lasted for a couple minutes).

Nothing was working.

I sat up in bed and leaned forward, resting my forehead in the heel of my palm. It was more exhausting than the flu. Frustrated, I stood up. At first I was really dizzy. My head felt foggy and I could see little black dots all over, quickly covering my vision. Just as swiftly as they had arisen, the woozy feelings disappeared.

I began to walk over to the window. My movements were really rigid and stiff, like a board had been nailed behind me, restricting me to bend my joints or move my neck.

“La fenêtre”, I pushed back the curtains.

The school bus was unloading the elementary school kids on the nearby street corner. Children with pigtails and rolling backpacks jumped down the steps and ran to their mothers and neighbors. Most of them were full of energy and life, visibly jittering with the excitement of being out of school today. Then I noticed that last little boy.

This little boy was alone as he sauntered away from the bus. His backpack was bigger than his back, seemingly swallowed up. He coughed a few times and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve while all the other kids and their parents turned and moved away.

Poor kid, he has a cold.I wanted to reach out and hug him. He looked so sad and lonely as he began the miserable walk home. He’s sick, just like me.

Just like me. The kid probably had a virus, and I had…something.

It’s probably just a cold or flu or something. My inner Voice of Wisdom began to speak up and I closed my curtains.

I toddled back to my bed and carefully sat down on the edge.

It’s just the flu. You need rest. Yes, Voice of Wisdom, I caved.

Sleep, sleep, sleep. I carefully pulled my legs up, trying my hardest to ignore the sting in my back that electrocuted every movement.

You can do it, Sadie. I pulled the covers over my legs and shifted around until I was not in too much pain.

You can do it.

And I did. For three hours, I left our realm and was transported somewhere else. I awoke to a dark room. The sun was gone and everything was quiet. At first, I didn’t think much of my ailments, but when I tried to lift myself off the bed, I mentally cursed the world.

The feeling of jellyfish tentacles all over my skin overtook me, pulling me back into reality. It was at this point that I really missed being asleep.