For a month I’ve had a numb right armpit. For two days I’ve had intermittent shooting pains in my right arm and shoulder with occasional weakness in my writing hand. These S&S are at least “go-for-a-check-up” worthy, but it’s all sort of been happening in the middle of relocating to a new city and starting a new school and not having a doctor. A general wish to ignore the Reaper’s sweet lullaby, basically.
Last night my hand suddenly lost strength and I dropped my novel into the bathwater, where I was floating and reading at 11pm. Live from my life, it’s Saturday night!
“Motherfucker,” I said. Because although I am Just a Student Nurse, I know that sudden weakness + shooting pains + general malaise = probably bad.
So I drank a double whisky-lemonade and put on my sleeping mask (this thing works wonders). I fretted myself to sleep and dreamed of monsters that tunnel and creep beneath the earth’s surface.
This town does not have a walk-in clinic that is open on Sundays. Be damned if I am going to the emergency room to be counted among the sinus infected, the drunk, the generally queasy, and other time wasters. My stage 4 cancer can be diagnosed tomorrow when the walk-in clinic reopens for business.