Written September 9, 2010  9:26 pm

Anita had a good night's sleep last night.  She was alert this morning.  The latest spinal tap procedure was performed this afternoon.  Results of these tests will be forthcoming in the next few days, whereupon the next treatment steps will then be determined.  Anita was quite tired after the spinal tap procedure, and rested for the remainder of the day.

The clock is melting.  Elongated, with the numbers one through six pooling at the bottom and seven through eleven climbing up to meet twelve.  Time moves slowly here, but the numbers appear to have given up.  My timepiece of reality is draped against the wall like a clock in a Salvador Dali painting.  I am aware I am hallucinating, but acknowledging this delusion doesn't make it go away.

I know that it's night because it is dark and I am alone.  I can't tell what time it is because the numbers on the clock keep moving.  I'm frightened.  I wiggle my fingers to find my pancake call bell.  Just feeling the flat disc under my fingers provides a measure of relief.  I want to press it and call for help. But I don't.  No one can fix this.  No one can help me.  I can't tell them I am seeing dripping clocks.  I can't tell them how horrible it is to lie here without sensation, wanting desperately to turn over and lie on my stomach, breathe on my own.   I don't want to be left alone with crazy clocks and disturbing thoughts. Maybe it's best that I can't talk right now.  I don't seem to have anything good to say.

So I close my eyes and make  my own reality.  I am asleep at home feeling the crisp coolness of the new part of the pillow I have just bunched up under my face.  I stretch my leg to find John on the other side of the bed. His breathing is rhythmic and soothing.  I roll over and pull my knees to my chest, glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand.  It's 2:00 am.  I feel that marvelous," I can sleep a few more hours" before the alarm goes off.  sensation.  In this reality, I turn again to spoon with my husband.  If only this were real.  I swear I will never take tossing and turning in bed for granted.  Ever.

Thoughts of sleeping in my own bed eventually chase away the sagging clock.  The minutes meld into hours until the sun peeks through my window.  I watch the dust motes dance in the light giving me hope and promise.  Another night survived.  The light has arrived again.  A new day awaits.  I pray for courage. For more time.  Now...for just a little while.