Waiting for the Fever to Break

I’m scared.

I’m scared of the time I have left.

Of all the things I won’t get to do.

Of all the things I’ll miss.

I’m frightened of becoming someone I don’t recognize.

Shriveled up in a hospital bed somewhere.

Hearing voices wonder how long ‘till the end.

I’ve always been strong.

I’ve always overcome.

But right now,

I’m petrified of dying.

Of dying alone.

My body is getting heavy.

And all I want to do is sleep.

Every day I wake up saying I’m going to finish packing.

And I don’t.

Just cleaning the kitchen takes its toll.

I sit and say I’ll get up in a little bit,

But the pattern is always the same.

I’m wide awake until 6am.

Then I fight myself to fall asleep until 2pm.

And I wake up at 4pm.

I puke.

I take Zofran.

For a couple of hours I feel OK.

Then, the cycle starts again.

There’s also a haze.

Like I’m never touching the ground.

Like the me I know is just a few inches away.

Like when you have the flu, and you just feel sick.

I want to wake up after the fever breaks.

When it’s over, and I’m myself again.

But like all things we take for granted,

I don’t think I’ll have that privilege again.