Day 235 - Try not to think about it

 Try not to think about it

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Arnold had noticed that when he entered the house his eyes were having more trouble more often adjusting to the light differential. There was a strange pulse that would occur if he had been out in direct sunlight. His brother had light migraines and tried to explain what that was like. Arnold didn’t think this was that. Perhaps as his eyes worsened with age it was just getting harder for them to adjust quickly and the pulse was some sort of re-calibration. He hadn’t told anyone yet. He needed new glasses, but hated his last prescription and wasn’t looking forward to screwing the next round up. If the machines could do so much, why couldn’t they just tell what sort of lens he needed? The whole process seemed so archaic. Lens one vs lens two. Or maybe lens three was better. Could he go back and see two again? Somehow always chose the wrong one even when he was sure he was doing it right. Arnold wondered when he could get a pair for free from his insurance. It was probably at least another year.

Oh, what was wrong today? What wasn’t? There was a pinprick pain in his right palm and his middle knuckle was sore. His left elbow had felt agitated so his whole arm was weak. What was he doing to himself? That pulse was getting stronger and he was going to have to take something soon.

Arnold looked around his bedroom. There were pills and medicine everywhere. Aspirin on the night stand in case he suddenly had a stroke or heart attack. Cough drops scattered in the top desk drawer. Sudafed for when the weather changed too rapidly or storms rolled in. Antacid on the night stand, antacid on the desk, antacid in his pocket. Maybe something was wrong. That seemed like a lot of antacid. It seemed like anything he ate at night, which now meant after six pm, would suddenly give him heart burn or acid reflux or something. His forties had been miserable.

He hoped he could sleep through the night. He took his melatonin, which didn’t always work. He took an extra swig of NyQuil on the advice of a friend. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept a solid six hours without some sort of interruption, usually to go to the bathroom. Maybe tonight was the night.

It hurt to climb into bed. Some tendon in his knee objected to him lying on his right side. He would try the left, but usually he just rolled back onto his back. That was no good for the sleep apnea. He’d probably sweat through the sheets and pillow cases as he had done for the past week. His fingers went numb when on his side like this. That might mean something. Everything meant something. How could he have high blood pressure and poor circulation? It made no sense.

Try not to think about it and go to bed. That was what he told himself. The morning dawn would come to soon and he was far too old to be able to sleep through that anymore.