11/03/23
I have the weirdest itch in my fingers.
I know, probably a weird way to start a journal, but after staring at a blank screen for 15 minutes, that was the best I could come up with. Who the hell even keeps a journal anymore? Apparently only middle aged men in therapy. Linda says the practice will help “keep me present in my feelings”, whatever the hell that means, but I’m paying her good money, and trying to make this therapy thing work. I’m keeping my promise, babe. I’ll dance like a monkey in a tutu if it means there’s a chance of keeping this marriage together. I’m too damn old to be swiping on Tinder, and I never could stand being alone.
Anyways, that’s what I’m feeling today. Itchy.
11/10/23
I have to admit, things have been better. I’ve felt better. The first month off the booze I was aggravated as hell at any damn thing, and must have gone through a gallon of ice cream a week, but here at 90 days out, I think I’m actually OK. They keep telling me that new habits take time. I still feel it every day, that five o clock tug like a dinner bell. I never needed much more than olive juice and ice to mix my martinis, and I can taste the brine in my mouth.
Probably best not to focus on that though.
Kris has been floating through the house all smiles. She wants to make a little frame for the colored chips they hand out to mark the time. They don’t seem like much to me, but it’s so nice to see her happy after everything we’ve been through that I go along with it. Well, everything that she’s been through, if I’m going to be honest here.
On that note, it’s a good time for ice cream. Gonna have to slow that down soon, though. I put on 25 without thinking about it, and I’m too old to be carrying around all this extra weight. Probably need some blood tests too. I’m the poster child for type 2 diabetes, and the tingling in my hand has gotten worse. Be real fucking ironic if I finally got my shit together and then checked out over some blood sugar.
11/17/23
Jesus fuck, God was testing me last night. Kris and I had a blowout over something dumb, probably my fault, and god damn if that thirst wasn’t RIGHT THERE. A tall cool handle will be here in an hour if I use the app. I honestly don’t know how I didn’t, except that I knew down to every little detail what that hangover was going to be like, and I didn’t want it. See, babe? I really am changing. I’m not perfect, obviously, but it didn’t become that shiftfaced screaming match that you never wanted to be part of.
I woke up this morning knowing exactly how the night ended, and when I went to bed. There’s something to be said for it. That was always the worst part; the hangxiety. That whole panicked process of checking your phone and computer trying to get a sense of what was happening when the lights went out. Not this morning, though. I’ll make some coffee and then go and apologize and I know everything will be just fine. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. I just wish my fucking arm would stop hurting.
11/24/24
Yesterday was Thanksgiving. Everything’s OK, I guess. I’ve been a little under the weather for the past week or so. Kris is worried that I might be anemic since I apparently look a little paler than usual. The pain in my arm has been waking me up at night, and the lack of sleep is just wearing me out. The family was asking if I was OK after dinner. I said sure, but I was white knuckling it while they were sipping Grande Marnier and Irish coffees. I really miss drinking.
Back in school we used to joke about “the stranger”, where you’d sit on your hand to make it numb and then jerk off, and it would feel like it was someone else doing it. My arm feels like that a lot now. Kind of swollen and numb and just like, different. Like it’s not really part of me. Kris thinks I need to see the doctor, but I’d have to pay out of pocket since the insurance lapsed, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend that kind of cash on “my arm’s a little achy and tingly”. It was spasming a bit during the holiday meal, and that earned me a few weird looks, but whatever. I just need to ice it and keep the Advil coming.
12/01/23
It’s a good damn thing I’m left handed. Something is really wrong. My arm is swole up bad, and I can barely move my fingers past each other. I kept my arm under the towel until I got dressed after my shower, and kept it under the top sheet laying in bed afterwards. I didn’t want Kris to worry. She’s been fussing over me all week, and it’s been really cute. If it doesn’t start getting better in the next few days, I’ll make an appointment next week.
I had my appointment with Linda yesterday. Telehealth is the best damn thing. Even when I’m feeling like shit, it’s not hard to look reasonably well adjusted for a webcam. I told her about the nightmares though. It sounds dumb when I say it out loud. “Termites are burrowing through wood and I can hear all the sounds of their chomping little jaws”. It’s not exactly the stuff of horror stories, unless you’re a homeowner. She said strange dreams are pretty common for those working towards sobriety. Guess when you beat your gray matter down for long enough, it has a lot to say when it clears up a little bit.
12/08/23
I don’t think this is my arm anymore. That sounds insane, but it’s true. It’s swollen up more than twice its original size, and I can’t feel or see my fingers. It feels heavier than me sometimes. I don’t think I’ve been out of bed in almost three days. It hurts so bad just to try to sit up that I can’t imagine standing and walking. The skin over it is dead white and clammy. When I poke it with a finger, it moves like there’s jelly underneath, and it pulses.
I hear the termites in my dreams all the time now.
Kris has been yelling at me, but her voice seems far away. She said it stinks in here, like rotting flesh. Either I go to the emergency room with her, or she’s going to call an ambulance. I guess I’m going. The last thing I need is the neighbors getting all nosy over emergency vehicles.
12/22/23
Feels good to hold a pen again after the last couple of weeks. Kris was right. Guess I should have listened to her about it earlier. Although, I was going to lose my arm either way. Maybe if we’d caught it a little earlier, they wouldn’t have had to cut out so much of my shoulder though. Doctor said he’d never seen anything like it. Some weird parasite, and they’re still not sure where I’d picked it up. It slowly ate its way through my fingers, up my arm, and was beginning to work on my shoulder. It grew as it ate, slowly replacing my muscle and fat, and anchoring itself to the bone. It ate into my veins, and used them to suck out more nutrition, like a sentient tumor.
They didn’t expect it to be able to move, though. Or to fight back. When the surgeon first cut into it during the amputation, some of it squirted out and spiraled up his fingers toward his wrist. It got into his flesh, just a little bit. They took him off from the elbow down, probably the only thing that would have stopped it.
They keep my old arm in a tank now, in the next room. They let me see it once. It moves like one of those flukeworms. They pump some pink juice into the tank and it seems to really go nuts for it. They being the Army, I guess. Camo uniform dudes carrying guns. They’ve got this hospital closed down it seems.
Kris said everything is fine and they’re just being cautious, but she looks scared. They haven’t let her leave either. She looks so small and tired in the clothes they gave her, some pink sweatsuit number that don’t fit her for shit. The sleeves go past her wrists, and her hands play at them nervously.
The Doc says I’ve got a good chance at a full recovery, and that I might even get a cool cybernetic arm to replace the one that left. I saw some really cool ones on the internet. They even have one that looks like Iron Man’s arm. That would be pretty cool. I told Kris that, and she just nodded at me, and looked like she was about to cry. I guess she’s just still really overwhelmed by everything.
The Army guys seem really excited. They ran some kind of DNA test on my arm and said it doesn’t match anything in their computers. I’m still really fuzzy from all the pain meds, but I swear it sounded like they said it was some sort of alien thing. My name could go down in the history books or something.
My hand’s getting tired, so I’ll finish up here. They’re treating me real good. They let me have ice cream after dinner every night, and they always make sure I’m comfortable. Honestly, this would be a damn good time if I didn’t have the weirdest itch in my ear.