Tuesday, January 16, 2018

In A Dither

In bed.

Alone.

The glimmer from my iPad clouds my periphery. Like cigarette smoke did. I push the icons with fingers that tremble and twitch. Spinning a chronicle to people I don’t know with hope they’ll know what I need to know.

Bed spins. Jitters. Sweat solid as syrup. A heart heated. Fairy feet tapping a trail inside my chest. Runs. Ventricular tachycardia. The tremors make copy and paste a tricky task.

Jerks & Jitters.

Every day. Every night. 365 cycles.

Caused by Metoprolol? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. It’s been replaced. Maybe the Amiodarone? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s been swapped. A new substitute: Sotalol.

And still I whirl. And still I bolk. And still I heave the emptied.

Every day. Every night. 365 cycles.

Eyes opened. Eyes closed. Twirls. Jitters. Quivers. Quakes. Tangible creepings. Felt fear.

Heartbeats in my ears, in my hands, in my blinks, in my testicles.

Jerks & Jitters.

For years I yearned for the act to be completed by quakes and quivers. It was the mission of my bed.

Jerks & Jitters.

Every day. Every night. 365 cycles.

Tomorrow EKG at 9:30.

Tomorrow 10:40 the scrapes and scratches and punctures and pricks from the ablation must be poked and prodded and approved.

Too many jitters & jerks to rest.

Restlessness.

Every day. Every night. 365 cycles.