Knife-Happy

Early every morning, on the heels of the previous hours’ nightmares, my first moments of consciousness are heavy with a sense of dread and fear. Partly it’s a hangover from those dreams and partly an anticipation of what unpleasantness the new day may hold. 

Often I can’t remember details of these nocturnal storylines, but have only an awareness of their generalized anxiety. On awakening today, though, the plot did come back to me: a large and tattered rapist-murderer entered the room in which I was sleeping and stood over my bed, laughing. I ran to the kitchen, with him right behind me. I grabbed a steak knife and proceeded to stab him repeatedly, to little effect. 

“Get help,” you might be thinking. Worry not. I’ve got a doctor for my every need. I even have a medicine right over there that’s supposed to diminish nightmares, but I don’t want to start it until my facial nerve drama has resolved one way or another.

Speaking of knives and nerves, I got a call from the medical assistant to the maxillofacial guy in South Sacramento with whom I have an appointment in two weeks. The MA wanted to let me know that, since he is a surgeon, he may recommend an operation, and would I be willing to go through that? If not, she said, there’s no point in consulting him for a second opinion. The question kinda blew me out of the water. I’d never dreamed of such a possibility. My periodontist has been taking a “wait and see” approach, while this specialist says there’s only a narrow window of time (three months from the nerve injury) during which treatment can be effective. It’s a catch-22. If I hold off and the problem persists, it will be too late to correct it. But what if it could eventually heal on its own? I told the MA that the condition is nasty enough that I can’t imagine living with it forever and if there is an alternative, I’d consider it. By the time I see him, it’ll be over six weeks in, leaving not much time to spare.

Eating continues to be a challenge and I don’t weigh much, so I thought I should buy some protein drinks. Beware: did you know that many of the leading ones contain high levels of heavy metals (arsenic, cadmium, mercury and lead) along with toxins? That’s according to Consumer Reports. But Lulu found me a safe one on a site called “iHerb.” So (along with 1800 mg. of Advil—doctor’s orders), I’m downing one chocolate beverage and two of Marianna’s dark chocolate truffles per day. She generously gave me a ton of them when I saw her last week. Here’s what remains.

My current choice of reading material is not ideal for this exact moment in my life. In addition to each day’s harrowing news about Haitians and others who are suffering, along with reports on the explosion of inhumanity and corruption in this country, I’m deep into:

• When a Crocodile Eats the Sun (thanks for the book, Marianna): a good but disturbing memoir about life in Zimbabwe under the dictatorship of Robert Mugabe.
• The Mountains Sing: a devastating audiobook about the trauma a fictional Vietnamese family endures before, during and after “The American War.”

While this is typical fare for me, I welcome your suggestions for well-written books that don’t sink one into a bucket of despair. I don’t do fluffy, though. Sorry, Small: no “tea under the beeches” for me.

On the bright side, Ruby has turned one. I got to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. She was profoundly moved, no doubt. Here she is in her party hat and silk cape.

I haven’t had my daily phone conversations with Small since last Tuesday (when, at my request, she called at 5:55 a.m. my time to say goodbye) because she’s been up in Cape Cod visiting my brother and his large family. Tomorrow we’ll be back to our normal ritual. Welcome home, Maw!