Brain Clouds and Parasites
I went to the doctor yesterday. Turns out there's a large parasite feeding on my brain. It lives on fear and grey-matter and instinctively knows to dwell in the area of the brain responsible for feelings of happiness and motivation, damaging the receptors there and inhibiting long-term feelings of contentedness and elation. I thought the doctor was making this up, some sort of belated April Fools' joke. It made me think of Tom Hanks' brain cloud in "Joe versus the Volcano" and I appreciated the irony in the fact that I'd so very lately quoted the movie in one of my entries here. As the doctor finished his explanation of my affliction, I half expected him to append it with an offer to take a trip to an island somewhere in the South Pacific in exchange for my services as a human sacrifice. I would have laughingly accepted the offer, citing an interest in courage. Unlike Joe, however, I got a second opinion. This is no brain cloud. It is definitely a parasite eating my brain.
It's weird, you go for a check-up, more or less routine, but get to talking about slight yet persistent peripheral headaches that sometimes make your right eye twitch (which for a while I thought came from a lack of sleep until it continued even after I'd sleep for twelve hours a night three nights in a row. Then I realized I was sleeping too much or too little or just enough and never failed to still be tired. Thanks, brain bug) and bam!, you're hit with the likes of an exoskeletal monster living in the confines of your cranium. I didn't see the connection between the frequent and bizarre dreams, but my doctor is a regular House, apparently and made the diagnosis with alarm (and alarming speed, at that). My case, it seems, is one for the books. What a fine consolation prize.
This being such a rare occurrence, with only a few cases documented in the history of medicine, it is unclear as to how long I have left to live. There are various procedures I could undergo to attempt to remove the wily thing, but they are costly and very likely to be completely ineffective and quite probably more detrimental than if the thing is left alone. Scans show that the creature has sharply hooked nails which it uses to attach itself to the brain. Once settled, these hooks grow at a rapid pace, firmly implanting the parasite, which at some point will begin/has already begun excreting a mild but effective cytotoxin that triggers the onset of necrosis. That is to say, while simultaneously feeding on unaffected areas of my brain, the critter will be rotting the rest, beginning in the frontal lobe. It makes sense, now, my recent memory trouble and drastic mood changes. Anyway, because of these hooks and the cytotoxin, a removal effort would almost certainly only speed up the process already in place (the destruction of my brain). So I've opted out of trying anything drastic. I proffered the idea of trying to lure the thing out through my ear canal by swabbing my ear with fear-sweat, but the doctor thought it an idiotic suggestion and told me so explicitly. Luckily, with my emotions muted because of whatever frontal lobe damage that's already been caused, I was not overcome with the urge to cry as might have been the case a mere three weeks ago.
Test images suggest necrosis has not set in so I may have a good amount of time left yet. Once it does begin its course, though, things will progress quickly and I will die from a gangrenous brain. As overwhelming as all of this has been, I haven't let this revelation get me down. On the contrary, I have accepted the news without much reaction or emotion, and have decided to embrace life. There's no use crying over spilt milk or brain-rotting parasites, that's my new motto. I am in the process, while I still have the mental capacity to do so, of coming up with things to spend my time doing, to make these last months?/weeks?/days? worthwhile. I'll update you all on that list once it is complete. In the meantime, rather than pity me, just remember, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and when life gives you brain bugs, spill milk (that's my new motto).
Chairs.
It's weird, you go for a check-up, more or less routine, but get to talking about slight yet persistent peripheral headaches that sometimes make your right eye twitch (which for a while I thought came from a lack of sleep until it continued even after I'd sleep for twelve hours a night three nights in a row. Then I realized I was sleeping too much or too little or just enough and never failed to still be tired. Thanks, brain bug) and bam!, you're hit with the likes of an exoskeletal monster living in the confines of your cranium. I didn't see the connection between the frequent and bizarre dreams, but my doctor is a regular House, apparently and made the diagnosis with alarm (and alarming speed, at that). My case, it seems, is one for the books. What a fine consolation prize.
This being such a rare occurrence, with only a few cases documented in the history of medicine, it is unclear as to how long I have left to live. There are various procedures I could undergo to attempt to remove the wily thing, but they are costly and very likely to be completely ineffective and quite probably more detrimental than if the thing is left alone. Scans show that the creature has sharply hooked nails which it uses to attach itself to the brain. Once settled, these hooks grow at a rapid pace, firmly implanting the parasite, which at some point will begin/has already begun excreting a mild but effective cytotoxin that triggers the onset of necrosis. That is to say, while simultaneously feeding on unaffected areas of my brain, the critter will be rotting the rest, beginning in the frontal lobe. It makes sense, now, my recent memory trouble and drastic mood changes. Anyway, because of these hooks and the cytotoxin, a removal effort would almost certainly only speed up the process already in place (the destruction of my brain). So I've opted out of trying anything drastic. I proffered the idea of trying to lure the thing out through my ear canal by swabbing my ear with fear-sweat, but the doctor thought it an idiotic suggestion and told me so explicitly. Luckily, with my emotions muted because of whatever frontal lobe damage that's already been caused, I was not overcome with the urge to cry as might have been the case a mere three weeks ago.
Test images suggest necrosis has not set in so I may have a good amount of time left yet. Once it does begin its course, though, things will progress quickly and I will die from a gangrenous brain. As overwhelming as all of this has been, I haven't let this revelation get me down. On the contrary, I have accepted the news without much reaction or emotion, and have decided to embrace life. There's no use crying over spilt milk or brain-rotting parasites, that's my new motto. I am in the process, while I still have the mental capacity to do so, of coming up with things to spend my time doing, to make these last months?/weeks?/days? worthwhile. I'll update you all on that list once it is complete. In the meantime, rather than pity me, just remember, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and when life gives you brain bugs, spill milk (that's my new motto).
Chairs.