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I don't now if it was the final result of the cumulative years' worth
of emaciation, or perhaps an unrecognized side effect of taking the
fat enzymes, but by the Summer of Nineteen Ninety, my brain was just
not working any more.
I could still muddle out my stories needed for The Doctor Who Report
as well as my editorial bit for the science fiction club's monthly
two sheet, but the results were less compelling and more lack luster.
While I had been writing code consistently since the age of
fourteen, I found it had recently become confusing for me and hard to
untangle and I soon gave up trying. I even reached the point where
one day I realized I couldn't remember what my last name was anymore
and actually had to pull out my Colorado State I.D. to remind myself.
Physically I was doing a bit better, though. I don't know if it was
the fat enzymes helping me to absorb calories or the frequent free
dinners Daina was taking me to at restaurants, but I had actually
gained a little weight during the first half of the year, bringing me
to only be
thirty three pounds underweight. Where the previous year I had
discovered I could wrap my thumb and index finger around my upper arm
and have the finger tips touch, I now had to use my slightly longer
middle finger to reach my thumb on the other side, meaning my upper
arm had increased in circumference by nearly a quarter inch!
While getting the fat enzymes was the first step I had gotten out of
a doctor to treat my weight loss problems, ultimately the full issue
was still not being addressed by my assigned doctor, Betsey, at the
community health clinic. And my attempts to find a
counselor to help me understand why this may be and how to correct
it, getting doctors to serious look into my persistent health
problems, had come to nothing as well. I saw this dimming of my
brain as a sign that I was down to my last year or two before my life
finally expired.
I reflected that I at least wouldn't have to worry about
addressing my intersexed 'situation' given my presumed remaining
lifespan.
Though I had gained those few pounds, I now had the persistent
burning line of pain going down the back of my left leg, more of my
hair had fallen out, leaving me with a tuft of hair in the center of
an otherwise balding skull. I couldn't stay awake for more than
eight hours at a time, having to sleep before the next eight hours.
After a few weeks of this my metabolism embraced the eight hours
up, four hours down, eight hours up, four hours down daily
schedule. In one way this made me feel like I was living twice as
many days as compared to other people. But in reality I hadn't been
living a full life in years.
Never having suffered from nightmares my entire life, I started to
have little 'night frights' where I would doze off and have a brief
impression of my dead body being eaten by little bugs: Sometimes
spiders, sometimes ants. I would wake up with a start to realize it
had only been a brief, if unwelcomed dreamlet.
During my first year at the apartment I had problems where my belly
would sometimes swell out like a taut balloon and all I could do was
unbutton my pants and unzip my zipper to allow me the most comfort at
these moments while I hid in my apartment until the swelling was
over. Based on T.V. ads I concluded it might be intestinal gas
problems and went to the local pharmacy to look through their gas
treatment options. I finally found one brand that didn't have any
additives that I was allergic to and bought a box. While it helped
on these occasions, given how expensive it was compared to my budget,
I rationed these to the times when I had to have the swelling down so
I could go to an appointment or when the swelling was particularly
painful.
During the year I also had bouts of shivering during the Spring,
Summer and Fall. Once I found out about my body temperature readings
I wasn't surprised, but all I could do was wear my winter jacket
inside the apartment to help me warm up, sometimes even taking the
comforter off of my bed to wrap myself in and make a can of hot soup.
During the Winter, oddly enough, this wasn't an issue in the
apartment as I could open the heating valve more and bring the
temperature in my apartment into the eighties if I needed to. The
only issue, then, was if I was waiting for the bus outside in the
cold and began shivering uncontrollably. All I could hope for in
that case was that the bulky coat would help to hide this from the
bus driver and other passengers once they arrived.
Then one day, after another profoundly painful bathroom bout and all
of my attempts to find a counselor had failed, I saw no future for
myself. I decided to stop drinking anything for half a day to make
sure my bladder would stay empty by the next morning and went to bed
with the express goal of committing suicide by just waiting to expire
while lying in bed...
But a day and half later I was bored of just lying there and
got up to check my eMail and play a game on the computer, falling
back into the drinking and eating routine while I was at it.
As I had been going through the phone book's yellow pages in search
of a counselor, I had crossed out the names of those who had turned
me down or didn't work out and decided that I could always call back
the ones who had never returned my initial phone call to them. But
this just resulted in a second occasion for them not to return my
phone call. Then a few weeks later, a psychiatrist I'll name 'Jude'
called me and apologized for not getting back to me sooner as he had
been on vacation.
Would I like to come in next week?
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