I wake up in the middle of the night, and my neck, shoulder, and back muscles and my right glut are tense and hurt quite a lot. I try to focus on relaxing them, as my friend Elizabeth taught me, to help me go back to sleep, but it doesn’t work. Instead, my mind starts wandering. I’ve already solved quite a few significant issues that didn’t let me sleep, but I’m still awake – the pain and tightness are still here. My muscles refuse to relax because they store piled up distress and fear: of having seizures, of never, ever healing; of helplessness caused by disability; and of death.
A few days ago, Eric told me that the bleeding of my brain caused my muscles to be unable to swallow. Suddenly, I was drowning in my own saliva. My seizures, added to my choking, forced the doctors to induce coma with infused Dylantin, which was always under control to avoid side effects. When he added this part of the story (he always avoids telling it because it makes him cry), I was stunned; I knew the bleeding had been traumatic for me, but I didn’t remember it. Yet, my muscles carry inside them an unconscious memory of facing death.
That’s the near-death experience that I remember but don’t remember. So, there’s death and fear of death stored in my muscles that I don’t remember but keeps me awake at night.
A few days ago, Eric told me that the bleeding of my brain caused my muscles to be unable to swallow. Suddenly, I was drowning in my own saliva. My seizures, added to my choking, forced the doctors to induce coma with infused Dylantin, which was always under control to avoid side effects. When he added this part of the story (he always avoids telling it because it makes him cry), I was stunned; I knew the bleeding had been traumatic for me, but I didn’t remember it. Yet, my muscles carry inside them an unconscious memory of facing death.
That’s the near-death experience that I remember but don’t remember. So, there’s death and fear of death stored in my muscles that I don’t remember but keeps me awake at night.
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