When Life Hands You Lymes #76

Hey Folks! Here it is. Busy, busy, busy day today! I’m glad to finally get the post slipped in. I hope you enjoy the 76th segment of my fictional story When Life Hands You Lymes


My fingers curled, refusing to open. I tried to force them open, but the intense pain was so strong it made me gasp with it’s power. Holding my hands up to my face I blew on them, hoping the cool air would sooth them. 
I turned to open my computer so I could google search a fix, but again my fingers stopped me. My felt my breath coming in sharp gasps. “God, no!” Deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. “God, if I don’t have the use of my fingers how will I be able to make music?” I was shaking by this time and I couldn’t stop. “I need my music. It’s part of me. It’s who I am. My music speaks the words that I don’t know how say. Music is my connection to the world. You can’t have my music. It’s Your gift to me and it’s not right for You to take back a gift.” I want to slam my fist on the bed, but the pain checks me. Instead I kick the mattress with every bit of strength I can get control of. “If I can’t have my music I’m done. I give up. I don’t want to live without my music. If You’re not going to give my music back, then please, take me, too.” 
Then flipping over I push my head under my pillow and scream into the mattress until I lose my voice. Then I fall into an exhausted sleep that brings me no peace. 
I wake up with a dread hanging over me. My music is just beginning to take off. There is no way I can handle the horribleness of it being taken away from me now. I feel my breath beginning to come in short gasps and I can’t handle it. 
“Madalyn.” Dad is shaking me awake and I stare into his face, wide eyed. 
“Dad?” I could feel my breath coming in short gasps and Dad’s face was worried. I clenched my teeth and sucked in a mouthful of air. 
“What is going on? You were screaming and we were afraid you were having a nightmare.” 
“A nightmare that transcends sleep.” I hold up my hands. “I knew that Lyme disease could effect the joints but I didn’t think it would actually attack my hands.” I shake them in his face. “My hands. I can’t do anything without my hands.” I feel the pressure falling down on me again, crushing me with it’s weight. “I can’t, I can’t do it.” I’m too upset for tears. “My hands hurt. Like they’re on fire.” I’m shaking, my whole body is trembling. “Dad, what will I do without my hands? It’s like a pilot going blind. A runner becoming crippled. If my hands don’t heal then my life as I know it is over.” 
“Madalyn.” Dad’s voice is calm. 
“Dad, now is not a time to be calm.” I pull the pillow over my face and scream. “My life is ending. Right before my eyes. And the pain, Dad! The pain is horrible.” I clench my teeth together. “If this is what Lyme disease is going to do to me, then I give up. I will not see my world slowly slip away and leave me without hope. I’ve struggled long and hard but I can’t get through this one. I’m not strong enough.” 
“Madalyn.” Dad sits down on the bed next to me. 
“For real, Dad.” I shake my head, “It’s too hard.” 
Mom comes in and sits on the other side of the bed, a little tube in her hands. She squeezes some of the lotion-ish stuff on the tips of her fingers and then gently begins massaging it into my hands. “Does this hurt?” 
I shake my head. “No. Thank you.” It actually soothes me. My hands. They’re practically useless. I begin to doze off, spent from my emotional outburst. As if from a great distance I hear Dad’s voice. It takes me several moments to realize that he’s reading the Bible out loud. I fall into a dreamless sleep. 

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