My right eye has been twitching since May. Actually, it's not my eye, per se, but the lower lid. I've also been getting headaches just under my right temple for quite a while now. I think they're tension, or allergy, related since they come at the end of the day and also when the pollen is so thick that my dark gray car, after being parked outside for any length of time, appears to have severe dandruff.
I don't think a twitching eye and end-of-the-day headache are cause for alarm. I don't think they're cause for alarm unless it's two-thirty-six a.m., I've just gotten up with Kitty Cat and am now flopping around in bed trying to sleep while a speckled, ugly filmstrip runs through my head.
Etched across this film strip are images of me being diagnosed with a brain tumor, going bald from chemo and, ultimately, orphaning Fruit Bat and Kitty Cat and widowing Jay. That's what happened last night. I was connecting the dots with my symptoms when understanding bloomed from my hairline down to my fingertipes. I was going to die. Soon.
Such realizations are not new for me. I've deduced that death is imminent dozens (hundreds?) of times. I'm better about it now that I used to be (thank you Zoloft). But still, sometimes, the middle of the night is not kind.