My Final Entry
I write today, for the purposes of retrospection. Someday, I am sure that I will find the urge to read back on my time under the influence of the Wendisease, as they are calling it in some media circles, after the fast food chain whose tainted meat is now known to have spread the virus. Often this is followed by, “It’s way better than living long.” A play on the restaurants ad slogan, I am told.
Only the nature of the virus itself kept the number of infected low. Without a cut or open sore in the mouth or throat to grant entry, the virus was easily killed within the stomach of most that were exposed.
Being the first to survive, as well as allow doctors an insight into the disease, thus giving them the knowledge to heal it, has been a surreal ordeal, to say the least. Others have responded well to initial treatment, but seem to relapse in time. I’ve broken the pattern and given hope to those in a position to build upon it.
It was this very journal, along with my scribbling over the newspaper, which showed them the parts of the brain being attacked, as many of the other infected merely sat motionless, unresponsive, mute and eventually dead.
They tell me that had I not been found many others would have surely died before a cure could be developed. I’ve been told I am extremely lucky and perhaps some distorted version of a hero. Complete crap, of course, with the hero part, but I have to agree with the luck. How can you be a hero without heroic intent, without intent at all?
On a side note, why is it that bad luck is so often necessary to break the seal of the eye open to the presence of good luck? Had I not had the bad luck of biting my lip the day before I ordered a Baconator, I couldn’t have found the good luck of surviving my affliction.
Anyway, it feels strange to use a pen again, and to be using my actual notebook. Of course, a lot of things seem strange these days. Adjusting to the real world has not been easy, and certainly not as quick as portrayed in these writings. Well over a month has passed since my last entry, and though I felt like my entries were coming on a daily basis, I am told there were often clumps of days in between.
There have been several articles and stories about my experiences with the disease, and here are some of the key points I have gathered when combining those stories and what the doctors have told me first hand.
The disease begins by affecting the muscles of the eye or the visual cortex, which temporarily causes the infected person’s vision to be movement deficient. Meaning, with movement things became invisible to me, at first.
This symptom tends to fade as the virus progresses, but due to an overlap with the next symptom, can also remain predominant, though not physically present. I know, it all sounds odd, and had I not lived it, I wouldn’t believe it either. It’s strange, the power of the mind.
From the eye, the virus quickly begins to attack the brain. I’ve been told a few times exactly what part of the brain, but I’m sorry, the word escapes me, and generally when I am having it explained to me there are an overwhelming number of words beyond my vocabulary. So, this is not the only technical or scientific word that will be left out of my account.
This is only for my future curiosity, and given that I don’t care about these words being left out, why does it matter. Future self, if you want to know more just look up your name on the internet and I’m sure you can read all about it.
After the distortion to the visual cortex, an often dissociative dementia sets in. In short, the mind loses touch with reality and/or with key memories. Given that the eyes are often still immune to charting movement; this dementia can often create a reality divided from the world in motion. In my case, the chemicals danced around and embraced the idea of a hollow or post-apocalyptic society.
This is not the same in all of those that were infected by the virus, but I can only speak for me. In only one instance did this lead to violence.
One man believed himself to be under the attack of ghosts and fought back. He saw people jump from moments of stillness, but couldn’t see the movement in between. To him, it appeared as if spirits were materializing and vanishing all around him. Though my experience was quite different, I completely understand his fear.
By chance, my symptoms began while I was asleep beside my wife of sixteen years, who I was only reintroduced to a week ago. She is beautiful and I look very forward to getting to know her all over again. Sadly, the scarring the virus carves on the brain leaves permanent damage in the form of memories forever lost. Unlike some of the others, I am lucky enough to at least remember my own name and large chunks of my history.
Being that the first symptom to my vision began while I was asleep, I awoke beside my wife as the virus had already moved to my brain. The house around me was mislabeled as foreign, though it was my own room, and I could not see her as she rose with me.
From that night, I wandered the streets unaware that my brain and eyes were conspiring against my survival. From what my wife, Jovie…she said her name was Jovie, told me, the police almost caught up to me a couple of times prior to the encounter at Wal-Mart. Once, after I had walked in the unlocked door of a stranger’s home and once after I stole a fishing rod from another Wal-Mart.
Wal-Mart was understanding enough to drop the charges.
Luckily, I fell asleep among people in the photo booth where I was apprehended, or I probably would have wandered until I’d starved to death. I really don’t remember, but I still see stories from time to time with people angry at the police for using a Taser when I had resisted arrest. Personally, I don’t hold it against them, and think they handled the situation as they should have. Of course, it’s hard to hold a grudge for something you don’t remember.
Once in custody, I did spend one night in a holding cell before being moved to a room at a mental health facility where I was nourished, treated and finally made to realize my condition. One stutter in my memory is the cell bars I continued to see for many days, even after my eyes began to readjust to and accept what was truly surrounding me. The doctors have said they believe this to be a lingering effect of the dementia, perhaps spawned from the feeling that I remained imprisoned by my sickness.
Not sure that I agree, but I suppose I can’t disagree either, as I have no other explanation.
Oh, well. All is well that ends well, I suppose.
Yet, I must admit to a rather strange occurrence this morning. While enjoying an assorted plate of food I can’t remember, and never could taste, I noticed a couple of things: 1. I seem to be continuing to lose weight. 2. I am not wearing a wedding ring, nor the circle of pale skin left behind after years of wear.
Also, just before I left the clinic this morning and walked out into the perpetually overcast setting of this new world, I went to shake the hand of the female doctor who’s been working so diligently with me, I can’t believe her name has slipped from my mind. I’ve only seen her every day for more than a month….or is it years….I’m confused. Jovie, that’s her name. Wow, I can’t believe I almost forgot.
What was I saying?
Oh, I went to shake her hand and nearly fell forward when the contact I expected did not come. My hand slipped right through her suddenly transparent skin. When I looked up in surprise, she was gone.
What was that?
There’s something moving around in here. This eerie silence that has become my home was broken by the small sound of…of something. I’m scared.
They’ve found me. They’re coming for me.
There are creatures with growling stomachs crawling beneath the scope of the eye. Searching this barren, left behind place their mouths water in starving anticipation as saliva drips over their many teeth. With callous black eyes, swallowed whole by pupil, they inch closer and closer to me, lips curling in a predatory grin as the thought of tearing me apart scintillates their impatient hunger.
The house I’d found shelter in only moments ago has begun to peal away and climb the back of a billion exhaled breaths. Wood splinters, glass shatters silently and disappears above in the whirlwind of an inverted tornado.
They can’t find me. I won’t let them.
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