My Grim Tale of Undeath and Life
By: Rickie O. Pauley (a.k.a. @Lymmerik)
Some say that we are fragile beings. Some say that our last breath is only one breath away.
But some say that we control our own destiny. True that!
In February 2007, I found myself in declining health. My doctor was stumped, but hopeful. My doctor ran test after test, with nothing specific pointing to my illness. I took time off work to focus on getting better.
I had worked hard all my life. I had it all, a great job in the hospitality industry as a banquet manager of two five-star restaurants in Atlanta. I had been in the restaurant business most of my life. I had a great loft in the downtown area of Buckhead, but worked so much, that I was never home.
It all started with crazy little “conditions” that left me weary, tired, and discouraged. I was fifty years old. By March 2007, I had lost nearly twenty-five pounds. I was dehydrated, re-hydrated, and dehydrated again and again. But still I persisted.
Finally, the diagnosis was made. My doctor, Dr. Church, put her arms out to comfort me when I was advised of the devastatingly terminal diagnosis. My reaction was not to throw a pity party for myself, nor did I break down into tears. My reaction was “Doctor Church, how do we fix it?”
She sent me to a specialist who started me on a series of potent anti-biotics. He said, “If these work, then we can start you on some anti-virals that may or may not work. If I were you, I’d get my affairs in order. That was eleven years ago today, February 5, 2007.
I spent the next two months fighting, but I was getting weaker on the anti-biotics. The last round was the sulfa drug Dapsone, even more potent than the anti-biotics. I was allergic to the drug and had a violent allergic reaction. My specialist, Dr. Blake, had given me his personal cell phone number, in case I didn’t do well on the Dapsone.
A friend was staying with me and called him to report my allergic reaction. It was three o’clock in the morning, but he met us at his office.
“I’m glad you didn’t go to the hospital. Don’t go to the hospital, it will kill you to be exposed to other sick people,” he said.
He prescribed me with another sulfa drug called Bactrim. I had an even more violent reaction to it and was back in his office by the following afternoon. Finally, he found a non-sulfa drug called Mepron that didn’t cause an adverse reaction.
My health continued to fail, but still I persisted.
I was bed-ridden for the following month. Day after day, week after week, I descended faster and faster toward nothingness. My days seemed to linger and my nights were mostly sleepless.
I soon ran through all of my savings and I couldn’t pay for my loft. I lost it in June 2007. My friend opened his house to me and continued to care for me. I dictated my will to my dear caretaker friend, who had put his life and job on hold to care for me. He was able to work some from home, but I knew he would have to return to work soon.
I was not responding to the treatments, medications, nor the love of my family and friends.
In the last weeks of my life, well, what I thought were the last weeks of my life, I was visited by many friends. July came and went.
August sixteenth is my birthday. I was hopeful to turn fifty-one, but not planning on it. But still I persisted.
Those sixteen days were the longest days of my life. I lost all track of time. My friends planned a huge birthday party for me as I lay dying. “Don’t fret over me,” I said. “I have fought a good fight. I will be here for my birthday party, but I make no guarantees for the day after.”
I remember on August the tenth, I wanted to take a shower. I had enough sponge baths to do me for the rest of my life. With the help of my caretaker friend, who stripped off and held me up under the shower flow, I broke down.
“I can’t believe that this is the end of me.” I sobbed with him holding me up under that wonderful hot water. He cried with me. He helped me to the floor of the shower and there we talked, cried, and laughed until the water turned cold. It was wonderful.
The next day, I was able to sleep. He fed me soup and saltine crackers. I ate very little. All I wanted were Burger King French fries. He obliged, every day. He would actually take a hot water bottle and a huge towel with him to Burger King every day to wrap up my fries and keep them hot on the drive back.
I had an appointment with Dr. Blake on the twelfth. I had run through the anti-biotic treatment and was started on anti-virals that day. They made me very nauseous. I spent most of the day in the bathroom throwing up nothing but water.
That day, my daily French fry meal consisted of one fry, which immediately came back up. But still I persisted.
August fifteenth started out with oatmeal and my anti-viral medications. The nausea and vomiting had become my routine. My caretaker friend had used up his sick leave and his vacation time caring for me and had to return to work. I spent the day in bed, as usual.
Somewhere around four o’clock I felt a presence in the room. I felt that presence descend on my bed. I turned over and saw a hood-cloaked figure there beside me. At first, I knew it was time to go. But something told me it wasn’t. I sat upright, leaned over and kissed the Grim Reaper on the lips, closed my eyes, and said. “I’m not going with you tonight.”
When Dennis, my caretaker friend returned from work, I was propped up on my pillows watching television. He handed me my Burger King French fries and said, “Glad to see you are back. Tomorrow, we party.”
Since that evening when I kissed the Grim Reaper on the lips, I have been able to recognize the auras that surround people and I interpret those auras in my own way, with my own cognizance.
It has been eleven years today, as I write this, that I am an AIDS survivor. Still I persist!
Some say that we are fragile beings. Some say that our last breath is only one breath away.
But some say that we control our own destiny. True that!
Thanks for taking the time to read the story of my undeath and life!
@Lymmerik
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