I know now that I am doomed to feel this pain for the rest of my life, or until I can find out where it’s hidden. You see, after discovering the secret, I have damned myself to this wheelchair. The doctors say they cannot find any plausible reason that I would be in this much pain. But I can barely move before this excruciating pain overwhelms my body and I collapse back into my wheeled prison. If I can only found out where it’s hidden.
Let me rewind the picture for you and give you the full story.
It was on the eve of our second wedding anniversary when I first noticed the slight numbness in my arm. I came home from work that afternoon, greeted my wife, who was in the bathroom cleaning out all of the hair brushes from their months of collection.
I chuckled as she tugged out the clumps of dead hair,” Damn, you could make a wig for my brother with all of that.” My brother, at this point in our lives, was not as follically gifted as I was, and I gave him crap about it occasionally. My wife snickered back,
“Oh, you’re terrible.” And she gave me a swift kiss on the lips as I headed into the bedroom to change out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable, more specifically, t-shirt, shorts and my Guinness flip-flops.
I immediately hopped over to my computer to check my email and begin my evening’s task of chatting online with friends I have made over the months. My wife peaked out around the corner and gave me that ugly sigh that she always does when I do something she disapproves of.
“You work all day on a computer, and you come home just to do the same thing. Why don’t you spend some time with me, tonight?”
“I will honey, I promise. Just let me finish this.” That was my trusty excuse to buy some time. And before you knew it, it was time for bed. There she sat, for the majority of the night, on the near end of the couch, patiently waiting for me to “just finish this” and increasingly grow more and more impatient before finally giving up, shutting off the television and heading to bed in a huff.
I stayed up for an hour of two longer before I joined her and that’s when I noticed it, a numbness, a tingle in my left arm. I surveyed my skin for any blemish or cut that might be the source of the discomfort, but, could not find any such mark. I stretched my arm out, twisting it back and forth, until the pain subsided. Chalking it all up to growing older, I hopped into bed, embraced my wife, who wiggled closer to me, and fell asleep.
I woke up at three in the morning with a searing pain shooting all along my left arm and could not get comfortable in bed anymore. “What’s wrong, hun?” Apparently, I had tossed and turned so violently that I stirred my wife from her slumber. “Nothing, hun. Arm hurts a bit. It’ll be fine.” I lied my ass off, this was no normal twitch or muscle spasm, this hurt like hell. But I didn’t need to bother my wife with that, she’s got enough on her mind. “Ok, but if you’re going to flop around like that anymore, I’m gonna go sleep on the couch.” My wife rolled back over and cocooned herself back into the sheets. I sat up in bed and grabbed a pillow. “Nah, I’ll hit the couch. I’ll just surf the net to get my mind off of it. Go back to sleep, hun.” I stood up and headed for the couch, threw my pillow upon the cushions and trotted over to my computer.
I forgot I turned it off earlier that evening. I didn’t want to turn it back on and have that obnoxious startup chime annoy my wife. My arm wasn’t as bad now, so I just plopped down onto the couch and tried to make the best of it. As soon as I lay down on the couch, the pain returned with a fury so tumultuous that I nearly screamed.
“What the?” I clutched my left arm with my right hand, still trying to find a visible explanation for this soreness. And, as quickly as it appeared, the pain was gone. I was now utterly confused. Was I having a heart attack? Was I having a stroke? Maybe I should call 9-1-1.
Nah. It’s just a really bad muscle spasm. I probably pinched a nerve somewhere. I’ll just deal with it unti…
The raging inferno of paralyzing agony return, this time not only was it inhabiting my left arm, but now it travelled all the way down my leg. I was really begin to worry here. I tried to suck it up, but the pain almost acted like a garden hose. You can only pinch off the stream for so long, before the pressure builds up and bursts through with more ferocity than before. I collapsed to the floor. I tried to move my fingers, but I felt as if my hand was pumped full of novocain. I attempted to wiggle my foot, but the sensation was as if it were perpetually suffering from the pins and needles of falling asleep. I looked around frantically for my phone. Thank God it was on my right side. I reached out for it and attempted to dial 9-1-1, but before I could complete, my right arm shook violently and then fell limp. The searing pain flowed like a raging river through both of my arms now, rendering them useless.
“Honey!” I shouted, hoping that my wife would come to my rescue. I attempted to crawl back to the bedroom, but I was only able to travel a few feet before my right leg was stricken with the same affliction.
“Honey!” I beckoned once more. I did my best to prop myself up against the couch to where I lay. I sat up and glared at the darkness of the open bedroom door for what seemed to be an eternity before I finally heard a mumbled, “Yes?”
“Honey, I need your help. I’m in a lot of pain here.” I began to sob. The pain that I thought couldn’t possibly worsen, shot through my body like lightning. I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t feel my fingers, I couldn’t feel my toes. I couldn’t move ANY of my appendages. Tears begin to run down my face.
I looked up once more to see my wife standing in the doorway to our bedroom, watching me.
“Honey! Call 9-1-1. I can’t feel my arms and le……” As I said these words, my wife slowly walked towards me and tossed an object at me. I didn’t see what it was until it bounced with a grainy thud in my lap and slid onto the floor. I wanted to wipe away the tears, but my hands would not allow it, so I tried to focus as best I could at this human like figure that lie between my legs.
Thankfully, my eyes did cooperate and I began to piece together what it was that lay before me. It’s eyes were lifeless black orbs, skin composed of rough burlap and old moldy felt, and stitching of gnarled twine and wire. I peered closely into its face. I was me, or at least it was made to look like me. I looked up at my wife and she drew closer. I gazed back down at the doll and noticed dull blonde and gray hairs sticking out of its head. The tangled mess upon its head resembled my own hairstyle. She collected my hair from the bathroom hairbrush earlier today.
“What the hell is this?” I barked at my wife. And then I saw the last details that made my heart sink. Jammed deep into each of its arms and legs, was a long ornate hair pin. My wife took the doll and lovingly cradled it. She then took out a needle bearing heavy red yarn.
“You see, honey. You are always on your computer, and you never spend time with me anymore. So, for our anniversary, I gave myself a present.”
“You bitch! Let me g..” Before I could finish I was rendered silent as she quickly stitched the doll’s mouth shut.
She took my motionless, silent body to the hospital and let the doctors question why I was in this vegetative state. I could still see and hear. But no could read my eyes. They released me into the care of my wife later that night and confined me to this cursed wheelchair.
Now, all day and all night, I am forced to spend every waking moment with my barbaric wife. She cuddles next to me and tells me that she’ll love me for the rest of her life. But if I could only find out where she hid that fucking doll, that day will come much sooner that she expects.