I must have drifted off to sleep somewhere between the fifth and sixth song of the CD I was listening to. Maybe it was the hypnotic grooves piping into the headphones wrapped around my ears. Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I was sprawled out on the world’s most comfy and cushy leather reclining chair. Whatever the reason, I was for all intents and purposes dead to the world.
Somewhere around song number ten I became acutely aware of an itchy sensation on the top of my second metacarpal (that is at the base of my index finger for those of you who are a bit fuzzy on their anatomical terminology). As I slowly pried my eyelids apart from one another, I was able to see the source of the discomfort. It was a mosquito and it was feasting on my blood.
Now, people who have full control of their muscles would merely lift up their other hand and swat the offending insect away. I, however, have relinquished such control to the ALS deities in exchange for an ability to be named later. All that I was able to do at that particular and rather peculiar moment was to allow the bug to finish its evening snack. Several agonizing seconds later it was done and now, four days later, I still carry the reminder of that incident in the form of a round and red bite.
Typed by Leah’s mommy.